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Over the next several days, James and Rose spent nearly all of their free time with each other. Their date night at Board and Brush had been wonderfully entertaining, and Rose laughed herself hoarse at James’s poor attempts at painting. She used his inexperience as an excuse to teach him, sitting far closer than necessary to help guide his hand or to demonstrate on her own board.
By the end of it, James had painted a simple “Welcome” sign decorated with spring flowers and grasses, while Rose painted a wall-hanging coat rack with the words “It’s good to be home” traced in a flowing script.
After their successful date night—wherein James had footed the bill—Rose asked if they could do something for free for their next date. The trouble with that was that it was wintertime, and many free activities tended to be outdoors. James eventually had the idea to visit SteelStacks, a museum of sorts on the southside of Bethlehem, Pennsylvania dedicated to preserving the history of the steel mills the area had been known for throughout the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. The old mill was still standing and offered tours, providing information and insight about what had been the “economic lifeblood”—in the words of the informational plaques—of the area.
“In recent years, this area has been trying to revitalize the arts,” James said. “Each August, they host an event called Musikfest. We’ll have to attend this summer. I went a few days last year and it was so much fun. The music is great, even if some of the bands and artists aren’t well known. Sometimes they’ll get popular groups in too.”
“Sounds like fun,” Rose said, hugging his arm to her chest as she listened to him tell her more information about the area. He was much more fun to listen to than reading the signposts.
In addition to exploring the surrounding areas, they also spent quite a bit of quiet down time together. There were no more intimate moments shared, to Rose’s slight disappointment, but they kissed and cuddled, both in her flat and in James’s home.
At first Rose worried that James regretted what they’d done on the sofa, but he didn’t seem to be shying away from her, nor did he appear uncomfortable. On the contrary, he took any chance he got to touch her: innocent touches to her back, holding her hand, curling his arm around her waist.
Still, Rose wanted—needed—to be sure.
“Did you like what we did together a few afternoons ago?” Rose asked as they did the dishes after dinner one evening. They were at her apartment, testing out her slow cooker with a beef stew recipe James liked. The stew had been a smashing success, and had made enough leftovers for a week’s worth of meals; she ended up freezing half of them.
James glanced over at her from where he was washing out the slow cooker pot.
“You mean… er…” After drying his hands, he pointed to his crotch, then made a crude hand gesture.
Rose laughed out loud. “Yes, that.”
“Of course I did,” he said, vaguely affronted. “Why do you ask? You enjoyed it too, right?”
“Absolutely,” she said, slinging her arm loosely around his hips and pressing her cheek into his shoulder. “It’s just… we haven’t, er, done anything else since. I wanted to make sure you were all right.”
James’s cheeks and ears flushed red. “Oh. Er. Did you want to do… more? You’re going to need to direct me a bit. I’m not sure how often we should be, er, doing things like that.”
“As often as we want,” Rose said, shrugging. “Whenever the mood takes us there. We don’t exactly have a quota or anything to meet, y’know.”
His face was still scarlet. “I don’t… I don’t know what to expect. What we did on the couch was incredible. And it was better than anything I ever felt before. I would love to do something like that again, but at the same time, it was overwhelming. That’s not to say I didn’t love it. Because I did. But it’s like… I need time to process. And to prepare. I’ve never felt like this, Rose. It’s like my body isn’t my own anymore. It’s doing whatever it wants. I constantly want to touch you, and to have you touch me. And I’m not talking intimately, but just…” He ran his fingertips up and down her arm, then wormed his hand into the sleeve of her jumper to touch bare skin. Goosebumps rose the hairs on her arms, and she nearly shivered. “Just like this. You don’t know how wonderful this feels. How intimate it feels. I feel stupid for admitting that.”
“You’re not stupid,” Rose insisted. “That feels good to me too, you know. I like being touched by you.”
“I want to touch you all the time, Rose,” he repeated. “And that’s a little scary for me. I don’t want to be afraid of wanting you. No, afraid isn’t the right word. But it’s… it’s weird. Most people figured this out as teenagers, and I feel so far behind the curve, you know?”
She didn’t, but she could sympathize, so she nodded.
“And…” James dropped his eyes to stare at his shoes. “I’ve never craved sex. I mean, obviously I want it. With you. But it’s just that: a want. It’s not a need. I know that sex is technically a want for everybody since nobody can die from lack of sex, but you know how some people have that hot and heavy “I must have you now against this wall” feeling merely from looking at an attractive person? I don’t feel that. I’ve never felt that. You’re beautiful, Rose. I’ve thought you were beautiful since I first saw you sitting behind me in class. But my first desire was to talk to you. To get to know you. To be your friend. Not to rip your clothes off and shag you in the nearest loo. And I feel so alien because of this. But recently, there have been times when I look at you and I’m struck by how much I love you, and I want to kiss you and touch you so badly that it feels like a physical ache. And that’s a weird, new feeling for me.”
He began speaking faster and faster until Rose finally rested her palm on his arm. Her heart broke for him.
“James, you don’t need to explain yourself,” she said gently. “You never have to explain yourself. Not with this. I only wanted to know if you regretted what we’d done.”
“Never,” he said vehemently. “I am honored to share my body with you, and that you trust me to share yours with me. I love you.”
“I love you, too,” she said, wrapping her arms around his waist and tucking her head into his neck. “If you ever change your mind about wanting sex, that’s okay. You can tell me. You know that, right? I fell in love with you. Not your body. Even if it’s years down the road. If ever you decide you don’t want to have sex anymore, tell me. It’s okay.”
“I really appreciate that,” he said softly, his voice cracking. “I mean it. I… I feel so safe with you. You make me feel safe. You make me feel normal.”
Rose gave him a tight squeeze. “Nobody’s normal. Our relationship is perfect as it is. Don’t compare yourself or us to others. It’ll only make you unnecessarily self-conscious.”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “A lot of this doesn’t even make sense to me. So I imagine what I rambled on about made little sense to you as well.”
“I got the general gist,” Rose promised. “I love you very much, James. Always remember that. I don’t care that you’re inexperienced. Just like I wouldn’t have cared if you’d been with hundreds of people before me. All I care about is that you love me and want to be with me.”
“I do,” he vowed. “Very much, I do.” He paused for a beat, then asked, “Can I ask you something? You’ve never spoken of anyone but Jimmy. Was he your only…?”
“No,” she said simply when it seemed he wasn’t going to finish his sentence. “He was my first serious boyfriend. And the one I lost my virginity to. But I dated casually before and after him. I had my first kiss at thirteen. Well. Technically I was six, I suppose.”
“Six?!” he spluttered.
Rose laughed. “Me and my best mate Mickey were playing house. Well. I was making him play house with me. I was adamant about our acting being legit. So whenever he entered the “house”, we’d kiss.” She laughed again, recalling the memory fondly. Her mother had flown into a rage when she realized Rose was kissing Mickey, which put an end to their game almost immediately, and led to Jackie giving her a watered-down version of “The Talk” right on the spot.
“But my real first kiss was with a boy called Derek,” Rose said. “He lived on the estate too, and we’d known each other for years. We decided to give kissing a go, to see what it was all about. We never dated, exactly, but we’d hang out, walk around town. He eventually wanted to, er, explore a girl’s body. I slapped him when he touched my boobs in the middle of kissing. We stopped spending time together after that.”
“That’s awful,” James said softly. “I’m sorry that happened.”
Rose shrugged. “There were a few other good boyfriends, but nothing serious. It was mostly figuring out kissing and flirting. I met Jimmy when I was sixteen. We started dating a few weeks later. I was with him ‘til I was nineteen.”
“Were there any after him?”
“Yeah. Again, very casual. I wouldn’t even call them relationships.” She stopped speaking then, wondering how to explain. “It was mostly physical. Just sex. No strings attached. Just… companionship and physical release.”
“That sounds lonely.”
“I wasn’t ready to open my heart up,” Rose said, somewhat defensively. “Jimmy turned me against relationships. Even with you… I tried for a while to ignore my feelings for you, you know. So the men I dated, I made sure they knew I wasn’t looking for a committed relationship. Funnily enough, men in their twenties are quite excited about having sex and not having a girlfriend.”
“Can I ask you a personal question?” James asked.
“We’re already having quite the personal conversation,” Rose retorted dryly.
But James just stared at her until she nodded.
“What’s it like?” he asked softly. “Being able to have sex so… openly?”
Rose nearly told him he would never be able to understand, but he had tried to explain how his sexuality felt to him, so the least she could do was try to explain hers.
“It’s… it’s like… hunger, I guess,” Rose said haltingly. “Have you ever had a craving for a specific food? Like you get hungry and say “I could really devour some Chinese food”, then you go get Chinese food?”
He nodded, frowning.
“It’s sort of like that,” Rose said. “Most of the time I’m fine with masturbating. I’ve got enough toys to satisfy myself.”
He choked, making Rose smirk.
“I’ll show you my collection later,” she promised with a wink. His cheeks went even pinker, spreading down his neck and up to the tips of his ears. “But every now and then, I would crave something different. So I would hook up with a bloke. Most of the time, I already knew the person. He’d be a friend or acquaintance. I only hooked up with a stranger once, and I got lucky he wasn’t a creep. I realized how dangerous that could be and swore to myself I’d never do it again.”
Rose folded her arms across her chest, waiting for his reaction. But he simply nodded.
“Thank you for sharing that with me,” he said, kissing her temple. “And I don’t know if I made myself clear. I think my words came out wrong. I don’t care about your sexual history. I wasn’t judging you. I’m not judging you. I hope you know that.”
“Thanks,” she said, relaxing muscles she hadn’t known were tense. It wasn’t as though she truly thought James would be disgusted with her relatively loose love life, but, well, sometimes people could be a bit rude.
“I’m sorry if I made you feel like I…”
“You didn’t,” she promised. “Really.”
James didn’t look convinced. “I would never judge you for…”
“James, it’s fine,” she insisted. “I know you didn’t have any ill intent. You’re too sweet to be an arse.” She winked and bumped her hip into his. “Well, not on purpose, at least.”
He cracked a small smile, and they let the subject drop.
oOoOo
The night of December thirty-first arrived, which found James and Rose catching an Uber to Jack’s house for his New Year’s Eve party. He lived on the other side of town in a five-bedroom house that he rented with several other people. When James and Rose got there, the house, packed with people—mostly university students—was nearly vibrating from the heavy bass of the music being played.
James hadn’t been lying: Jack certainly knew how to throw a party. There was more food and alcohol than anyone would be able to consume, even with a house full of people. And the music was a wonderful mix of current hits and hits from the ‘90s and 2000s, creating a wave of nostalgia for all party attendees.
They attempted to pick through the crowd of people to find their host, but they were often sidetracked whenever James found someone he knew. Rose was certain that he was acquainted with every single person that attended their university. After yet another 5-minute chat with what had to be the dozenth person, Rose finally spotted Jack doing shots with a small group of people.
“I’m gonna say hi,” she said into James’s ear. “Jack’s over there.”
He made a distracted noise as he continued speaking to a group of people he’d taken a maths class with.
As Rose weaved through the people, she locked eyes with Jack, who beamed and met her half way across the room.
“Rosie!” He threw his arms around her waist, missing the way she flinched at the nickname. “Glad you could make it! I saw you and James arrive, but I couldn’t get away to say hello. It seems you two couldn’t get away, either. He’s quite the social butterfly, isn’t he?”
“I think he knows all the residents in the county,” Rose joked.
“I hope you’ve helped yourself to food and booze. There is a toilet down the hall and one up the stairs. All bedrooms are locked, so don’t even think about slipping away for a quickie with your boyfriend.”
Her cheeks went hot and she spluttered. “We wouldn’t…!”
“Aha!” Jack crowed. “You are dating! I knew it! When did that happen?”
Rose gaped wordlessly for a moment, then smiled, chagrinned. “Right after term ended.”
“You know, I thought there had been something going on between the two of you when I met you at Thanksgiving,” Jack said.
“Nah. Just friends. Good friends, but just friends.”
“Friends who wanted more,” Jack said, waggling his eyebrows.
Rose snorted. “Obviously.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear it. You make a very cute couple,” Jack said.
“Thanks,” Rose said, grinning.
“He’s a phenomenal kisser, isn’t he?” Jack said dreamily. “I’d like to say I taught him everything he knows, but, well, he seems to have a bit of raw talent in that department. Hopefully that translates through to the bedroom, eh?”
But Rose’s brain had come to a standstill. “You… you’ve kissed James?”
Jack blinked, his face leaching of all color. She could see the gears whirling frantically behind his eyes as he tried to backtrack. “Well, maybe once or twice.”
Rose frowned and crossed her arms, needing much more information than that.
“It- it doesn’t mean anything,” Jack insisted. “It didn’t mean anything. He’s not… I mean, he’s with you. A woman. So obviously he goes for women. Our kisses were more for fun than anything. You know, you get curious so you try it out, and that doesn't mean you enjoy it or anything, and…”
“I know he’s bi,” Rose said, cutting off Jack’s ramblings.
He slumped, shoulders slackening as he exhaled a huge breath. “Oh thank God. You could have said so sooner! I was terrified I’d accidentally yanked him out of the closet!”
“I’m more curious about why you were kissing him,” Rose said, pinning Jack with a glare she’d seen her mother use. “I’ve heard… things about you Jack. And I’m not at all judging. I don’t care about your love life. Shag whoever you want. But if you were messing him about… if you played him…”
“We dated,” Jack finally blurted. “Well, sort of.”
“How do you ‘sort of’ date?”
“James started wondering if he might be gay his first year here,” Jack said. “He and I had hit it off quickly as friends, and he told me some things. The short of it is that he didn’t know if he wasn’t experiencing sexual attraction because perhaps he didn’t like women. I explained what it was like for me, liking men and women, but he said he never felt anything like that. I was single at the time, and so was he, so we made a sort of… arrangement. To let him try out dating a guy. We only lasted a couple weeks, nothing serious. We parted amicably and have been good friends ever since.”
Rose nodded, relieved. “You’re a good friend to him, Jack.”
“And yet here you were, about to chop my bollocks off thinking I’d taken advantage of him,” Jack teased.
“Can you blame me?” Rose asked with a shrug. “His life has been hard enough as it is.”
Jack nodded. “Yeah, I can’t imagine the kind of flak he’s gotten for being an incredibly attractive man who isn’t interested in sex. Well, at least not until recently, I assume.”
That wasn’t exactly what Rose had meant. But then she remembered what Sarah Jane had said, about James not telling many people about his parents. Or at least, not going into the details.
Refusing to break James’s confidence, Rose merely nodded in agreement, then she left Jack—who was being pulled towards the dance floor by a rather handsome boy—to go find James. He was in the kitchen, loading a plate with food. He had one red Solo cup in the hand that was holding the plate, and the other between his teeth. He looked in dangerous peril of dropping everything. Rose hurriedly stepped up to him and took both cups.
“Where have you been?” James shouted through the din of music and conversation. “I got us some nibbles to share.”
“Was havin’ a chat with your ex-boyfriend,” Rose said, quirking an eyebrow at him.
James’s face blanched. He scratched at his stubbled jaw and seemed to splutter for an answer, before electing to keep his mouth shut.
“Why didn’t you tell me Jack was an ex-boyfriend of yours?” Rose asked curiously. “I mean, I get why you didn’t tell me when I first met him, but after you confessed to dating a few men, you could’ve said Jack was one of them.”
James turned his attention to the table and lifted a shoulder as he piled more food onto the plate. “Didn’t seem important. We were never serious. I, well, I wasn’t sure if perhaps I was attracted to men and not women. Since Jack was a bloke and a friend and was single—a rarity, for him—he let me… well, that’s to say… we gave dating a try. To let me sort of… explore my sexuality.” He snorted ruefully. “Or lack of sexuality.”
“Yeah, that’s pretty much what Jack said, too,” Rose said.
“I’m so glad he’s nattering on about my love life,” James muttered.
“He meant well,” Rose said gently. “We were chatting, and he let slip that you and he had kissed before.” In an attempt to wipe the frown off his face, she added, “He complimented your kissing skills. Said you had raw talent.”
It worked. A smile tugged at the corner of James’s mouth.
“And I’ll have you know, I was defending your honor,” Rose said, knocking her hip against his. “Wanted to make sure Jack hadn’t broken your heart. That’s when he explained the nature of your relationship.”
James chuckled. “Dunno if it could even be called a relationship. We kissed sometimes and hung out together.”
“You know, that’s kind of what we do too,” Rose noted. “And you call us a relationship.”
James rolled his eyes. “It’s vastly different. For one, I’ve seen you naked.” He grinned goofily. “Well, nearly naked. And secondly, we’ve given each other orgasms. Never given an orgasm to anyone before. It’s quite fun. And thirdly, I’m actually in love with you. I was fond of Jack, and I’m still fond of him. But no romantic feelings ever came about. We’re friends. He’s one of my best friends. But we absolutely weren’t compatible for a relationship.”
“I can see why,” Rose said dryly. James stuck his tongue out at her. “I’m glad things didn’t work out with Jack. I really lucked out with you.”
James preened, looking so radiant that Rose couldn’t help but lift onto her toes and kiss the corner of his mouth.
They spent the rest of the evening wandering through the house, dancing, socializing, eating, and drinking. Rose made sure to watch her alcohol consumption so she didn’t get completely drunk, but allowed herself to get pleasantly buzzed.
James, it turned out, was a great dancer. She should have known, what with his lean, flexible hips and his long, graceful body. It was a struggle to not start grinding lewdly against him in time with the beat.
The anticipation of the party-goers ramped up with every passing hour, until it was nearly time for the countdown. James and Rose were leaning against the countertops in the kitchen, having moved on to water by that point in the evening.
“One more minute!” someone shrieked from the living room. “And a great big fuck you to 2016!”
This proclamation was followed by a roar of drunken laughter. James himself snorted. “This year wasn’t great, but at least it ended nicely.”
“Because Trump lost the election?” Rose asked innocently.
“Pfft, why would I care about American politics? I was obviously referring to Brexit not happening.” Rose rolled her eyes, and James’s smile softened as he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “You were the highlight of my year, Rose.”
“I hear you two pulled your heads out of your asses!” Jack sauntered over and slung his arms around James’s and Rose’s neck, a glass of something in each fist. They jolted apart. “So… did Rose finally pop your cherry?”
Rose’s cheeks warmed, and she saw James’s had gone scarlet as well.
“Well, no. Not yet,” James admitted. “Almost. Though honestly what is ‘virginity’ anyway? It’s a social construct, innit? Especially for males. And females too, but with them, there’s at least the anatomical hymen to rupture, but even that can rupture without intercourse. But what determines if a man is a virgin? I, along with a very large majority of the population, masturbate regularly and so I know what sexual pleasure feels like, so what is the difference between that and physically coupling with another person? And does it need to be a complete physical joining? ‘Cos Rose and I… on my couch… well, the details aren’t important, but if we both found our pleasure in each other, couldn’t that also count?”
The longer he spoke, the more heated Rose’s cheeks became. Jack looked increasingly amused until he burst into a loud cackle. The noise startled James enough that he snapped his mouth shut with an audible click, and he scrubbed his hand along the nape of his neck.
He glanced down at Rose and said, “I talk too much.”
“I’ve noticed,” she replied, patting his chest. She faced Jack and took one of the drinks in his hand. “I need this more than you right now, mate.”
Jack laughed again, relinquishing the drink. She knocked it back in one gulp as the countdown on the television and around the house began.
10… 9… 8…
“As riveting as this conversation has been—and believe me, I’m dying to know what Rose has done to you, James—I actually came over to see if either of you two would want to share your midnight kiss with the handsomest bloke in the room?”
“Was already planning on it,” Rose said with a wink. Jack blinked, his eyes flicking to James, who had stiffened beside her.
Stupid boys, she muttered to herself.
3… 2… 1… “Happy New Year!”
Rose turned to James, who had an adorable pout on his lips. His eyes widened when she slung her arms around his neck.
“Happy New Year, James,” she said, before she rocked up onto her toes and planted a hard kiss to his lips.
He sighed into the kiss, his breath tasting like booze and all the snacks he’d consumed over the course of the night. She was sure hers didn’t taste much different or any better, so she opened her mouth for him, letting her tongue glide across his. She shivered at the sensation, and smiled when his tongue playfully flicked against hers, then to the backs of her teeth and the roof of her mouth.
She was vaguely aware of Jack wolf-whistling at them, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Not when James’s mouth felt so good against hers, when he wrapped his arms so tightly around her waist to press up against every inch of her.
The rest of the room dissolved away. She wasn’t aware of the cheering crowd or the boom of fireworks outside. It was just her and James in this moment, ending out the year and ringing in a new one together.
“Want to get out of here?” James murmured, breaking his lips away from hers.
She nodded, and he pressed a parting kiss to her lips before releasing her.
They sought out Jack, who had wandered away to find his own midnight kiss. They interrupted long enough to tell him they were leaving. Thankfully, it only took a couple of minutes to procure an Uber—they must have beat the rush of departing partygoers. Soon they were being dropped off at James’s house, stumbling slightly from the lateness of the hour and the alcohol they’d consumed.
“D’you want to sleep with me?” James asked as they toed their shoes off by the front door.
Rose nearly choked.
Realizing how it sounded, James’s eyes widened. “Not for… Just to sleep? I… I made my New Year’s resolution. To stop holding back… stop wasting time. I love you, Rose. And I want everything with you. I want to be with you all the time and I would ask you to move in with me right now, but maybe that’s a bit too much, and I’m sure you signed a one-year lease to your flat so obviously you probably want to stay there as often as possible to get your money’s worth out of it, but know that I would very much be open to the idea of moving in together and…”
His words churned around in her head, getting warped and distorted amidst the hazy fog of drink and exhaustion. She leaned up on her tiptoes and brushed a kiss to his lips.
“I’m a bit too tipsy for this conversation,” she admitted. “I’d like to come back to it eventually though. But in the meantime, I would love to sleep with you tonight.”
His face lit up in a bright grin that made her knees feel weak.
After giving a bit of love to the two drowsy cats curled up on the sofa, Rose followed James down the hallway. They made a pitstop in the guest bedroom for her overnight bag, then continued to his bedroom. She’d been in it before, but it felt different this time. More intimate.
“I’ll, er, let you take the loo first,” James said, gesturing to the attached en-suite.
Rose hurried through her nighttime routine, though she took great care to brush her teeth and rinse with mouthwash. By the time she reopened the door to the bedroom, James was already in his pajamas—boxers and a t-shirt—and tugging down the blankets.
She took a moment to watch him. He moved gracefully, and his pjs left little to the imagination. His round bum was put on glorious display as he bent over the bed. She bit her lip and crossed her arms over her chest to stop herself from going over and pinching it.
“All done,” she announced.
He whirled around to face her, and whatever he was about to say died in his throat as his eyes raked up and down her body. Her pajamas were simple, just a pair of cotton shorts and a t-shirt, but his glazed stare made her feel like they were the sexiest things in the world. Like she was the sexiest thing in the world.
“Do you have a side you prefer?” she asked, gesturing to the queen-sized bed.
“Er… I typically take the left. But feel free to take whichever side.”
He then skated past her and ducked into the en-suite.
She sat down on the right side of the bed, but didn’t fully get under the covers yet. Instead, she glanced around the room, unabashedly taking it all in: the walls lined with bookcases, the pine wood dresser, the cherry wood nightstand, the photo frames scattered throughout.
Several of the photographs were of his cats, and several more were of him and his Aunt Sarah. There were even a few of herself, including the photograph of them standing in front of the Eastern State Penitentiary. But one in particular drew her eye. It was sitting on the topmost shelf of one of his bookshelves, and Rose stepped closer to better see it.
The photo contained three people: a woman with sleek auburn hair and vibrant blue eyes, a tall and lanky man with unruly brown hair and a smattering of freckles, and a young adolescent James standing between them. James was the absolute spitting image of his father, from his gangly body to his messy hair to his too-wide, manic smile.
They were all beaming at the camera, their arms slung around each other, looking so joyous in that frozen moment. They looked so full of life and love that Rose’s chest cracked at the pain and loss and loneliness she knew was in store for that boy in the picture.
“That’s one of the last photographs we ever took together.”
Rose jumped away from the bookcase. James was leaning up against the door frame, arms crossed at his chest.
“We were on holiday in Scotland, my half-term break,” he said. “We’d gone to the town where my mum grew up. At the time, I’d thought it was a boring place to travel to. Now, I wish I would have appreciated it more.”
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He gave her a brittle smile. “Me too.”
He pushed off from the door frame and slid into bed, patting the other side of the mattress in invitation. Rose slipped into bed beside him, and they pulled the sheets and blankets up. Before lying down, James flicked off his bedside lamp, dousing the room in darkness.
“It took months to track down copies of photographs of me and my parents,” James murmured in the dark. “After the fire, everything was destroyed. I had nothing. Aunt Sarah had a few things, anything my mum and dad had sent her over the years. She reached out to all of our family and friends, looking for anything. She managed to scrounge up a decent collection of photographs and videos, but so much was lost.”
Rose’s chest tightened. She couldn’t imagine not having memories to look back on. Her mother often took out old photo albums to look at Rose’s dad, and to share those memories with her. It wasn’t right that James couldn’t do the same thing.
“I’m sorry,” she said again, slowly scooting towards him to wrap an arm around his waist.
He groaned softly as he pulled her closer. She nuzzled her face into his collarbone and slipped a leg between his.
“Sorry, not trying to start anything,” she said when he stiffened. She pulled her leg away.
“No, no. That was okay. Sorry. And sorry if you, er, feel anything doing on down there. I’m not trying it.”
Rose let out a quiet giggle as she returned her leg to where it had been. Though she was dying to check, she made sure to keep her thigh away from his crotch.
“I love holding you,” he sighed into her hair. “I love you.”
“I love you, too,” she said, suddenly so sleepy. “Happy New Year, James.”
“Happy New Year, Rose.”
oOoOo
Rose awoke slowly the next morning, her head in a fog. Her mouth was bone dry and tasted foul, and her temples were throbbing slightly. Not bad, as far as New Year’s hangovers went. Then again, she didn’t exactly get drunk.
She inhaled deeply and arched her body as much as she could while lying down, but her foot connected with something warm, soft, and long. She jerked her leg away and peeked over her shoulder. James. That’s right. She went to bed with James last night. Her heart squeezed as she beheld him. He was still asleep, his face utterly relaxed.
As delicately as she could, Rose rolled over onto her back, and then onto her side to better look at him. However, at the shifting in the mattress, his nose crinkled and he blearily opened his eyes. He blinked for many long seconds, clearing his vision and the haze of sleep.
“Mornin’,” he croaked. Then he smacked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “I think a small animal died in my mouth.”
She giggled. “Mine too.” She leaned over, and despite their terrible breaths, pecked a gentle kiss to his lips.
He hummed and rested his hand on the nape of her neck, holding her where she was. She shuffled closer to him, deepening the kiss. However, James broke it a minute later.
“As much as I would love to continue this,” he said with a wince, “I really need a wee.”
Rose laughed and moved away from him. He bolted out of bed and practically ran into his loo. She tried not to listen in, but, well, the walls were quite thin. He really had needed to relieve himself quite badly, she noted.
That only reminded her of how much she had drunk the night before, and her bladder throbbed.
She waited until he had finished before calling out, “I’m gonna get a shower.”
“‘Kay.”
Rose grabbed her overnight bag and took it down the hall to the guest bathroom, letting James have his own shower. The shower worked wonders for her lingering headache and at freshening her up from the layer of sweat and grime from the night before.
James was waiting for her in the kitchen, a cup of coffee and a piece of toast already in hand. Rose easily worked around him to ready her morning cup of tea and her own toast. As she rooted through the fridge for the jam, she realized James was watching her intently.
“What?” she asked, straightening to walk to the toaster.
“Nothing,” he said with a small shake of his head. “It’s just… I love having you in my home.”
Rose smiled shyly. Suddenly, she remembered what he’d said last night. He seemed to recall it too.
“So. Er. About that,” he said, scratching at the back of his neck. “Do you think you might one day want to live with me? I want to live with you. Already, I want to live with you.”
“I think I want to live with you, too,” Rose said, beaming when his shoulders loosened. “But I want to keep my flat at least ‘til the lease runs out. Though I don’t see us breaking up, I’d, er, I’d feel better knowing I still have that safety net.”
“Of course,” he said, nodding. “Of course. I didn’t mean for you to barge into your flat’s leasing office tomorrow and tell them you’re moving out. I just meant that I would love it if you stayed overnight more often. Or I could even stay overnight at your flat. Then maybe when your lease expires, you could consider moving in with me.”
“My lease is up at the end of July,” Rose said. “Let’s revisit this conversation closer to then, yeah?”
“Yeah, of course,” he said again. “Brilliant.”
“I would very much like to stay overnight more often, though,” Rose added, realizing she never addressed that. “As often as you’ll have me. Your bed is quite comfy. And I guess your company is all right, too.”
He pouted, though the expression soon broke with a wide, face-splitting grin.
They leisurely ate their breakfast, then worked to start the preparations for dinner. James was making an Italian roast pork in a slow cooker, and it needed to cook for several hours.
They puréed fresh herbs and oil until it was a thick, green paste.
“It doesn’t look appetizing right now,” James said apologetically, “but I swear it tastes delicious when it’s done.”
“I trust you and your culinary skills,” Rose said, watching as he smeared the paste all across the pork shoulder.
James latched the lid of his slow cooker, then turned it on ‘low’ and set the timer.
“Done!” he pronounced. “Well, there’s not much else we can do. Would you like to go for a walk? The weather isn’t half bad, not once we get moving.”
Rose readily agreed; it had been ages since she’d gone outside for more than a few minutes, and she didn’t even want to think about how long it had been since she had gotten any sort of exercise. They donned their coats before stepping out into the brisk late-morning air.
She could practically feel her body thanking her for the vitamin D as she linked elbows with James and they began a leisurely stroll through his neighborhood. The streets were utterly empty of people and vehicles. They were passed by the occasional car, but for the most part, it was as if they had the world to themselves.
“There’s a cute little park not too far,” James said, nodding with his head down a little side street. “Care to see? It’s got a little duck pond.”
“Well of course I’ve got to see the duck pond,” Rose teased, sticking her tongue out at him.
He rolled his eyes and bumped his hip into hers. She hugged his arm tighter, resting her cheek on his shoulder as they walked.
The silence between them was light and comfortable. It still sometimes surprised her that she could be utterly at ease with being with James, content to not say anything at all. With Jimmy, she had always tried to fill the quietness with inane chatter, worried about him thinking she was dull or boring.
James guided them down a little dirt path into a forested area. Rose paused.
“It’s a pedestrian entrance,” James promised. “Cars can pull in farther up. I dunno about you, but I’d rather not hike that.” He pointed to the steep incline of the road ahead. “We can, if you’d like…”
“Nah, creepy wooded path it is.”
“It’s not creepy,” James sniffed.
“I’m fairly certain I watched a crime drama that started out like this,” she drawled.
He snorted. “Well, I’m here to ward off any attackers.”
“My savior,” she crooned, before pecking a kiss to his chilly cheek.
He hummed deep in his throat and gave her arm a squeeze as they continued down the path. Everything was eerily silent; even their footfalls were muffled by the hard-packed earth and dead, damp leaves.
“Feels like a fairytale,” Rose whispered. “Like we’re about to stumble upon a witch’s cottage.”
“Oh, didn’t I say? A witch owns the little duck pond. And all the ducks? People who couldn’t pay for her spells.”
Rose cackled, then tugged him to a stop.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing, I just want to take a picture,” she said, taking her phone out of her pocket.
James patiently waited until she’d snapped a few shots of the footpath they were on. Then she turned her phone on him and chirped, “Smile!”
He did, a broad, unrestrained grin that lit up his entire face and made her stomach flip over itself.
“Selfie?” she asked, opening her arm for him.
He eagerly skipped towards her and wrapped his arm around her waist, tucking her in close. He pressed his cheek to hers and they both beamed. Then he pecked a kiss to her temple, and she quickly snapped that photo too.
“Shall we?” she asked, stuffing her phone into her pocket and gesturing forward.
He nodded and hooked his arm through hers once more and continued on.
It took a few minutes, but eventually the trees cleared and they stepped out onto a walking trail that looped around a clear, glimmering pond then extended down to a few sports fields and a huge playground.
Apart from one jogger, the park was utterly deserted.
“When the weather’s nice, this is a hot spot for the community,” James said. “Families and recreational sports teams are always playing here. People host events in that little pavilion.” He gestured to the little roofed area that housed rows and rows of wooden picnic benches. “And it’s got great walking paths.”
“And a duck pond,” she added.
“And a duck pond,” he agreed.
He dug around in his pocket, then unlinked his arm from hers to step up to a little metal dispenser filled with small brown pellets. She watched him stuff two quarters into the machine, then open up the bottom flap, where the pellets dropped into his waiting palm.
“Come feed the ducks,” he said over his shoulder, giggling like a little boy before jogging towards the pond.
Rose chuckled and ran after him until they were standing at the edge of the pond. There were several ducks and geese floating on the water; as soon as they spotted James and Rose, they began swiftly paddling towards them.
“Pavlovian response. They know that most people have food. And, well, they’d be correct.” He tossed a few pellets into the water, watching the birds dive for them. He extended his hand towards her, and she gladly took a few pellets and chucked them into the pond. “These ducks and geese stay here year ‘round. They get plenty of food from people who take walks in the park, and they can find shelter easily enough.”
For a few silent minutes, they stood at the edge of the pond and fed the waterfowl. When there were only a few crumbs of duck food left, James dropped them at the edge of the pond and wiped his palm on the rear of his jeans.
“I think I’m ready to make love with you.”
For a moment, Rose was sure she’d misheard him. He had spoken as casually as if he was commenting on the weather. Surely he hadn’t said what she thought he said. No. He must have said something about how he was ready to go soon—it was chilly, after all, now that they weren’t walking. And a stiff breeze had picked up, rustling their hair and whistling all around them.
Yes, that was it. A trick of the wind.
James then began rocking onto his toes and back down on his heels, and she knew she had heard him correctly.
“Only… only if you want to,” he said quickly. “Just a thought. Wanted to get it out there.”
“You want to have sex?” she blurted indelicately.
His cheeks flushed a deep red that had nothing to do with the cold. His eyes darted from her to the ducks, who were lazily paddling away now that she and James had no more food for them.
He shrugged and said quietly, “Yeah.”
“Is this because of what Jack said?” she asked.
He finally met her gaze. “No. No, I’ve been thinking about this for a while now. And ever since that time on the couch…”
Her blood heated at the memory.
“That was brilliant,” he continued. “So, so brilliant. And it… it’s like it showed me a new piece of myself. One I hadn’t realized I possessed. I didn’t know how good someone else could make me feel; or how good it would feel to make someone else feel good. And I’ve been wondering why I’m denying myself this pleasure. Not only the physical pleasure, but the emotional pleasure. Being with you has made me the happiest I’ve ever been. And that night on the couch, I thought I might break apart with how much I love you.
“As I told last night, I want everything with you. I don’t want to hold anything back. And it’s okay if you’re not ready yet, or if this is too fast or too intense, but I… I needed to put this out there, so that you’re aware.”
Rose fell in love with him all over again. Nobody had ever said anything as sweet to her before. Jimmy had always said he’d loved her, but that was it. No other flowery words or declarations, and certainly no conversations about his feelings.
But James… He was vulnerable, and he trusted her to share in that vulnerability.
“I’m ready to make love with you, too,” she murmured, reaching out to take his hand in hers.
He offered her a small but genuine smile, his eyes lighting up with hope and happiness. They dimmed a moment later, though, as he grimaced and said, “That probably wasn’t the sexiest way to go about that. Sorry.”
He scrubbed his free hand along the back of his neck. Rose squeezed his fingers and said, “Are you kidding? Consent, respect, and communication are the sexiest things in the world.” When he looked dubious, she said, “They are! Besides, we’re not making out right now, nor are we drunk, so our judgement isn’t clouded. Which means we’re both actually, genuinely ready to fuck each other’s brains out.”
That seemed to break through his lingering haze of self-consciousness and embarrassment. He breathed out a laugh, and his entire body relaxed. He then tilted his head to the side, considering her. “Can I ask you something? Do you—God, I can’t believe I’m asking this—do you like it… rough? The phrase ‘fuck each other’s brains out’ has a certain connotation to it. It’s got me wondering how you, well, how you like it.”
Rose chewed on her lip, trying to push down the awkwardness. “Sometimes I like it rough. I have to be in the mood for it, though. And I’m sometimes in the mood for slow and tender. We’ll do that for our first time.”
“Not too slow. It’s been hard for me… since the couch.”
“It’s supposed to get hard,” she said with a wink.
“Difficult for me,” he amended, flicking her. She could barely feel it through her coat. “Difficult not to ravish you.”
“After tonight, I promise you can ravish me whenever you’d like,”
“Tonight?” he choked out.
She paused. “Er… too soon?
“No! Not at all. But… shouldn’t it be spontaneous? I feel a bit silly scheduling it.”
Rose laughed. “Believe me, it’ll be spontaneous, just not the way you think. Sure, we can plan to shag tonight, but that’s as far as the planning goes. Who knows how it’ll happen or what we’ll do as we’re doing it.”
“Will you stay over at mine tonight?” he asked.
“Kinda hard to shag if I go back to my own flat,” she drawled, knocking her shoulder into his.
“Could do phone sex,” he suggested.
She beamed. “We’ll have to try that later. But yeah, I’ll stay over tonight, and we’ll see what happens.”
|
Marinette flitted nervously around the living room, adjusting the couch pillows and fidgeting with the freshly-made bowl of popcorn. She had planned for this weekend to be a movie night, inviting Alya, Nino, and Adrien. Unfortunately, the former two had canceled on her, leaving her alone with
Adrien
for a few hours. Everything needed to be perfect! Perhaps, if she could time it right, their hands would brush against each other in the popcorn bowl. He’d turn to her with those shimmering, green eyes, brushing a stray strand of hair back behind her before leaning in with a kiss. Lost in her fantasies and her imaginary make-out she barely heard her parents called up to her from the bakery.
“Marinette, your friend is here,” Tom shouted from downstairs.
“Coming, Papa,” she called back before rushing down the stairs to go greet Adrien. When she got down the last step, Marinette turned to see the model waiting by the register with a croissant in his hand. Clearing her throat, she waved nervously, “H-hey.”
He looked at her with a grin, waving the croissant at her, “Hey, Marinette. I hope you don’t mind me being a little late. I just wanted to stop by for a croissant.”
She giggled, “As long as you don’t completely ruin your appetite and won’t eat the popcorn upstairs, it’s fine.”
Adrien’s bright grin grew wider before he winked at her, “That definitely won’t happen! You guys are going to ruin my model diet if I stay here though.”
“Nonsense, you could do with some more meat on those bones of yours,” Sabine chuckled at him from behind the register.
Marinette’s cheeks turned pink as he turned away from the register and back to her, chewing on his croissant. Tapping her fingers together nervously, she headed up the stairs, calling over her shoulder at him, “I hope you don’t mind the movies I selected. My favorites are The Secret Life of Pets, Clue, or Iron Man.”
“I don’t really mind what we watch, Marinette,” the two entered her living room, both seating themselves on the comfy couch that awaited them, “I’ve never really had a movie night before, so I’m sure I’ll like anything you pick.”
“O-okay,” Marinette reached for the remote, blindly turning on one of the movies she had previously set up for them. It was only after she had placed the popcorn bowl neatly between them that she had realized that she had turned on Clue. Taking a handful of popcorn, she turned to him after she had finished chewing, “Have you ever seen Clue before?”
“No, I haven’t,” Adrien said before popping in his own handful of popcorn into his mouth.
Barely even registering what she was doing, she brushed a hand against his shoulder, grinning happily at him, “It’s a classic! I bet you’ll love it!”
He looked at her briefly with a wide smile before returning his attention back to the television. As the two got into the movie, the closer they drew together, practically huddled under the same blanket. So focused on the scene in front of her, Marinette didn’t realize that both of their hands were reaching for the bowl, and just like she had fantasized before their fingers brushed together. Her eyes widening, she jerked her hand out of the bowl, scrambling further away from him in the process. She didn’t notice Adrien’s brow furrow briefly before she was giving him a wide, awkward smile, “Sorry, sorry! Ahead you go! I-I mean you go ahead.”
“No, it’s fine,” he chuckled sheepishly, pushing the bowl towards her as he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, “You go ahead.”
“Thanks!” she chirped out rather forcefully, grabbing a bite before turning back to the movie. Marinette clenched her eyes shut as she shook her head slightly at herself.
Why did you do that?! You just made everything so awkward! Why couldn’t it have been like my dream!? Ugh,
she berated herself mentally. Soon, though, the designer’s embarrassment ebbed away as she got back into the final scenes of the movie.
When the movie ended, Adrien turned to her with a wide smile, “You were right, Marinette! That was a really good movie! It left me guessing until the very end.”
She giggled shyly before grabbing for the remote, “Do you have time for one more, or do you have to go?”
“I suppose I can convince my father that I won’t be home for another couple of hours,” he grinned, nudging her side with his elbow.
Marinette laughed, gathering her courage before nudging him back playfully. Turning on another movie, she sunk back into the couch as the opening sequence began playing. About halfway into it, she was hit by a wave of sleepiness. Her eyes blinked towards the time on her phone, which revealed that it wasn’t that late at night. Chalking it up to Hawkmoth keeping her up for the past three nights, she fought against the drowsiness. Shaking her head only made the exhaustion worse and her eyes glanced over at Adrien.
I need to stay awake for Adrien
, Marinette thought determinedly. She managed to keep her droopy eyes open through another few minutes but it was pointless. Unable to fight against the sleepiness, her head eventually began to fall along with her eyes. Snuggling into the warmth against her side, she let the sleep overtake her and smiled into her temporary pillow.
In what felt like only a few seconds later, Marinette was being shaken awake, “Huh? Wha? I’m up!” she shrieked, rubbing at her eyes tiredly.
“Hey, sorry to wake you up, but I’ve got to go now. I may have stayed a little later then I had expected,” Adrien was standing in front of her, looking a little more rumpled than usual.
And what was that about?
Marinette thought as she looked at him curiously. Her eyes blinked blearily over to the TV only to notice that the movie had stopped and was now a black screen. Frowning, she looked over at her phone to check the time only to see that it was a couple of hours after she had last checked. Her eyes widening to the size of saucers, she stood up, “Oh my god, Adrien, I’m so sorry!! Why did you let me sleep for so long?”
“Well, to be honest, I kinda fell asleep too,” he grinned sheepishly at her, rubbing the back of his neck, “Guess I was more tired than I thought.”
“Are you going to get in trouble?! I can explain! This was
definitely
my fault! I’ll tell him I fell asleep and that you didn’t want to wake me!” Marinette panicked, looking around her room as though she could find a way to keep them both out of trouble.
“Hey, it’s alright, Marinette. I already told him that we both fell asleep. He understands. I think, anyway,” Adrien chuckled, giving her a crooked grin, “But I just wanted to say thank you for having me over. I had a really great time tonight!”
“Oh, of course, Adrien! It was no trouble at all! And seriously, if you do get in trouble, tell him to call me and I’ll explain,” she gave him a soft look with an even softer smile.
He looked at her, his emerald eyes brimming with an unreadable expression, “Thanks again, Marinette,” Adrien seemed to fidget nervously for a second before brushing a kiss against her cheeks.
Her face burned a bright red, barely noticing as he ducked out the door and down the stairs to the bakery. She blinked wildly, her hand coming up to wave at the air, as a silly smile spread across her face, “B-bye Adrien,” Marinette giggled girlishly, her hands coming up to cup her cheek as she cheered.
|
Jack found himself wandering near the front gates, wiping the angry tears from his eyes. He wasn’t sure where exactly he was going, but all he wanted to do was walk. Jack didn’t want to think of anything. He didn’t want to think he hoped to have a family again. He didn’t want to think about Bunny, and he didn’t want to think how much he was missing his dad.
Jack sighed as he ended up leaning against the gates and looked out into the forest. What was he suppose to do now? Bunny had promised he get someone to teach him. Would it be Ombric? That would be nice since he liked both him and Katherine. Although, from Jack’s understanding it was rare for a magic user to take on two apprentices.
So, did that mean Jack would be sent with some stranger? Jack shut his eyes in thought. Maybe if he was lucky he could ask North, Tooth or Sandy to teach him or would Bunny consider that too close to home for his tastes?
“I wish I knew what to do,” Jack muttered.
“Jack,” a voice whispered.
The boy jumped as he looked around. “W-Who said that?”
“Jack,” the voice called again, coming from outside the gates. He peered ahead and gasped as he saw a ghostly figure staring back at him in between the trees.
Jack’s throat went dry as he made out the face. There was no way? “Dad?”
“Jack,” the ghost with his father’s face called again before disappearing into the woods.
“N-No, wait!” Jack called. Was it possible? Did his father’s spirit come back to talk? Wait, magic existed so why not ghosts?! Jack glanced back to where the mansion was. He had been told to not leave the grounds because it was the boundaries of the protection wards, but Jack couldn’t pass up his chance.
Besides, Jack thought as he stepped passed through the gates, it’s not like I’m Bunny’s problem anymore. Jack ran into the woods and looked around. “Dad?!” he called. “Dad?!”
“Jack,” the voice whispered into his ears. Jack spun around, and saw the ghostly figure of his father float among the trees.
“Wait up,” he called as he raced to catch up. However the ghost always stayed ahead of Jack, as if beckoning for him to keep up.
“Jack,” it continued to call to him.
“I said, wait up!” Jack pleaded as he struggled to duck to avoid being scratched by the tree branches. Finally, in a small clearing the ghost stopped and held out his arms, beckoning to him.
“Jack,” his father whispered in a warm tone.
Jack swallowed hard as he approached and reached out. “Dad? I can’t believe it’s really-”
Suddenly, the ghost vanished,turning into wisps of smoke. “W-What?!” Jack exclaimed in confusion.
“Gotcha!” A pair of thick strong arms grabbed Jack from behind, and pinned his arms to his back.
Jack struggled, and paled as he turned into Onyx’s grinning face. “No!” he screamed and tried to break free. “Let go!”
“Now, is that anyway to treat an old friend,” Pitch said as he appeared from behind a tree and grinned. “Especially all the trouble I into creating that ghost just for you.”
“That was you?!” Jack hissed and tried to move to kick Pitch, but Onyx held him steady.
“You’re not the only one that can do tricks, Jack,” Pitch said as held up a bottle. “This stuff is hard to make, however it creates a lovely vapor image of any photograph I spill it on.”
Jack shook his head in disbelief. “No way, that voice was my dad’s-”
“It’s amazing what a simple recording can do isn’t?,” Pitch said as he held up a tape player and pressed the play button.
“Jack,” the his father’s voice said on the recorder “is one of my greatest treasures-”
Pitch hit the stop button as Jack’s eyes widened. He knew where that was from, an interview his father had done years ago for a local tv station. Jack cursed. It was all a trick and he fell for it. How can he been so stupid?!
Pitch chuckled, and he yanked a cork out of a bottle. “You look tired, Jack,” he held a bottle to Jack’s nose, “why don’t you take a nap?”
Jack tried to turn his head away, but Pitch grasped his chin and forced Jack to breath in the vapors. A sickly, sweet smell filled Jack’s nose. He found it hard to concentrate, and become dizzy as Onyx let go of him. Jack tried to run, but he stumbled and collapsed on the ground.
Pitch loomed over him as Jack felt his eyelids grow heavy. “Don’t worry, Jack, we’ll take good care of you,” Pitch mocked.
Jack heard the man chuckle as he was forced to shut his eyes, and let sleep claim him.
080808080808080808080808080808080808080808080
“Jack!” Bunny called as he ran. “Come on, Kiddo! I need ta talk ta ya!” He frowned as he kneeled to the ground. Where could the kid have gone to? Bunny’s ears twitched as he found the trail of Jack’s scent and it lead him to the gates.
Bunny gripped Jack’s staff as he looked around. This wasn’t right, where was Jack? That was when Bunny realized Jack’s trail went beyond the gates into the woods. The Pooka felt a knot of worry grow inside. Jack knew he shouldn’t leave the ground without telling them...but he did.
Bunny raced a few meters out in the the woods, and froze as he picked up another scent.
It was faint, yet the smell burned the hairs in Bunny’s nose. It was an oily scent, and made Bunny flinch. There was no doubt it was one of Pitch’s potions. Bunny gave a growl. Pitch was here ,and somehow he had tricked Jack out in order to lure Bunny into a trap.
Bunny’s gripped tightened on Jack’s staff as he instantly went after the scent. There was no time to go after the others. Bunny had to go while the trail was fresh, and who knows what Pitch would do to Jack the longer he had him. He needed to get Jack back now!
0808080808080808080808080808080808080808080
At the same moment, North became still as he looked to both Tooth and Sandy in alarm. “Something is wrong,” he declared as he rose from his chair.
Tooth looked up, and exchanged a confused look with Sandy. “What do you mean?”
“With Jack, and Bunny,” North said as he patted his stomach, “I feel it in belly.”
“They might be having an argument,” Tooth said, gently. “Jack, did get the wrong impression on what Bunny was saying.”
Sandy frowned as he shut his eyes for a moment, but then suddenly, widened in alarm and nodded in agreement.
“See, Sandy sense it too,” North said as he left the kitchen and reached for his coat. “I don’t know what, but I sense they are in danger. My belly is never wrong!”
Tooth chewed her bottom lip. She had to admit, North’s gut instinct was almost as accurate as Sandy’s predictions. “We better find them then,” she declared. “Come on! They both already got a head start on us!”
The two men wasted no time to trail after Tooth out the door.
08080808080808080808080808080808080808080808080
Jack moaned as a sickening sweet smell filled his nose, and forced him to cough.
“Welcome back to the land of the living, Jack.”
Jack blinked as his vision cleared and saw Pitch looming over him as he put a cork back into a bottle. “Pitch!” Jack snarled and tried to move. Unfortunately, he found his hands had been tied behind his back and he had been propped up against the tree.
“Don’t bother,” Pitch said as he tucked the bottle back into his coat, “even if you could get free Onyx would catch faster than you can blink.”
The homunculus waved from his spot next to the tree to which Jack responded with a glare. “You’re not getting Bunny, he’s-”
“The Pooka is not my concern at the moment,” Pitch said as he sat on a stump. “I wish to make you an offer, Jack.”
“What?” Jack breathed. He must have hit his head before he blacked out. “Are you more nuts than usual? After what you did to me, why would I take anything you offer?”
“Because I can give you what you want,” Pitch said as Onyx handed over an old newspaper and he held up an article of Jack’s father. “I wasn’t aware your father was such a skilled magician,” he gave a chuckle. “I looked up some of his old shows, and they almost made me believe they were real magic.”
Jack swallowed as he tried to keep his face emotionless. “So what? Why do you care?”
“I care about this part of the interview where you were actually quoted,” Pitch said as he pointed to the line. “Your dream to be a magician just like your father? That must still be true since you still perform your magic tricks.”
Jack went silent and lowered his gaze to the ground, unsure if he should answer. He didn’t like that Pitch seemed to know that part of him. “So what if I do?”
“Well, rather difficult to become one with your new magic,” Pitch said with a sigh. “Never mind your slow age progression you’ve aquired, it’s rather hard to keep separate what is a trick and what is real magic isn’t?” Pitch gave a smirk. “It was how I was able to find you so easily.”
Jack tensed. “What’s your point?”
“My point is, you won’t be able to achieve your dream of becoming a magician as you are currently,” Pitch said as he set down the newspaper and grinned, “that is, unless you become my apprentice.”
Jack was silent as he searched Pitch’s face for any sign this was Pitch’s twisted idea of a joke. “You can’t be serious? Even if I was interested, you can’t teach me magic when you don’t have any.”
“Ah, how narrowed mind you are, dear Jack,” Pitch said as he rose and started to walk around Jack and the tree. “I may not have magic, but I’ve spent centuries studying it. I’ve seen your power Jack, it’s clear you have a natural talent.”
“So what?” Jack said as he narrowed his eyes. “You aren’t the only one that knows magic. I can get someone-”
“But they can’t provide you the means to become a magician just like your beloved father.” Jack winced which made Pitch grinned as he paused as his feet. “I can make you famous, even more than your father was.”
“How? “Jack asked, slightly curious.
“I am quite wealthy you know, it’s required for my line of work.” He held out his finger and thumb. “It would only take a drop of my fortune to provide you with what you you need,” Pitch said, “and you don’t become as old as I do without gaining certain connections. I can make your dream come true with no fear of your secret ever being discovered.” He pointed to himself. “I know that all too well myself with balancing between my personal wealth and status while keeping my secrets in the shadows where they should be.”
Jack shook his head. “I don’t get what you get out of it.”
“I’ve been wanting an apprentice to follow in my steps, but I’m very picky” Pitch explained. “With your power Jack, and once mine is awaken, nothing could be standing in our way.”
Jack narrowed his eyes as he turned his head away. “Yeah, well, sorry forget it. I’m not interested in your ‘join the dark side’ speech.”
“Because you think the Pooka will teach you?” Pitch said and Jack froze as the alchemist continued. “I know the Pooka, he prefers being alone. He wouldn’t think you’re worth enough to take on permanently.” Pitch then cupped Jack’s chin and tilt it up for Jack to look directly at him. “But I see your value, Jack. Give it time and I could be like a father to you.”
Jack’s eyes hardened. “I already had a great dad, and even if I wanted a second father, I chop my foot off before I even consider you!”
Pitch scowled, tossing Jack aside and looking tempted to slap him. “You’re going to regret saying those words, Boy,” he said as he let Jack go. “Very well, then you’re going to make perfect bait to lure out the Pooka,” Pitch said as he looked over his shoulder to Onyx. “Guard the boy, while I go and find the giant furball. Remember my earlier instructions.”
“Yes, Master,” Onyx said with a bow as Pitch narrowed his eyes at him.
“Do not fail me,“ Pitch said with a glare, “if I find Jack is gone when I get back, I will take you apart and have you awake for the process.”
Onyx gulped, but gave a shaky nod as Pitch left.
Jack narrowed his eyes as he turned to Onyx. The guy was shaking like a leaf. Was he that scared of Pitch? “Why do you listen to him?” he asked. “He can’t be a fun boss to work for.”
“Because he is my master and creator,” Onyx said, firmly. “It is what I was created to do.”
Jack narrowed his eyes unconvinced. “Just because he created you doesn’t mean you were meant to be his slave.”
Onyx blinked and Jack was surprised by the giant’s eyes softening. “Mistress use to say that to me before she left.”
“Mistress?” Jack asked. He then blinked as his memory clicked. “Pitch’s daughter?”
Onyx paled as he held his finger to his lips. “Hush! It’s forbidden to speak of her!”
“Why?” Jack asked.
“Because it makes the master angry,” he gulped, nervously. ‘And he’s dangerous when angry. So we must not speak of her!”
“But you already did,” Jack said as he leaned back against the tree and raised an eyebrow. “By saying she use to say that and who we shouldn’t be talking about.”
“No...um...I…” Onyx stammered as he turned his back. “Master said not to say her name and I didn’t, but I said what she use to say...this is confusing...um.”
Jack wiggled his fingers free, while Onyx was distracted. If he wanted to get free he needed to cut these ropes and his only hope that a piece of ice would be sharp enough. Jack shut his eyes and concentrated, now very grateful Bunny had taught him how to meditate and tune out the world around him.
His felt the magic sparks fly off his fingers as an icicle formed, but it wouldn’t be sharp enough. Jack took a deep breath, and willed sharp jagged pieces of ice to pop out of the icicle so it was similar with a mini handsaw.
Got it! Jack thought as he positioned his fingers, and started to moved the icicle up and down on the ropes to cut. He had to get loose before Bunny got here. Even if Bunny didn’t want him, he couldn’t sit back and let Pitch get him. Jack had owned him that much.
080808080808080808080808080808080808080808080
Bunny followed the scent deep into the woods, and there was still no sign of the boy. “Jack, where are ya?” he muttered aloud.
“Are you looking for someone, Aster?”
Bunny snarled as he whirled around, and flung a boomerang. Pitch ducked to avoid being hit by it and gave a scowl as the weapon flung back into Bunny’s hand. “That was uncalled for.”
“Where’s Jack?” Bunny snarled.
“Currently in my custody,” Pitch said, “and if you wish to see the boy alive you’ll follow me.”
“And what’s ta stop me from draggin’ yer hide back ta the other Guardians?” Bunny asked as he held up his boomerang.
“Because I gave Onyx clear instructions if I had not returned within half an hour to break the boy’s neck,” Pitch said and smirked as Bunny’s ears folded back. “And don’t bother to try to pick up his scent.” Pitch held up a bottle. “Once we took the boy, I erased his scent trail. It would take hours for you to find him,” Pitch grinned, “alive that is, but if you’re fine finding his corpse-”
“I get the point,” Bunny growled, yet gave a reluctant sigh. “Alright, ya win. Take me ta the lad.”
“Throw your weapons to me first,” Pitch said as he pointed to the boomerang and staff, “both of them.”
Bunny gave a glare as he tossed the boomerang and staff. Pitch caught both in mid-air perfectly, and raised an eyebrow as he ran his fingers over the staff. “I didn’t realize you had acquired a staff.”
Bunny was tempted to say it wasn’t his, but he kept his lips shut. Last thing he needed was for Pitch to know Jack had gained a staff since the last time he saw him.
“Follow me,” Pitch said as he lead the way, “Jack will be so glad to see you.”
Bunny’s fists tightened, but he could only silently follow Pitch deeper into the woods.
|
Virta sat in the coffee shop, in a corner by herself with her back to the wall so she had a clear view of the whole place.
She didn't want to be around too many people, but she didn't want to be home by herself either. She just wanted to see Athan. But would he find her here? She stirred her coffee as she thought back over the day.
Virta opened her eyes that morning to an empty apartment. A glance at the clock showed it was well past noon. She'd slept that long? In Heaven, she only needed a few hours of sleep each night. Wow. So much of the day was already gone.
In the shower, she watched the water streaming down her body and saw no evidence of her rough, first day on Earth. No bruises. There should have been bruises – in the shape of fingerprints even, where Athan had squeezed into her flesh with his large hands.
So, he must have "fixed" her in her sleep. She was grateful in a way, but then again, she found herself wondering what else he had tinkered with... her mind, possibly? No, she decided. After all, the memories of last night were as clear as a bell.
Virta finished getting ready and walked down the building to Mandi's apartment. Nobody was home.
She decided to go find Athan. But no matter how many times she walked and felt and searched for the pocket, it was gone. She was sure she wasn't just overlooking it. No, it was like it had never existed.
She was getting funny looks from standing and walking with both arms out, feeling around in the air like a mime. Loneliness and sadness sunk in when she realized she wasn't going to find it. She stood there, lost in thought, as the crowd milled around her on the street.
Where was Athan? Why was he avoiding her? Maybe that explained why he didn't wanted to stick around last night: he was itching to move out before she woke up and came looking for him.
Her thoughts turned to Mick as she walked back to her apartment. She hadn't Fallen yet. It was not official. If only she could hear his voice. But, she had no way to talk to him now. And he considered her an enemy.
Virta entered her apartment and shut the door. Immediately, she sensed that she wasn't alone.
She turned around. There in front of her was a tiny woman. Virta recognized her instantly. She wouldn't forget the long blonde hair and the chocolate brown eyes. The woman from the video.
"Hello, Virta. I'm Rose."
"I know who you are. What do you want?"
Rose smiled. "You were supposed to bring in Athan. But there's a problem. You aren't going to do it."
"I don't see how it's any of your business. And, you broke into my home. I don't appreciate that."
"It IS my business. Anything to do with Athan is my business. And I didn't break into your home. You forgot to lock the door."
"Are you a demon?" Virta asked doubtfully. Perhaps demons weren't always strapping seven-footers...
"No. Eww. Why would I be?" Rose's expression changed from disgust to one of amusement. "You think because I want to see your boyfriend get what he deserves that I'm evil? Just like you, I came down here on assignment to bring him in. Just like you, I played the convincing love-sick little angel for Athan. And then, when we made love, I put the relic on him."
Virta gasped.
"I was bringing him in when we were ambushed by his friend. I lost my weapons, my backup. They gave their lives so I could escape. I managed to hide for a couple days. When the time came, I had to go meet Banner, alone, in the dark. But Athan found me first."
"I don't think I wanna hear what happened next."
"Why not, girl? Face up to reality. But, I'll spare you all the unsavory details for now. Let's just say, he was going to kill me, but one of his men was there undercover, for Heaven. He worked with me. He convinced Athan to let him put me in a holding pocket for a while. That's when I made my escape." Rose smiled. "I've been biding my time, hiding out... until you came."
"Me?"
"Someone who had the means and position to bring him down. We'll work together. I already have word that your appointment has been moved up. Banner is meeting us tomorrow night."
"Banner's coming here tomorrow?" No. This was all too soon.
"I know he's disappointed in me," Rose said, twirling some hair in her fingers. "But I can still make it right. I can still have everything I want. And the same goes for you. You'll be rewarded."
"I don't want any heavenly reward. And I won't work with you. I don't know you; I don't trust you."
Without warning, Rose slammed a relic into Virta's chest.
Virta fell to the floor in a heap as the power instantly drained from her cells. At first, she felt shock, confusion, but then her stomach and the room was swirling and her head was spinning, and the pain, oh the pain. She flickered in and out of consciousness, but unmercifully, her awareness returned and she was full of fear, helplessness.
The worst part was the extreme emptiness inside her, as if her soul was being sucked away into the device clinging to her chest. Even her torture under Medic had never taken away her will to live. But this... She'd never felt anything like this. Instantly, she wished for death. She could hear and see and feel, but she was utterly, completely paralyzed. Her vocal chords wouldn't work. She couldn't even cry.
She heard Rose's voice above her.
"I found it in your half-eaten carton of ice cream," she said. "What can I say, I got hungry waiting around here for you.
It seemed like forever passed, and then Rose said, "So, what do you think of the relic? Isn't that just the wildest thing? But don't worry, I'm not going to hurt you. Here, I'm taking it off of you. That proves you can trust me now."
Virta lay sprawled on the floor for several minutes after the relic was removed. It was hard to recover. It was as if her whole body had fallen asleep and now it was painfully, slowly, waking up with sharp stabs and tingles. At least she had her voice again.
"You fucking insane bitch," she gasped.
"Come on baby girl, you must be tougher than that. I just had it on you for 10 seconds. When my friends and I were at parties, we would shove those on each other for a few minutes at a time, just for the fun of it. Well, it wasn't fun for the one wearing it." She laughed.
"You're nuts. I'm not helping you. I could never do that to him. It's sealed in my mind now if it wasn't before. I will never put a relic on him."
"Oh, but you will. Just wait til you've spent some more time around him. Don't think the two of you have anything together. He'll tell you shit in that smooth, seductive voice. He'll act all sweet. Here's a clue: It's called acting."
Virta slowly got to her feet, using the wall for support. She wanted so much to shut this woman up, but she felt weak, drained.
"You know, you talk a lot more now than you did in that video," she said. "It's annoying."
Rose ignored that.
"Banner told me he wasn't pleased with how things were going on your end. So, he wanted me to work with you. You really don't have a choice."
Rose held up a small device and pushed a button. The General's unmistakable voice boomed out.
"Tell that horny bitch, Virta, that if she doesn't work with you to bring Athan to me, that Mick is going down: to the Mines and Hell that is, after he's had about a month of torture. I've got some new talent in here. Would love to test them out on a paper-pusher like Mick. And I'll make sure he knows it's all her fault. Every bit of his pain and blood and suffering."
There was a click.
"No!" Virta was angry. They might do shit to her, but Mick was her best friend. He was just a good, decent guy. He didn't deserve this.
She looked desperately into Rose's brown eyes.
"You will do everything I say if you want your friend Mick to be OK."
Tears started falling down Virta's cheeks.
"What, you think Athan is going to change and become a cuddly little puppy in your arms? Don't be a fool, Virta. Learn from what happened to me. Even if he decided to keep you around a while, you wouldn't make it in his world. Heartbreak awaits you, girl."
Virta didn't speak. How could this little woman be so menacing?
"I used to be have a large, intimidating body in Heaven," Rose said, as if reading her thoughts. She sounded bitter and her face was twisted up in anger. "The agents in Sending didn't give me the body I chose for my mission. I think someone up there thought they could play a joke on me."
Her eyes blazed with fury.
"Just wait til I get back up there. They'll wish they'd never been made. Anyway, don't think for a minute, that just because I'm in a small package that I'm weak like you, you big-ass bitch."
"God, how did Athan ever think he loved you?"
Rose reached up and smacked Virta across the face. Virta gasped and held onto her cheek.
"Because the whole thing was a mission from the start. The info he had in his file about me was planted there. There were people in his camp who were planted there, deep undercover. It was all a setup: a potential convert crying for help behind the walls of Heaven. A pretty one too. He couldn't resist. I just didn't count on getting caught. I was so close to delivering the goods to Banner." Rose was steaming mad.
"It's no wonder he freaked out on me," Virta said. "I think he wanted so much to trust in me. But you damaged him. He came unglued when he saw the relic."
When she heard that, Rose's expression went from anger to pure giddiness. She laughed and clapped her hands together in glee. "God, I wish I could have seen his face when that happened. I would have taken a picture. Priceless. The relic - it's like a trigger for him."
Rose looked bright and cheerful at the thought of it. "I'm surprised he didn't just unleash himself on you. He has the powers of a god, you know."
Virta shivered. "I don't even know where he is. The place he took me to last night is gone."
"Hmm. Did you compromise it in any way?"
Virta thought. "Well, I used a radio device in it that Mick had given me. But then I destroyed it, threw it in the trash."
"Well, there you go, silly. He found it. I mean, he knows what those things are. He knows you gave him up to the General."
"What? No. I said I destroyed it. And Mick wouldn't tell anyone where we were."
"Oh, you'd be surprised what someone will do when their neck is on the chopping block. And Athan wasn't going to take a chance. He packed up and left, honey."
She must have seen the look in Virta's eyes, because Rose quickly added, "Hey, it's not a problem for our mission. He's bound to come looking for you before the day is out."
Virta swallowed. "Why?"
"Why do you think? God, will you stop being so stupid?" Rose spat at her. "You're gonna have to play along, you dumb cunt. Do you get that, Virta? Play along!"
Virta breathed out a huge sigh and shook her head. Finally, she looked at Rose. "I just don't know. I'm scared. Something could go wrong, like it did with you. How am I supposed to do this?"
"OK, I get that you're the type that has to experience things yourself before you'll take action. Fine. You won't have a problem talking yourself into it after he starts savaging you in the sack. By the end of the night, after your body is all torn up... you'll wish you'd listened to me."
Rose reached down and picked up her bag.
"Put the relic on him, she said. "Then, call me. I'll come by. We'll take him to the General."
Rose was smiling happily as she gave Virta her number.
Virta opened her mouth, but Rose cut her off: "Don't say anything now. Wait. Wait until later tonight, tomorrow, I don't care. But you will call me."
"Fine," Virta said through gritted teeth, holding the door open. Virta watched the little angel leave her apartment. She'd left the relic behind. It was glimmering on the table.
Virta had noticed a coffee shop last night on their way to Athan's place. She decided to go there. On her way out the door, she picked up the relic, put it in her pocket, and left.
Now she sat there, stirring her coffee and waiting for Athan.
* * *
Mandi was walking home by herself in the dark.
The bar wasn't far from where she lived. She'd walked it many times before, but usually in the company of a man.
She hadn't been at the bar very long tonight. Being there didn't make her feel any better. It was amazing how lonely she could feel in a crowd of people. At the bar, she was constantly hit on by guys, but she didn't want to be with them. She just wanted a drink.
She'd stayed with her friend last night and all of today, but that situation was bringing her down even more. She didn't want to think about angels and demons and monsters.
It was strange how she could get the impression of being watched in such a crowded place. But there it was. It made her uncomfortable. She decided to leave.
She dug her phone out of her bag as she walked. When she turned a corner, she literally ran into two men. She raised her phone, but one of them slapped it out of her hand. She heard it clatter on the sidewalk.
"Where are you going by yourself, baby?" the one in the red shirt asked. He looked to be in his mid-twenties. His friend was older, and not nearly as thin. She gasped as she recognized them from the bar. She'd turned them both down for sex tonight.
"Get out of my way," she said. She tried to brush past them, but they blocked her way.
"It isn't safe out here in the dark by yourself," the older one said, as he put an arm around her. "I'm Phil, and this is Derrick."
"But you can call me Rick," said the one in the red shirt, smiling.
Rick moved closer, and she could smell the alcohol and cigarettes on his breath.
"I don't care who you are. Just let me go."
"Now, Mandi, we just want to talk to you. So you better be nice to us. Right, Phil?"
"How do you know my name?" she asked, shrugging Phil's arm off of her.
They laughed. She tried to move away, but Rick grabbed her and backhanded her across the face. She was stunned, and fell back against Phil. Before she could start screaming, he clamped his smelly hand over her mouth.
"Thought you'd tell me no back at the club? You won't tell me no again," he hissed in her ear.
"We've watched you for a while now," Rick said, letting his eyes slide up and down her body. "You bring guys home all the time. So it don't make no sense why you turned us down. Think we're not good enough for you?
She tried to shake her head, but Phil's hand was still clamped over her mouth, and his other arm was wrapped around her middle, preventing her from moving very much. She began to fight as hard as she could, bucking and kicking. Her foot landed on Phil's shin and she broke free, running.
Rick caught her. Again, a hand was on her mouth, and she was dragged into a nearby alley. It was considerably well-lit and she saw the gleam of a knife in Phil's hands.
"If you scream, I'll cut your throat."
She felt Rick's hand release from her mouth.
"Haven't seen you in the bar for a while," Phil said. "Thought maybe you had a boyfriend."
"Yeah, what happened?" Rick asked over her shoulder. He moved to stand in front of her, one arm pressing her back against the wall. "Did the two of you break up? You must be lonely then, huh? I have just the thing for that." He began to unfasten his jeans.
"No! Leave me alone!" She punched and kicked, and tried to break free. That got her another backhand across the face. She was pushed up harder against the wall.
Rick reached under her skirt. She felt his rough hands on her thighs, groping her. Phil started pawing her through her blouse. All she could see was red from Rick's shirt.
God, no. How could this be happening, again? And these were apparently just regular guys, nothing supernatural here.
Maybe she'd imagined all that stuff with Virta and Heath and Athan. Yes, she'd imagined it all. She was crazy. That had to be it. Somehow her mind had created all that junk to cope with the things she'd endured in her life.
Just then, a huge shadow swallowed up the entrance to the alley.
The men looked at the same time she did. For a second, Mandi felt hopeful that it was Virta and her man, Athan, come to rescue her yet again.
On the one hand, she missed Virta, and on the other hand, she never wanted to be reminded of that mess. Yet here she was just 24 hours later in a similar mess. She'd take any help she could get.
She yanked her skirt back down. Rick and Phil were now distracted by the threatening form coming their way. The dim lamplight passed over his features, and she gasped. Mandi looked up at that short, blond hair and those dark brown eyes, and there was no mistaking who it was. Heath.
Oh, no. She groaned. Her legs turn to jelly. Her situation, as bad as it was before, just got a helluva lot worse.
The two men got into a fighting stance.
"This don't concern you. She's my girlfriend, not that it's any of your business" Rick said.
"She IS my business," came the voice she knew all too well.
"If you're smart, you'll turn around and get the fuck out of here."
"What, and leave you pieces of shit to have all the fun?" Heath was moving toward them.
Phil brandished the knife at Heath, who was now within arm's length of the two men. "Who the hell do you think you are?"
"I'm her guardian angel," Heath sneered.
He reached out and grabbed both of the men, one in each hand. He crashed their skulls together. They fell, still as death, at Mandi's feet. She wanted to scream, but no sound came out. It was all just too much for her mind to take. She moved away and felt herself sink to the ground.
"Heath," she breathed.. There was no use to try to run. She knew how this worked. He leaned down and pulled her back to her feet.
"Going out behind my back, huh, Mandi?" he snarled, but there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. "I'm gone for 24 hours and you're already spreading your legs for other guys."
It was his usual sentiment, only delivered with less venom than she was used to. It surprised her.
That's when she noticed he was wounded, with blood and gashes on his body, and rips in his clothing. He was leaning against the wall for support. The arm that grasped her was trembling. Daring to peer up into his face, she saw that it was also battered.
So, Athan's men had been beating him, torturing him. Well, good. But now he was definitely going to take it out on her. Maybe he'd just get down to the business of killing her, without the usual mind games and bravado.
"You're hurt," she said.
"It's nothing."
There were no more words between them for a moment. The only sound was his strained breathing. Slowly, he removed his hand from her and just leaned against the wall, his large body between her and the exit.
"How did you get free?"
Heath laughed in a raspy voice. "Athan really needs to do better background checks on his people," he said. "Seems like someone always slips through the cracks. Oh, and nobody is going to rescue you this time. The traitor in Athan's camp is for sale. He told the others he's guarding you tonight."
"Did you kill them?" She glanced at the men on the ground at their feet.
"Let me check. Uh, yeah, I did," he answered quickly, without so much as glancing down at their bodies.
"Did - did you know they were were going to hurt me?"
"Of course. I read every dirty, illegal thought in their brains. But, I don't think they're creative enough. Besides, that's MY job. And I came to finish it." He grinned at her. She'd forgotten how beautiful his smile was.
She heard his ragged, catching breath as he moved closer. He seemed weakened and in pain. But she knew he was still very dangerous. He pushed her gently against the wall, caging her in.
"After I've finished with you, I'll drop in for a little visit with your angel. Athan will pay last of all."
"You don't look like you're in any shape to mess with him," she said softly. Mandi felt Heath's breath on her cheek. She put a hand on his steely arm to push against him, but it only resulted in his hot blood running down her arm, dampening her skin and clothing.
"Yeah, I need some time to recover and heal. Healing balm, all that. But killing YOU doesn't take any strength."
Her eyes went back to the two men lying dead, their skulls crushed instantly.
"Then just kill me now and get it over with."
Please, I can't take whatever you have in mind, she wanted to say.
She ducked under his arm and he let her go, turning to watch as she stepped over the body of one of the men. It was the one in red with his pants unzipped, Rick. She saw the knife by Phil's hand.
"Don't waste your time," Heath said. "It won't hurt me. But I could turn it on you. It would do lots and lots of damage."
She turned and looked back up at him. The hopelessness of her situation was sinking in further.
Heath just leaned against the wall and watched her.
"It was better when I was fucking with your memory, wasn't it?" he said. "When you could go on thinking I loved you and that you meant something to me? A part of you would go back to that in a heartbeat right now, wouldn't you? It was a bittersweet fantasy."
Was he going to do something to her mind now? She held her arms around herself protectively and looked up at him. "But that's all it was... fantasy. And in the end, you were going to kill me anyway. So I guess you win after all."
Mandi turned toward the entrance to the alley. She took a few steps toward it. He still hadn't moved. How weakened was he? He seemed slow. Maybe she could escape after all.
"I'd love to see you try," he hissed. She turned and saw the look in his eyes - he was daring her to run.
"Please," she said. "Don't hurt me anymore. Be merciful, just this once."
He laughed, and it came out throaty and dry. "Please," he said, mocking. "I've heard the same thing for thousands of years... begging, pleading. What makes you think I'd have pity on you? What makes you any more special than all the other weak, pathetic humans I've slaughtered?"
Nothing, she realized. Nothing at all. Still, she couldn't just give up. Could she?
"You don't have to do this. You were a good angel in Heaven once, right? In the beginning? It's not too late. You can be good again."
Heath chuckled. "Nice try."
"But why me? What are you getting out of this?"
"A lot of money."
"That's all this is about?"
"Hey, it was always just a job. After you're dead, I'll have another job, and another. And I'll do them the same way I did you. I'll get paid, and I'll enjoy my work."
"Who are you working for?"
"I'm an independent contractor. A lot of people want my skills and expertise. But this job? Heaven."
"What do you mean, Heaven?"
"Heaven... you know, 'up there', angels, singing, fluffy white clouds? Should I go on?"
She couldn't digest what he was saying. No, Heaven was paying some thug to terrorize her?
Why was she even born? Why didn't God just strike her dead with a bolt of lightning or something? She began to cry.
Mandi was at the entrance to the alley now. Another step and she'd be out the door. But she knew he would catch her. She could scream, but he would shut her up. Nothing was going to change.
She leaned against the wall of the building, her forehead propped against it as though the wall could provide comfort and support from her unspeakable situation. She never thought she'd have to see Heath again. Never thought she 'd have to be this afraid again.
But now she was beyond afraid... she was just numb. Just waiting for it to be done and over with. Yes, she thought. This is good, this is good. Not many people get to know exactly when they will die. It will all be over, and then I won't have to feel the pain, the fear.
She heard him shuffling over to her and braced herself for impact. She felt his large hand clamp down on her shoulder, just resting there. She looked down at his hand... his hand could deal her death in a second. Or, it could prolong her misery for as long as he saw fit. She suddenly felt appreciation for his hands. They would be her salvation. Her way out of the fear, the pain, the horror that was her life.
Her brown eyes lifted to look into his. In the dim light, she couldn't read what was in them. But she already knew what was there.
Fear came bubbling up inside her yet again. She much preferred the numbness, the apathy.
"Well," she said, trying to keep her voice steady despite the rising panic. "What are you waiting for?"
He seemed unsure of himself. It surprised her. Maybe he was hurt much worse than she thought. What could he be planning? She looked down to see blood dripping onto the concrete from his arms and hands.
He cleared his throat.
She knew what he would say next. Something to the effect of: he was going to finish what he started in the alley last night.... and it was just too bad that Virta couldn't join them, but her guardian angel was too busy fucking a demon to look after her... and when he was done fucking Mandi, he was going to kill her. Yeah, that's what he was going to say. It was so like him.
"Just get the fuck on with it," she said through gritted teeth.
He didn't move or speak, and she looked up angrily. Mandi gave him a push. Pushing against him was like pushing a brick wall, and she was the one who was moved backwards with her effort.
A glimmer of amusement passed through his eyes in the streetlight, then faded.
"So what are you waiting for, tough guy? Do what you've gotta do. You've got a job to finish. Money and your reputation are on the line, here." In her state of terror, goading him on became natural, a means to propel him to finish her, hopefully quickly.
He still didn't speak for a moment. He actually sighed wearily, as if all this was a chore to him now. Taking her hands in his, he backed up while pulling her forward, further into the alley.
"Alright," he said, releasing her hands. "Strip."
"Fuck you, Heath," she said, even as her fingers moved against her will, to undo the buttons on her blouse.
So he was going to make her suffer first. Well, that WAS his style. Her eyes flickered to the two dead men on the ground. How had they been so lucky to go so quickly? She glared up at the demon.
"I hate you," she said.
Again, no comeback. No threat to shut her up.
Heath turned and limped back into the alley a short distance. Why did he seem so distracted? She removed her blouse, letting it fall to the ground.
Heath turned around then, silently watching her. She was unbuttoning her skirt and it fell around her ankles.
He still seemed unsure of himself and it annoyed her. Whatever he was playing at, it just didn't work for her. He was too quiet, too slow. She was surprised to realize that she much preferred the taunting, mocking, mouthy Heath. At least then, she knew what to expect.
He took a slow step toward her. Then he stopped. She reached back to unhook her bra while she glared at him defiantly, angrily.
"Stop," Heath growled.
Mandi obeyed immediately, hands dropping back to her sides. She watched and waited for what he would do next. And still, he just remained there, silhouetted in the dark alley. He took a deep breath, as if he were going to say something.
But a large object dropped into the alley right behind him. At the same time, Heath jerked; spasmed. She heard his breath catch and then a grunt, a groan. There was the sound of wet ripping, crunching, sloshing.
Heath fell forward, and she had no time to react. His hands landed on her shoulders, but she couldn't hold him up. His weight and momentum caused her to collapse to the ground, and he was going down on top of her. She knew she'd be crushed, but he somehow caught himself before he landed on her body. She was on her back between his legs, looking up into his eyes, which now seemed colorless but filled with bewilderment, anger, and fear. Their eyes locked for a moment, and then he was suddenly back on his feet, turning to face whoever, whatever had attacked him.
That's when she saw the huge knife wound in his back. It had initially plunged into his upper back, but had been pulled all the way down to his lower back in a nasty, open gash that laid bare muscle and internal organs.
The attacker moved and Mandi's horrified gaze went to him. He was dressed all in black and wearing a ski mask. The man plunged the knife into Heath's chest. Heath cried out, and again, the man ripped the blade out, twisting as he removed it.
Even in the low light, she could tell this was not an ordinary knife. It seemed to glow from within, even though it was covered in Heath's blood.
Heath sank to the ground, then he fell onto his side, his head at Mandi's feet.
The man with the knife started to walk past Heath, toward Mandi. He was wielding the knife, and he was coming straight for her.
Heath's arm shot out as quick as a cat and grabbed the attacker around the ankle, jerking him off his feet. There was a struggle on the ground and more sounds of wet stabbing. Mandi scooted further back from the chaos going on next to her.
The man with the knife pulled himself into a sitting position with his back to the wall, and he was panting, staring down at Heath.
"It's over. You're not going to hurt her," the man said.
Mandi watched Heath's body shaking in a pool of his own blood. His face was pulled into a tight grimace.
"What the fuck," he muttered, one hand held over the gaping wounds in his chest. Blood was pouring out. Mandi saw the pool of blood enlarging around him, and flowing around the two men he'd killed. It was running toward her feet, and she moved back even more.
Heath tried to get back to his feet. He slid in his blood, and went back to the ground with a grunt.
"Nice... bad-ass knife... you... got there..."
Mandi heard a unique calm in Heath's voice. His breath was loud and gasping as he shook with effort to get air in and out, and to speak.
"Good choice... Joab Combat ASH-1. .. I can ... appreciate... death by th-that blade."
The stranger gripping the knife said nothing. He just leaned against the wall, breathing heavy and shaking.
"But I sh-should at least know... who the coward is who... stabbed me in the back...."
The man grabbed his mask and tore it off. "The name's Mick," he said.
Heath coughed hard for a moment. "What, the desk jocky for U-Sec, internal affairs? No... No.... I can't be k-killed by you, god...dammit." He coughed some more and spit up blood, choking on it.
His blood seemed to be everywhere, Mandi realized with growing horror. Its slick blackness was shining on the ground, on the men, on the alley walls, and she could feel it all over her. Spatters of it.
Mandi tried to get to her feet. Heath's eyes were only on her now, and he was still trying to get up.
Heath held out one large hand toward her. They locked eyes for an excruciatingly long moment. Mandi felt something stirring in her mind... was he trying to will her to fall down dead with him? Killing her with his last conscious thought?
"M-Mandi," he said. He made it to his knees, reaching out for her. "Mandi...."
The man plunged the knife into the side of Heath's neck. Heath fell forward, dead.
Mandi looked up at the man who'd killed Heath. She could see no features, but he was getting to his feet.
She shrank back.
"It's OK," he said, slowly approaching her, still holding the bloody knife. "I'm not going to hurt you." He extended a hand to her. She ignored it, and scooted back further.
"I've heard that before," she said, eying the wicked-looking blade that had just killed a demon. Why wasn't he sheathing the weapon?
She caught a glimpse of his eyes in the light, they looked silvery blue, and wild. He was trembling and his face was a mask of emotions. He looked out of control. And maybe as scared as she was.
She was terrified. Heath, he was the devil she knew. This man, she didn't know. Was he her savior? Or had he killed Heath to get to her? Events were changing too fast for her shocked mind to process.
Mandi got to her feet and ran from the alley. Her will to live was back and strong. She ran and ran.
She saw a cab coming down the street and nearly threw herself out in front of it. It stopped for the hysterical woman in her bra and panties. She opened the door and got in.
The cab driver turned around. He looked about sixty, and had short, salt and pepper hair, dark mahogany skin and shining dark eyes. The eyes. She couldn't look away.
He broke eye contact by turning around, facing forward.
"Do you want to go to the police?" he asked. "A hospital?"
"No. I'm going home. Just drive, please. Drive!"
John gripped the steering wheel and took off. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself. Jesus, the woman had appeared out of the darkness in front of his car, scaring him half to death. She was soaked in blood, just wearing her womanly under-things, crying, screaming. It was enough to give an angel a heart attack.
He glanced at her in the rear view mirror. She was looking frantically out the windows, as if the devil himself was after her. Well, from the looks of things, maybe he was.
"You're safe now, honey," he said in his most soothing, comforting voice.
She didn't answer. He saw now that she was leaning her head back against the seat. Her lips were moving though no sound came out, and she was rocking back and forth with her arms crossed over her body.
They came to a stop light. He pulled his light jacket off the seat beside him and pushed it back to her, avoiding looking at her.
"Here, put that on. You can keep it."
He heard her put on the jacket. She was still quiet. Another glance in the mirror showed she was looking down at the floor, her long dark hair hanging in her face. She was trembling.
Not long after, they pulled up in front of her apartment building.
"You want me to call anyone for you?"
Her eyes shot open. "No!" She looked around, saw her building, and opened the door. "I mean, thank you, but no." Her voice was quiet, and she didn't make eye contact.
He smiled gently. "Things will be fine, miss. You wait and see."
She got out and stood by his side of the car, looking unsure of herself. "I, uh, don't have any money to pay you. It was in my, uh pocket of my...."
"Don't worry about it."
He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile. But their eyes locked again accidently. He saw her flinch and he quickly looked away.
Mandi walked to her front door and turned to watch the cab pull away. When it was out of sight, she reached down and pulled an extra key from under her door mat.
It hit her then, as she stood at the door with key in hand. That's when she realized, she'd never told the cab driver her address. Or, maybe she had and just didn't remember. What did it matter? She was alive and in one piece. She needed a shower and a drink.
Mandi went inside and locked the door.
|
Ranboo dug his nails into his head while roughly pulling his hair as his phone blew up with messages from Discord and Social Media Mentions from his concerned audience and friends.
~~~~
This all started because he had been cleaning up his Spotify playlists. He was about to delete a certain playlist that he made in the past until he hesitated.
“I don’t remember making this?” He said furrowing his eyebrows. Instead of pressing the delete button he pressed the play button. After a few songs like Dollhouse by Melanie Martinez and Parents by Yungblood played he realized he had made this playlist even before he started streaming. He made it after one particularly loud and scary fight his parents had.
Ranboo sighed and went to his bed to lay down. The music started to fade as he was lulled to sleep. The next thing he knew he was engulfed into a dreamless slumber totally forgetting and unaware that since he was a popular streamer, he was always being watched.
~~~~
To say Ranboo was confused was an understatement. Ever since he woke up all of his friends were being weird… More than usual that is. They kept asking how he is and offering moral support? He finally snapped when he entered a call with Wilbur, Phil, Tubbo and Tommy and was immediately greeted with questions about his well being.
“Okay, what the heck is happening?! Why is everybody asking if I’m okay? Did something happen that I should know about?” Ranboo said, barely containing his frustration.
“No nothing happened Big Man… It's just… Well, I think sometimes we all forget that our Spotify activity can be seen by the public.” Tubbo said trailing off at the end. Ranboo sat in confusion for a moment when it finally clicked.
“Oh…” The inside of Ranboo churned. He was frozen, not saying anything and not listening to anything. ‘ Its fine. I can just play it off and say that I like that type of music.’ Ranboo thought to himself.
“-oo. -boo. Ranboo?” He was snapped from his thoughts.
“Hm? Oh sorry. I spaced out for a bit. Yeah sorry for snapping. Long day. I’m fine. I just really like that type of music.” Ranboo said, cringing at the uncertainty in his voice. He scratched the back of his neck hoping, no praying, that his friends wouldn’t push him any further.
“Alright Mr. Boo. Just know that we're all here if you need anything.” Ranboo almost melted at Wilbur's kind words. He also cringed. He hated the pity lacing his voice. He hated the sympathy. All because he could never tell if it was real or fake. With that the call went back to normal. Talking about video ideas and Minecraft things. Ranboo leaned back in his unicorn chair and allowed his brain to wander.
Ranboo fucked up. He knew he did. He was able to convince his friends that he was fine, but his audience was a lot more stubborn. Plus, a lot of them are LGBTQ+. Which means a good amount of them probably had some sort of family issues.
He sighed and walked over to his desk and turned his PC on. While he was waiting for everything to load he decided to go onto Twitter. That was a mistake. His home page was just people asking if he was okay and making up theories of what was happening with Ranboo.
Sadie_Boo22: Ranboo family problem arc?/j
|
OrionBlade: This isn't funny. Imagine Ranboo is actually going through something and this is the first thing he sees.
“Well crap…” Ranboo said while facepalming. How could he be so stupid? He decided to tweet out on his Twitter alt account that he was going to be going live in a few minutes. Aas he was setting up for his stream, he heard a loud crash from downstairs. It sounded like there was yelling. He quickly got up and ran out his door and rushed downstairs. He held his breath. When he didn’t see his parents in the kitchen or dining room he decided to check the front door. What he saw made his stomach drop.
Ranboos mother was frantically trying to unlock the door while his father held onto her wrist barely holding her back. There was a fully packed suitcase next to his mom. He stood there not knowing what to do.
“LET ME LEAVE!” His mom said letting out a blood curdling scream. The brims of Ranboos' eyes filled with tears blurring his vision.
“You are not going anywhere. You
need
me. What about Ranboo? What will he do without a mother? Hm? Stop thinking just about yourself.” Ranboo had never heard his father sound so… So… Manipulative. Scary even. Growing up, Ranboos' dad had always been his hero. But looking at him now, he wasn’t a hero.
“I’ll come back for Ranboo, just let me LEAVE!” His mother said letting out what sounded like a painful sob. His father let out a low growl.
“You are NOT TAKING HIM. YOU’RE TEARING THIS FAMILY APART! JUST
GIVE UP!”
Ranboo snapped. He couldn’t just let this continue happening. He moved quickly. With a blink of an eye, he was standing in between his parents. He glared at his father.
“Let her leave.” Ranboo says, voice low and dangerous. His father scowled
“Ranboo, move! She is not leaving. We’re a family. We love each other, we-” His father started to choke out before Ranboo cut him off.
“
Love?
This is
love?”
Tears were now streaming down Ranboos face. His fathers wore a facial expression of shock, taking a step back. “If this is love then am I absolutely FUCKED. Ever since I was a child you guys would always yell.
Hit.
Do you know the trauma I had to endure?” He turned to his mother letting his fury reign on his mother.
“Did you know after you and dad got into fights he would go to the bar and get piss drunk?” His mother stared at the ground shifting uncomfortably. “When he came back home and found out you also left he would take his rage out on
me.
Remember that time I ‘fell from a tree’?” Ranboos mothers face had an expression Ranboo couldn’t quite understand. Worry? Disgust? It didn’t matter. “Dad did that to me. He beat me mom. And part of that was
your
fault.” Ranboos' voice broke. He stepped back so he could see both of his parents faces. His mother looked solemn while his fathers face was unreadable.
“I’m your son… You guys are supposed to care for me…” Ranboo said. He was holding back tears but it felt as though he was holding up a Tsunami.
“Go to your room Ranboo. You’re too young to understand anything.” His father said looking away from his weeping son.
“I’M SEVENTEEN FUCKING YEARS OLD-”
Slap.
The side of Ranboos' face burned. His mother let out a gasp covering her mouth with her hands.
“You must’ve heard me wrong, I said,
Go to your room Ranboo.
” Ranboo felt numb. He felt his body turn and make his way to his room. He heard muffled shouting. But he didn’t care. When he made it to his room he closed and locked the door. He went to his bed and laid down. He felt his body tremble. Before he knew it, he was under the cover shaking and crying.
‘Why… Why do I deserve this?’
Ranboo cried himself to sleep that night...
“
Ugh…”
Ranboo sat up rubbing his aching eyes.
What happened?
Ranboo wondered as he got up from his bed and went to his desk. His PC was already running.
That's weird?
He went to discord and opened his Dm’s. He was shocked by the amount of messages he had. Almost all of his online friends messaged him asking if he was okay. Some more than others. Tubbo had messaged him 234 times. He decided it would be best to message him back.
Tubbo_
: Seriously dude I’m getting worried.
Tubbo_
: Everyone is fraeking the fuck out.
Tubbo_
: RANBIO JESUE CHRIST ANSWER!!!
Ranboo
: Hey Tubbo… Sorry I fell asleep early.
Ranboo felt guilty. He didn’t want to make his friends worry. He also felt bad about lying. But technically, Ranboo isn’t lying because he has no idea what happened last night. He also has no idea why his cheek hurts…
Ping.
Oh. Tubbo replied to Ranboos' message.
Ranboo
: Hey Tubbo… Sorry I fell asleep early.
Tubbo_
: Bullshit. You never fall asleep before a stream. Me and the others are seriously worried.
Tubbo_
: …
Tubbo_
: Does this have anything to do with the Spotify thing?
Ranboos breathing hitched. The memories of last night came crashing back to him. He couldn’t let Tubbo find out. He couldn’t drop his facade. He was a comfort to so many struggling people out there. He was the therapist friend. He couldn't let people be burdened by his problems. So he’ll put on a smile, a
mask
, and become the goofy and happy persona everyone knows and loves.
Ranboo:
Don’t worry Tubbo, I just fell asleep early, I promise.
Ranboo
: Anyway, You wanna stream today?
Tubbo_:
Whatever you say Bigman…
Tubbo_:
And duh, we have big lore planned todya
What?
Ranboo blinked at his monitor. Lore? He had lore today? He then remembered that him and Tubbo decided to go through a ‘Divorce Arc’... How fitting. The plan was that Tubbos' character finds out that Ranboos Enderwalk state did some questionable things. Ranboo messaged and told Tubbo that he was setting up the stream at that moment.
“Hi chat.” Ranboo said, releasing a giggle. The chat erupted.
Alisson1nn1t: Hi Ranboo!!! :D
gay_Jaxon14: AYYYY RANBOBBB
AlexandrathefirstUwU: What happened yesterday? I thought you were going to stream…
Ranboo sighed. There was no avoiding the inevitable.
“Chat, about yesterday, I fell asleep by accident. Sorry.” Ranboo said drawing out the Y in sorry. And with that, the stream began.
The lore has been good so far. Tubbo had just accused Ranboo of trying to hurt Michael.
“Enough Ranboo. It’s not safe with you around.” Tubbos voice had a type of hurt he’s heard before. Ranboo just couldn’t wrap his finger around it though.
“Tubbo-! Listen please! I-I love you and Micheal!” Ranboo stuttered.
“Love? You don’t hurt people you
love
Ranboo!” Tubbos' voice was full of disgust.
“Please, Tubbo. I can’t lose you…” Ranboo ‘sobbed’. He looked over at the chat and he smiled. They were going crazy. His face fell when he realized there were other Dream SMP members in the chat. Tommy kept spamming
‘YEAH LEAVE HIM TUBSO!!!’
While Phil, Wilbur and even Dream just lurked. Ranboo gulped. It wasn’t like he wasn’t confident in his acting skills, it’s just a lot of pressure. He tuned back into what Tubbo was saying.
“-boo, Look. I know you need me, but until you learn to actually
love and care
about me and Michael, you can forget about this marriage.” Something in Ranboo flipped. His fight or flight kicked in.
“
Love? Care?
Please! What do you know about that? You really think I need you? You are nothing to me.” Tubbos' character moved back in surprise. Ranboo was supposed to be mad, but Tubbo had no idea Ranboo would actually sound it.
“You know nothing of love. Because it doesn’t exist. I bet you think that this world is made of sunshine and rainbows, but it isn’t. The people who you think love you the most will eventually turn on you. Trust me. I know.” Ranboos' voice broke at the end. Silent tears fell onto his mousepad.
“Well… Me and Michael will be going then…” Tubbo said, voice quiet and full of hurt. When Tubbo left the game Ranboo went silent. After about 5 seconds he let out a sob. Not a fake one, a real, genuine, heartfelt sob.
“I’m so
STUPID!
” Ranboos' voice felt raw. Memories flashed in his head. Some happy but most sad. All of them were about his family in some way.
“I deserve this… I deserve to be alone…” And with that he switched his screen to a black one. It seemed as though for a split second, chat was quiet. Not a single message went by. Ranboo raided Foolish and then ended the stream. He reclined in his chair. He stared at the ceiling trying to calm himself. He still shed a few tears but luckily they stopped before too long. He was interrupted from his thoughts by an incoming call. Dream, Tommy, Tubbo, Phil and Wilbur were in the call.
Uh oh…
Ranboo thought. Biting his lip, Ranboo pressed accept. He was moved into a VC with his 5 friends. After a few seconds of silence, Ranboo spoke.
“So, uh, how is everyone?” Ranboo said with a hoarse voice. He did let out a pretty strong sob… no wonder his throat hurt.
“What the fuck…” Tommy and Wilbur said in unison.
“Mate, that was fucking awesome acting!” Phil laughed out. Ranboo let out a breath of relief as he realized he wasn't in trouble.
“Thanks I don’t really know what happened.” Ranboo laughed scratching the back of his neck.
“Ranboo, I’m being serious, you quite literally made me cry.” Tommy said uncharacteristically quiet.
“If I didn’t know it was acting, I would think you were grieving for real.” Dream said with a hint of praise in his voice. Ranboo flushed from all the compliments. After a few moments of silence Ranboo noticed Tubbo hadn’t said anything since the lore.
“Tubbo? You good man?” Ranboos response was silence.
“...Listen. Ranboo. In no way shape or form do I doubt your acting skills, but, well, that seemed a little
too real.
” Tubbo said finally. The VC was filled with awkward silence.
“I noticed that but I didn’t want to say anything…” Wilbur said nervously. Ranboo felt defeated. The lore took so much energy out of him. He couldn’t get himself to care anymore.
“Look, I just find it weird how you had the Spotify incident, missed yesterday's stream, and then during lore you actually sound as if you’ve gone through something similar? It just all adds up.” Tubbo says bluntly.
“And you’ve been acting really strange-” Ranboo cut Tubbo off before he could finish.
“Tubbo. For the last time. I’m
fucking fine.
” Ranboo said, venom lacing his voice. The VC fell into a shocked silence yet again.
“I’m tired. I’m going to go to bed. Goodnight.” And with that he disconnected from the call. He walked over to his bed flopping down. His eyelids became heavier and heavier. Before he knew it, he was off to dreamland.
Ranboo awoke to the comforting smell of eggs and bacon. Normally Ranboo would think this is suspicious, but he was hungry.
Really
hungry. He didn’t realize it, but he hadn’t eaten in two day. He threw his comforter off of his body and made his way downstairs.
When he entered the kitchen Ranboo knew something was up. His father was cooking eggs over the stove while his mom was mixing pancake batter. Ranboo stood awkwardly in the doorway. He hadn’t spoken to either of his parents since the fight. And what Ranboo found unsettling was the fact that both his parents were smiling and laughing. After what seemed like forever, Ranboos' father noticed him.
“Hey Ranboo! We haven’t seen you in awhile. You’re just in time for breakfast.” His father said with a wide grin.
“How is your cheek honey?” His mother said walking up to him and reaching up to hold his cheek.
“It’s-It’s good.” Ranboo stuttered.
Seriously, what is up with them? This is freaky…
Ranboos parents moved all the silverware and food to the dining table.
“Well don’t just stand there, come take a seat. We don’t bite.” His dad said laughing and giving a wink at the end of the sentence. Ranboo hesitantly made his way to the table and took a seat.
“It’s a real shame you fell and hurt your cheek. Honey, can you pass the eggs?”
“Of course!” Ranboo sat there in absolute shock and disgust.
What does he mean I ‘fell’? He fucking slapped me!
Ranboo fought the urge to punt his own father.
“I think your memory is failing you
father,
” Ranboo said, voice dripping with venom. “You slapped me.” Ranboo said glaring at his father. If looks could kill, Ranboos parents would be goners. Both of Ranboos' parents looked at each other. They seemed to be having a silent conversation. Then, out of nowhere, they burst out laughing.
“Good joke son. I always forget you have my humor.” His dad said, wiping a happy tear from his eye. Ranboo was baffled.
“I’m not kidding, you hit me!” Ranboo turned to his mother. “Mom, you saw!” Ranboo whimpered. His mother only gave him a confused and sympathetic look.
“Ranboo are you okay? Me and your father both saw you trip and fall. Maybe you’ve fallen ill. Should I call the doctor?” His mother put her hand over Ranboos. He quickly pulled his hand back and stood up.
“Ranboo? Aren’t you going to eat anything?” His father said, raising an eyebrow. Ranboo couldn’t think straight.
Did he just imagine it? No… It was too real to be made up…
“I’m not hungry.” Ranboo said sternly as he made his way back to his room. When he got to his room he slammed his door shut.
He paced around his room thinking.
Worrying.
He couldn’t have just imagined it. He was positive that the fight happened. He was positive that he was slapped. Ranboo stopped pacing and made his way to his desk and started up his PC. He was done. Done with the borderline abuse, the yelling, the crying himself to sleep, he was
done.
The next thing he did was a blur. He doesn’t remember what he did but he also doesn't care. He leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling smiling to himself.
Ranboo was interrupted after what must’ve been hours of staring at his ceiling by a knock on his door. He froze for a moment.
Is it my dad? Is it my mom?
Ranboo thought as he made his way to his door. When he opened it his father stood angrily before him. Ranboo tensed.
“Can I help you father?” Ranboo nervously said.
“Yeah you can. I don’t know if you know this, but since you’re still a minor you can’t buy an apartment without a guardian's consent.” Oh. Oh shit. So that's what Ranboo did. He rented an apartment.
“Wait, dad, before you get angry,” Ranboo was cut off by a slap to the face. He stumbled back and held his cheek. He looked up at his father horrified. His father just looked disappointed.
“Why? Are me and your mother not good enough for you? You think just because you got a little following from playing stupid video games you’re a big shot now? Well guess what. You are fucking
nothing.
Do you really think that any of your little online friends care about you for even a second?”
Ranboo trembled under the glare of his father. Ranboo has always been kind of a big kid. I mean, He’s 6’6 for god sakes! But he has never felt so small and hopeless in his life then right now at this moment. He didn’t even realize that his dad left his room. All he could think about was the words his father had just said to him. He fell to the ground sobbing.
“I’m not useless…” He stuttered out. He got up and closed his door, still crying. He couldn’t take this anymore. He needs to
tell someone…
He walked over to his PC and took a seat. He then opened Discord and messaged the first person he saw.
Eret…
Ranboo:
Eret. I need your help.
Eret:
Yeah what's up?
Ranboo didn’t expect Eret to message him back so quickly.
Eret:
Yeah what’s up?
Ranboo:
My parents are… I don’t know how to explain it.
Eret:
Alright that’s okay. Do you think maybe they are being abusive?
Ranboo:
idk. Idk what would be considered “abusive.”
Eret:
Alright. I’m going to go over some scenarios and you just answer yes or no, okay?
Ranboo:
Alright…
Eret:
One of the biggest signs of abuse, physical. Ranboo, do your parents ever hit you?
Ranboo:
…
Ranboo:
Yes.
Ranboo was beyond nervous. Eret hasn’t responded yet. This was the first time he was telling anyone. Before he could get too lost in thought, his monitor ping continuously. Oh. Eret was calling him. He accepted the call.
“How often do they hit you?” Erets voice was almost… angry?
“I mean. My dad usually slaps me when I do something wrong.” Eret sighed.
“Okay. So-” Eret began to say until Ranboo cut him off.
“One time he broke my leg because he was angry though.” Ranboo waited for a response. Eret was quiet and so was he.
“HE FUCKING WHAT?” Eret yelled. Ranboo flinched back in surprise.
“Um. Yeah. He was angry at my mom and he took his anger out on me. There are probably more times he's brought me physical injury but I don’t really remember.” Ranboo fidgeted with his fingers nervously. After a few moments of tension filled silence, Eret talked.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to yell. But Ranboo, that's serious. Your father broke one of your bones. Purposefully may I add.” Eret sighed. She’s studied a lot of true crime documentaries. He would know if something wasn’t right. They sighed.
I have to be more calm. For Ranboos sake.
“Um. I think they may be emotionally abusive too.” Ranboo said quietly. Eret sat up and took a deep breath. Eret happened to go through emotional abuse too. What can she say, fell for the wrong guy.
“Okay. I’m going to give you a few scenarios. Just like before, answer with yes or no.
“Okay.” Ranboo was nervous. Really fucking nervous.
“Do they ever invalidate your feelings or make you feel as though your opinion doesn’t matter?”
“Yes.”
“Do they ever say things that cause you to think you’re worthless?”
“..Yes.” Eret was
mad.
Ranboo was one of the sweetest people he has ever met. He was supportive and helpful. How could anyone cause him harm purposefully?
“Today actually. I tried renting an apartment to get away from my parents. But since I’m not 18 yet I need a guardians consent. My father found out. He wasn’t super happy.” Ranboo grumbled out.
“ Well it’s good that you realized that you were in a situation you needed to get out of.” Eret said, sighing. She leaned back into her chair. He didn’t know what to do. They had experience with a toxic and abusive ex, but not parents.
“Hey Ranboo?”
“Hm?”
“Can we add Phil to the call?” Ranboo let out a shaky breath.
“If he can help, yes.” Eret then pinged Phil. After a few rings he answered.
“Ayup. What do you guys need?” Said Phil in a calm tone.
“Me and Ranboo were talking and, Ranboo, do you want to tell him?” Eret questioned.
“No thank you.” Ranboo stuttered out.
“Alright. Well, Ranboo needs help. His parents are emotionally and physically abusive.” Eret said bluntly.
“They’re-They’re not that physical though. My dad only hits me when he’s mad.” Ranboo said weakly.
“Ranboo he broke your leg once.”
“HE DID FUCKING WHAT?” Phil was in disbelief. He knew something was going on with Ranboo but
abuse?
He was livid. Ranboo didn’t deserve this.
“At Least it was me instead of my mom. Besides, that was years ago.” Ranboo said defensively.
“Ranboo. We called Phil for help. It’s okay.” Eret said in a soft voice.
“I want you to know that Ranboo, this is in no way your fault. Me and Eret are here to help you. You can trust us.” Ranboo broke. All of the walls he built up around his heart crumbled. He let out a sob as the two older men comforted him.
|
* * *
The sheets cling to his legs and his chest is clammy with sweat from the previous night. Nightmares that had him rolling from side to side are still vivid behind his closed eyes. He huffs through his nose and yawns, rubbing hair from his damp forehead.
“Hmpf…” He moans, “‘Arry, wha’time’s it?”
Sleepily, he reaches out, seeking Harry’s skin and the comfort that comes with it. When his fingers only curl around cold sheets instead of a warm promising body, he frowns, slapping the mattress.
Hmm…
Clearly it isn’t the first time Louis has woken up with no mop of curly hair covering the pillow beside him. It shouldn’t be much of a concern, but with the events from yesterday which left a sour taste in his mouth –– Anne finding out that Harry deals, Simon chiming in with all his big bad boss attitude, calling Harry in his office to talk about
whatever
–– it makes everything seem a bit ominous. A red flashing light goes off in his mind, setting his body in panic mode instantly.
Opening his eyes slowly, as if to give Harry time to appear from thin air, his heart starts to pound like thunder when he notices that the covers are made on the right side of the bed and even Harry’s pillow is shaken out and fluffy. It is nothing new, though; Harry likes to keep his bed tidy. He always says it motivates him to start the day productively. Louis always replies it’s bullshit, the most productive thing one can do is slap the snooze-button.
His stomach turns.
It all sits wrong with Louis.
Holding his breath, he strains to hear any kind of noise coming from downstairs, pans clattering or music playing, but there are none - which isn’t rare, either. Sometimes, Harry walks Travis at random hours in the morning or he jogs to the bakery, saying it’s a double win: he gets them a nice breakfast and his morning jog in one go. Also, it’s not unusual these days that Louis finds Harry outside on the terrace with paint smeared on his face and a new masterpiece coming to life.
Well, while everything stated is true and Louis should probably laugh at his paranoid thoughts - like Harry being kidnapped or leaving the country to join an underground mafia - his eyes sting and not from the blinding rays of sunshine.
“Shut up.” Louis mutters to himself, trying to silence his mind. It works for about three seconds, then his eyes catch a yellow post-it on the bedside table and Louis shoots upright, duvet pooling around his hips as he stretches to catch the note with his shaky fingers.
The words cause tears to spring into his eyes and his vision goes blurry. His heart clenches as a broken sob leaves his parted lips.
“No, no, no.” He chants, throwing the note from him and drawing his knees to his chest. He presses his face to his thighs and bites the inside of his cheek, desperate for a distraction from the pain and panic that explode in his chest. “No, no, no, no.” He rambles, choked up.
Louis gives himself another second to calm down before he reaches for the note again, reading the words over and over and over.
Don’t look for me. I love you. Always and Forever - H
He weeps, rocking forth and back where he’s sitting. Louis crumples the note in his fist before straightening it out again and reading it over.
With a great shaky inhale that somehow still leaves his lungs empty, he blinks the tears out of his eyes. “This is his handwriting.” Louis mumbles aloud, trying to make sense of it. “This is
his
handwriting.”
He looks up, staring at the painting of himself for a blank second, taking in the colours that glow in the glittering light.
Then, a jolt of lightning zips through the whole of his body frame and he swings his legs over the edge of the bed.
Louis hastily pulls on some random boxers that he finds on the floor and jogs barefoot down the stairs, the pounding of his heart the only noise in the house.
“Harry!” He calls, reaching the living room. “Harry?” — Nothing.
He pokes his head into the kitchen, only to find it empty. Looking out of the window, he sees no bread van parked in the driveway and his heart drops to his feet.
“
No
,” He whimpers, bottom lip wobbling and knees shaking, “He…wouldn’t. He
wouldn’t
.” Glancing around, the evidence is there, yes Harry would. He already did, actually.
Louis sinks to the floor, right at the spot where they danced just yesterday and puts his head in his hands. He lets the sobs out, since he’s the only one in this bloody house, and he doesn’t try to be quiet as whimpers escape his lips.
“
Harry
!” He calls out, desperately and wetly. He clenches a hand at his heart, feeling it shatter and break and throb over and over again. This cannot be happening, not to them - they are partners. This cannot be happening.
Louis stays on the kitchen floor until he's empty of all tears and his weeping sobs ebb out into little puffs of air. He feels oddly numb now.
He should have listened to his gut feeling. He knew something was off and he fucking ignored it. If they would have talked about it, this wouldn’t have happened. Louis could have talked Harry out of leaving. He could have, he should have, he…didn’t because Louis is the biggest naive fool on this planet.
Hung up on that thought, he climbs to his feet, dragging himself up the stairs, which is quite the task and Louis has to stop several times to take deep breaths. When he’s made it into the bedroom, he crumbles again, seeing the note is still on the bed, but the absence of Harry’s leather jacket and trousers stick out to Louis so much more.
Louis closes his eyes and runs a shaky hand through his hair.
He does the first logical thing he can think of: calling Harry.
Harry doesn’t pick up.
When he tries again, the phone is turned off and it goes straight to voicemail.
Louis stares at his phone for about three seconds, then he throws it against the wall and buries himself under the covers. He lets out an angry scream. It doesn’t feel as good as they say it does and he huffs in frustration.
He doesn’t know how much time passes as he hides in the bed that he and Harry shared for so many weeks, but eventually he gets restless.
Swallowing, he picks up his phone. The screen is now cracked but it still works, so it’s whatever. Louis tries calling Zayn, which leads to nothing more but a busy signal and then he’s cut off.
“Alright, alright.” He mutters to himself, scratching his neck. What now? What does one do when his boyfriend disappears to nowhere?
You have a mental breakdown, that's what.
The thing is, Louis can’t allow himself to break down (again) and waste even
more
time.
A new gathered energy buzzes in his bones and he jumps out of bed a second time, snatching his jeans and hopping on one leg as he pulls them on. He puts on a black tee and pockets the note and his useless phone. With a last glance around the bedroom, he nods to himself, determined to find his idiot of a boyfriend.
Seriously, does Harry think a simple note stating not to look for him will keep Louis away from finding him? Apparently that’s what he thought, since he left the post-it in the first place, but whatever. Louis is calm as the ocean on a sunny day. He is not freaking out. He is not.
He dashes down the stairs, slips twice and almost loses complete hold in his haste to get out of the house. The moment the door has fallen shut behind him, he notices darkly that he forgot to put on shoes, also, the set of keys are not in his pockets but in the bowl placed in the hallway.
Great.
Who needs shoes anyway?
He thinks, starting to jog along the pavement. Every human being, but not him, nope — not today, at least. Shoes are overrated, watch it become the new fashion trend next year, Louis is just ahead of everyone else.
Anyway, as entertaining and distracting the thought is, his mind clears out when he passes the still closed Diner and nearly gets hit by a car when he crosses the street.
Once he’s safely back on the pavement, he has an idea of where his legs are carrying him and his mind only catches up with it when he’s standing in front of his sister’s house. Thankfully, her car is parked in the driveway and he just wastes a second to frown at the black slick car parked behind it. Maybe she has a visitor. Well that’s just too bad, because Louis is gonna crash that little tea party.
He rings the bell in a storm, finger pressing down on the button more desperately the longer it takes for his sister to open the fucking door. When she does, Louis wishes she hadn’t. She’s not the only one in the tiny hallway.
“Mum,” He states blankly, swallowing and forgetting for a second why he’s here. “What are you…” He trails off, eyes catching Lottie’s as the corner of her mouth turns down and she gives a small apologetic shrug.
“Well, we were just talking about you.” Jay says, a pleasant smile on her red lips. “Come in, Louis.”
“I actually need to—”
“Come on.” Jay cuts him off, coaxing him in with her index.
Louis' shoulders hunch, “Mum, not now.” He says, fixing his gaze on Lottie. “I need your help, Lottie.” He says, and Lottie frowns. “I don’t have time for some family get-together, not right now.”
“What happened?” Lottie asks, pulling him in anyway and closing the door behind them.
They make their way to the living room and Jay sits down on the never used dining table, crossing her legs and blinking curiously at Louis.
He turns his back to his mother, “I need your car.” He whispers.
“Why? What happened?”
“Harry is missing.” He confesses with a thick voice. Fresh tears sting in his eyes and before they can blur his vision, he blinks them away, refocusing on Lottie’s concerned face.
“What do you mean?” She asks, frowning deeply.
“Who is Harry?” Jay chimes in. No one gives her attention. Jay huffs.
“He left…” Louis pulls out the note, “this.”
Lottie takes the note in her hands, eyes flickering over the handwriting. “Shit.” She mutters, “And you think—”
“We had quite the day, yesterday.” It’s the understatement of the year. Whatever happened in that fucking office set this off. Louis knows. He closes his eyes for a moment, and when he opens them Lottie is staring at him aghast. “I…Lottie, I dunno what to do.” His voice breaks. His heart starts to beat faster as the heaviness of the situation comes crashing on his shoulders. His throat closes in and he coughs, stepping back and ruffling his hair. He glances at his mum, but then again, this is much more important. He lets out a big breath.
“Lottie, Harry is gone and I don’t know where the fuck he is. Zayn isn’t answering, Harry turned his bloody phone off, and I—” His voice raises with each word, and he looks at his sister desperately, “What do I do, Lottie? What do I do now?” He chokes out. “I don’t know what to do.” He cries.
“Okay, let’s…let’s not freak out, Louis.” Lottie says with a shaky voice.
Louis laughs, high-pitched. “I’m not freaking out, I am calm as a fucking
monk
, Lottie. I’m not…” He laughs, pulling on his hair then his neckline, pacing in circles. “I’m…help me, Lottie,
help me
.
Please
.”
“Louis,
Louis
…”
He can’t hear her over the rushing in his ears. It feels like he’s underwater, his vision becomes fuzzy with little white dots. Everything feels too hot, too tight; his skin is like a cage and the walls are closing in on him. He has to find Harry and this isn’t helping. He must get to Harry.
Now
. His chest tightens along with a panicked aftertaste of his thought. It tastes bitter and his heart starts to race at an unstoppable pace, as his fingers and toes tingle with numbness.
He's going to pass out. He's utterly useless. Stupid.
So bloody stupid
. He should have acted on his instincts that were nagging him about something being off. Harry could be with him, safe and sound, if he had just listened to his gut. Why didn't he? Why, why,
why?
Sweat breaks out of his pores.
“Louis, I need you to calm down.” Lottie says, her voice far away. Something claws at his frail shoulders.
There is a long moment where he can't make out any noise, only his pulse and his uncontrolled breathing. Tears brim in his eyes but he shuts them before the salty drops can escape. Tears won't help, tears will make it all much worse. Fuck.
Louis cannot cry. He won't cry. Fuck.
Fuck
. He
won't
—
Then, out of the blue there is a slash of freezing water. It hits him straight in the face and he splutters, shocked and blinks slowly back into the present. The room zooms in, the ticking of the clock is there again, and now he can make out the concerned faces of his family members.
Louis swallows thickly, his tongue feeling swollen. “Holy shit.” He coughs, blinking away the water that is caught in his eyelashes. “Holy shit.” He repeats, hoarsely.
“Are you okay? Can you hear me now?” Lottie asks, lowering the hand holding the empty glass. “Maybe you should lay down for a minute.”
Louis blinks dumbfoundedly, wiping the water off of his face. Someone hands him a towel and he dries himself, hands still trembling. “Thanks, I’m...fine, I guess.” He mutters absently, embarrassment heating his cheeks.
Relief washes over Lottie’s face and her lips that were turned south just seconds before, twitch in slight amusement. “This would be funny in any other situation.” She says, holding her breath, then releasing it in one go. “Cold water always does the trick.”
Louis shakes out his wet hair. “What was that?” Louis frowns, “What just happened?”
“You panicked, dear.” Jay says, taking back the towel and eyeing Louis with something close to concern in her brown eyes. “Who is Harry?” She asks, “Your boyfriend?”
Louis and Lottie share a look, then Louis brings his attention to his mother, and nods once. Jay licks her red bottom lip, inhaling, exhaling slowly. That’s it, not only is Harry missing and the dragon of a mother is standing in Lottie’s living room ready to call the priest or whatever, but more importantly right now they don’t have time for this. To stand and chat and talk about rights and wrongs.
“I don’t have time for this.” Louis grunts out loud as she just stares at him, and turns towards Lottie again. “Gimme your—”
“I’ll drive you.” Jay cuts him off, fingers wrapping in a steel grip around Louis’ underarm. “I can help, come on.”
There is another shocked moment. Everyone is so silent, Louis can only hear the ticking of the clock on the wall. The siblings look at each other, both sharing the same puzzled expression. Lottie gives a tiny shrug, and Louis narrows his eyes at her. She widens her blue ones and yep, that is it.
Louis turns once more to his mother, who is watching them with sharp eyes. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“Well, I won’t let Lottie go with you. She’s pregnant.” Jay states. “And I won’t let you go alone, so we can either talk about this a bit longer and discuss it over again, or we can be on our way to…whatever is going on.” She waves a hand in the air. “Your choice.” She adds as he just stares at her, perplexed.
Louis shakes himself out of his what-the-fuck-is-happening-state and sighs to himself. “Whatever, okay.” He blinks rapidly. “Let’s go then.” He urges.
“Where are we going?” Jay asks, getting her purse from where it’s dangling from the chair’s rest.
Louis stops on his way to the hallway, shoulders stiffening. “I have no idea.” He confesses.
“Well,” Lottie chimes in, “before you go anywhere, let’s discuss the plan. You can’t just run off without some sort of idea where to start, now can you?”
“Lottie—” Louis protests, but he’s cut off by his mother.
“No, Louis, listen to your sister, she’s right.”
Louis puffs out his cheeks in frustration. “He’s in Manchester.” He says, sitting down on the edge of the sofa, rubbing his thighs nervously. His mum sits down next to him and Lottie breezes into the kitchen, for what it sounds like, making tea. Now that he’s alone with his mother, awkwardness takes over and he averts his eyes to his lap, squirming in his seat.
“Manchester?” His mother asks, “Well, that’s a start. Does he work there?”
“Something like that.” Louis nods, scrunching his face. He can’t tell her, can he? When he looks up, she purses her lips before reaching out and placing her small delicate hand over his. He almost flinches away from the soft touch.
She smiles, tight-lipped. “I am sorry, hun.” She says, “Whatever happened to your…fr— boyfriend…”
“Nothing happened.” He snarls right back, drawing his shoulders up to his ears defensively. She blinks calmly at him, and he sighs. “I don’t know what happened, I hope nothing happened. I’m—” His breath comes out shakily and his mother starts rubbing his back. What? He blinks at her, can’t cover up his surprised expression quick enough and her smile disappears as her hands fall from him.
“Let’s not get worked up again.” Jay says after a moment where they just stare at each other.
Lottie saves Louis a moment later, coming back with a tray of steaming tea and some biscuits. “Alright, let’s do this.” She says, sitting on the other side of Louis. “Manchester?” Lottie prompts with raised eyebrows.
“Has he got family in Manchester?” Jay asks, taking a sip from her tea.
Louis blinks.
“Louis…” Lottie says carefully, touching his shoulder. “Anne is in—”
Jumping to his feet, he rushes out of the room into the hallway. When no one follows him, he pokes his head through the doorway, “Mum, you coming?” His heart beats faster when his mum finally gets to her feet as well, kitten heels clicking over the floor as she adjusts her hair and shoulders her purse.
“Much luck, Louis!” Lottie calls just before the door falls shut.
“Why aren’t you wearing any shoes?” Jay asks on the way to the car.
Oh. Right.
“Shoes are overrated.” Louis murmurs absently, rounding the car and outstretching his hand for the keys. “I’m driving.”
“What are you now? Some sort of hippie?” Jay asks, frowning. “You’ll get sick, dear.”
“I’m driving and I won’t get sick.” Louis says, irritated.
“This is my baby.” Jay says, “I’m driving, of course.”
They stare at each other, and well. The stern look his mother gives him tells him that they will be standing in the driveway for the rest of the day, since they are both equally stubborn. He huffs, giving up quicker than usual. “Okay, you drive. Let’s go.” He says, getting to the passenger side but not before he sees the little triumphant smile Jay has on her lips. She always turns everything into a competition, only so she can win. Louis tries very hard not to get annoyed.
Louis had almost forgotten how fancy Jay’s car is - how slick the leather seats are and how it glides over the street more than it drives on wheels. It’s a nice ride, strong but still silencing the noises of the outside world and the motor. The navigation system tells them when to turn and stuff, but Louis knows the road by heart now. Anyway, he’s glad for the robotic voice to break the silence that fogs up between them. He wishes Jay liked music, at least, so then they could listen to the radio. They don’t, so Louis has no choice but listen to his thoughts instead.
He tries to call Harry again, not surprised when it goes to the voicemail on both numbers. Zayn isn’t better and Louis wonders why the hell Zayn isn’t picking up.
Louis’ leg starts to jiggle when they get on the motorway. He pinches his bottom lip worriedly and glances out the window, watching Jay pass cars on the other line. They are fast, but not fast enough.
“So.” Jay chimes into the tension, and Louis startles in his seat, blinking owlishly at her. “Your friend—”
“
Boyfriend
,” Louis corrects automatically.
“Boyfriend…” Jay repeats, her gaze not wavering from the road ahead, “His mother is in the hospital?”
Oh bloody hell.
Louis inhales. “She’s in therapy, yes.” Louis states with painfully neutral voice. It’s just… the longer he’s in the car with his mother, the more he can see the difference between Anne and Jay and it makes his heart clench, because Anne’s lovely son is missing and that brings him back to thinking about Harry, the last night they spent together and with that comes the heartbreak and the thoughts about death and forever and loss and…
Louis presses the heels of his hands against his closed eyes. He breathes in through his nose and exhales out of his mouth. “Please, I don’t wanna talk.” He whimpers, fumbling with his hands. “Just get me to the Institution and I’ll take it from there.”
Jay clicks her tongue. “Louis, dear, look at me.”
He tilts his head up, staring at the roof of the car.
“Louis, don’t be difficult I’m trying to—”
“I’m not being difficult.” Louis interrupts and shoots her a piercing glare. “Maybe if you had one decent bone in your body, you could…you know - feel. Since you can’t, don’t say I’m being fucking difficult when my boyfriend is missing and something bad could’ve happened to him.”
“Louis—”
“Don’t
Louis
me.” He snaps, kicking out his leg. He hits his knee on the dashboard and hisses in pain. “Fucking hell, harrrmpf!”
His mother huffs, annoyed, and it’s the first time he’s gotten her riled up today. He counts that as success in a sick way and thinks, whatever, there are more important things going on than fighting with his mother.
“Louis, please. Will you please explain the situation to me?” His mother asks in an unusually gentle voice. “I’m sure we can find a solution together, if you let me help you.”
“Since when do you care?” Louis mutters, side-eyeing her.
“I know I haven’t been the perfect mother—” He raises his eyebrows at the understatement, but she ignores him and carries on. “I can see that. I know I work alot and…after your dad died, it all was very hard on me, alright?” She sends him a quick glance before looking out on the street again. She passes another car, speeding up before switching back into the other lane. “You look so much like him, Louis.” She sighs.
Louis knows. He’s seen pictures of his actual dad in suits more expensive than the exclusive sofa sitting proudly in Lottie’s living room.
“I never wanted to be a mother in the first place, you know? I always wanted the company, that was the purpose of my life.”
“I dunno if you trying to insult me and make me jump out of the car, or…” He trails off, frowning at his mother in confusion. “Because this doesn’t sound good, like…at all.”
She huffs a laugh. “I’m sorry, all I’m saying is, Lottie was born and your dad was such a good dad, you know? And I thought, wow, if Lottie hadn’t happened I’d never know the pleasure of seeing him with a baby, how gentle he was with her, yeah?” She sends him a quick look, before exiting the motorway. They are almost there, thank god.
Louis nods for her to continue and wraps his arms around his middle the best he can with how he’s sitting.
“When he asked me if I wanted another child, of course I said yes. I fell in love with Lottie and I fell in love with him all over again. I got pregnant and he died and that was it. I wanted the family with him. Then he was just gone and…” She swallows. “I didn’t…” She fumbles with her hair. “I couldn’t do it without him. He was the good parent. Not me.”
Louis rolls his eyes heavenward, blinking rapidly, because today there is just an endless source of tears inside of his body that just want to spill over. He bobs his head to calm down.
“Since Mark was basically already a family member, I married him. So at least you would have a father figure in your life,” She says, “I could concentrate on the company and know that someone is taking care of my babies.”
“You married Mark because you wanted to save money for a nanny?”
Jay rolls her eyes at him, “No, Louis. I married him so we could have some sort of family.”
Louis doesn’t say what he’s thinking out loud. He doesn’t want to fight. A family isn’t a woman-man-children thing, it’s a love-thing.
“It was a mistake.” Jay confesses quietly. “Mark left, just when your…accident happened. I knew for a while that he wanted a divorce,” She sighs wetly.
Done with his life, Louis rubs tiredly across his face, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“He said that he couldn’t stand me anymore and that William would be disappointed in what kind of woman I had become.” She laughs humourlessly. “I guess he is right. William would want me to be more of a successful mother than a successful business woman.”
“Your…call…” Louis frowns.
“I let it all out on you. I was angry and I was alone and I wanted you to come home.”
“Mum—”
“I know there are a lot of things to talk about and I made a lot of mistakes in the past, but.” Her brown eyes catch his and she gives him a genuine smile. “I can change, yeah? We can work things out. I want to be better.”
Touched, Louis swallows. It’s the longest they’ve been together in any place since over a year now and it’s the most his mother has talked to him. It’s the first time she has smiled at him gently and it’s the first time she has given a sort-of apology.
He won’t tear up, he won’t tear up, he won’t —
“Alright,” He sniffs, “Alright, yeah.”
They smile at each other for another moment, then Jay says, “We’re here.” And the moment is over and Louis' life spins some more when he looks out the window and sees the familiar building.
He draws his lips into his mouth and gets out of the car, waiting impatiently for his mother to lock it and turn around. Louis goes straight for the lift, pressing the button so many times that his mother swats at his hand.
The lift goes up and so does his pulse.
When they reach the level Anne is roomed in, Louis is sweaty and his mouth his dry. This is it. If someone knows what’s going on, it must be Anne. Harry wouldn’t leave without her knowing anything. Maybe she can give them a hint, even if she isn’t aware of the location Harry is at.
“Louis!” Perrie’s cheery smile disappears when she sees the state he is in, and well, Louis hoped he wouldn’t look as bad as he feels but then again, he is barefoot and hasn’t brushed his hair, so, “Oh darling.” She says, drawing him in a hug.
“Perrie. Hi,” He mumbles in her shoulder, arms too weak to hold her back, “we’re here to visit Anne.”
There is a frown on Perrie’s face when she pulls away. She eyes him with a tilted down mouth. “Uh, Louis…” She starts and Louis' shoulders slump before she actually says the words out loud. “Anne is released, she isn’t here anymore.” The words are far away, like he’s standing in a tunnel and he hears the echo of someone saying it from afar. “Louis I’m so sorry. You didn’t know? Aren’t you happy?”
Happy.
Louis chuckles wetly.
“Louis,” Another voice breaks through to him, Louis thinks it’s his mother.
He lets out a little whimper, then he pulls himself together. Blinking he asks, “Have you seen Haz then?”
“This morning,” Perrie nods once. “He was with Dr Cowell and a ginger?” She smiles. “Gemma came after, she took Anne with her.”
Good, that’s good, this is a start.
“A…ginger?” Louis asks.
“Redhead, ginger. A tad shorter than Harry, compact, friendly face…” She goes off in detail but Louis isn’t listening, since he’s never seen someone fitting that description with Harry. When Perrie is finished, Louis knows two things: Firstly, Anne is free and hopefully safe with Gemma and secondly, Harry is with another dealer, since there isn’t any other logical explanation for this.
This is what leads to him pressing the phone to his ear, nibbling at his lip while he waits for someone to pick up.
“I won’t be thanking you for calling, since I don’t like people.” Zayn’s drawl comes through the line. “If it’s that important, just leave a message.”
Beep
. Louis breathes out, turning his back to Perrie and Jay and facing the window. He curls his toes inward.
“Mate, Zayn, c’mon what’s going on? Where the hell is Harry? Pez said he’s with some ginger? Please, if you know something, call me back, don’t think I—” And…he’s cut off. Groaning he rolls his head around his neck.
“Is Doctor Cowell in his office?” Louis asks after calming his thoughts to a level at which he can form actual words. He scrubs over his forehead, exhausted, brushing his hair off in the process. It sticks up and it’s kind of disgusting, but he doesn’t care.
“No, I’m sorry Louis.” Perrie bites her lip worriedly. “What is going on with H?”
“I don’t know, anymore.” Louis brittles. “I don’t know where to look for him, anymore.” He confesses quietly, more to himself than the two women watching him with careful eyes and sad expressions.
His phone starts ringing in his palm and Louis thinks, he’s never answered his phone this fast.
“Yes? Hello?” He looks from Perrie to his mum then directs his gaze to his naked feet. He pulls at his lip.
“Heya Lou,” Chirps a voice, too happy, too high, too female for him to feel any sort of relief.
His shoulders slump forward in disappointment, and he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Hello Lara.” He mutters into the line, the next following question is already on the tip of his tongue but he swallows it down the moment Lara opens her mouth again.
“I was thinking, Harry and you could join me and Belle for dinner, tonight? I don’t know where to go yet, or maybe…” He stops listening, lets her carry on with her monologue and tries very hard not to sob out loud. So, Lara doesn’t know Harry is gone, which means he can scratch Niall off his mental list as well. The only other person would be Liam, since his boyfriend isn’t picking up his bloody phone, maybe Liam knows something.
Then, again, if Liam knew, he’d be calling Louis, right? Liam is a tad paranoid by nature. He wouldn’t be hiding information from Louis, when Harry is in danger or about to do something stupid and reckless. Oh, how the tables have turned, Louis muses darkly, recalling Harry pleading him not to do something stupid and reckless, not too long ago.
“Lara, love,” Louis interrupts her as she just goes on and on about double dates and roses and unicorns and visits to the cinema. He can’t fucking stand it. It fucking hurts. “Harry isn’t…home?” He blinks, wrinkling his nose. “You haven’t heard from him, have you?” He asks, a tad softer.
“Is he off to a deal? Well, I mean we can wait, late night dinner or summat should work just as good.”
“No, I mean…he left? Kind of? Have you any idea where he could be?”
“W-what do…you mean he left? Louis, what is going on?” Lara stutters.
“Harry left and said not to look for him, Anne is out of the hospital and—” Louis groans in frustration. “Where could he be, Lara?”
“This bloody idiot.” Lara exclaims. “Listen I dunno where he could be, but I’ll hear around, have you tried Niall? Liam? Gemma?”
Louis starts to shake his head only to realise, yep he is on the phone and normally people can’t see you through the line, so he clears his throat and answers quickly, “No, no, and no. I thought Anne knew something but she’s not here and yeah…” He trails off, feeling more helpless than ever.
“I’ll call around, Louis. We’ll find Harry.” Lara states confidently.
“Zayn isn’t picking up his phone.” Louis informs her. “Have you heard from him lately?” Because, now that he thinks of it, he hasn’t talked to Zayn since the attack. Liam told him Zayn sent him wishes and all that, but… Louis frowns.
Lara sighs quietly. “I haven’t heard from him, Lou. He never texts back these days.” She says, and Louis bites his lip. “I don’t think Liam knows anything, though. You know how Zayn is, always wants to keep Liam out of everything that could be dangerous.”
“I guess.” The nature of the two of them is so much different from Harry and Louis. While they are partners, Zayn kept Liam strict out of any sort of business.
Don’t mix love and business.
Liam isn’t in the business though.
There is this guy, Ed…
Louis blinks, hearing Harry’s voice clear in his head, saying those words and…
“Lara…” Louis says, breathing out slowly. His hands start to shake as the idea, the possibility, forms in his mind. “Have you ever met Ed?”
There is a beat of confused silence from the other end of the line, then, “Yeah, went to his gig, remember?”
“How does he look like, Lara?” Louis asks as calmly as he can. He makes eye contact with his mother and she gives him a tiny encouraging smile.
“Uh, he kinda looks like Ron Weasley from Harry Potter?”
Louis' world stands still for three seconds, then his mind goes into burning overdrive. “So he’s a redhead?” Louis asks, just for Lara to confirm it again. His heart pumps hope through his body. His knees go a bit weak. “Have you got any ideas where he lives?” Louis asks.
“No,” Lara groans, “somewhere in Manchester, though.”
“What’s his last name?”
“Louis, if I knew, I’d tell you. Maybe…” She trails off, “Lemme check, okay? I’ll give you a call back but…” There is rustling from the other line. “I…just lemme call you back.”
“Alright, alright.” Louis nods along to his words, hope and doubt mixed as one big swirl in his belly. “Alright. Hurry, okay?”
They hang up and the silence that follows fills with new won energy. Louis tries very hard not to read too much into it all, but how are the odds? Ed apparently has red hair, is a dealer,
and
he lives in Manchester. It can only be him, right? Right.
Now - how do you find someone without a phone number, last name or address?
There is a rush of confidence in his veins that’s much stronger than the doubt in his mind, and he chooses for the first time in his life to be an optimist. They will find Harry. At least now they are closer to figuring it out than before. It's good - this is brilliant. Excellent, there is no reason for the tears that sting in his eyes and there is no need to wobble to his mum and bury his face in her neck. There is no need for the little sobs to leave his lips, and still, optimism or not, this situation is tearing him apart and it fucking hurts, okay? It hurts.
They are going to find Harry, but when? What happens when they find him?
His mother rubs his back and he thinks it’s the first time his mum has held him the way she is right now. He’d enjoy it a tad more if Harry were by his side. Because Louis loves torturing himself, he thinks about how proud Harry would be about the little progress he made with his mum.
“We’ll find your friend.” Jay says and Louis sighs. Yeah, little progress indeed. Instead of correcting her a second time, he pulls out of the hug and sniffs a final time.
“Let’s go.” He mutters, cheeks colouring in embarrassment. “Thank you Perrie.” He gives her a quick hug too and lets the words, ‘
Everything will be just fine, Louis. You’ll see
’ settle in his stomach. The thing is none of the women in front of him actually know the full truth about the situation. They might think, Harry got cold feet, they might think Harry just had some mental breakdown and left. Whatever it is that they think it is, it’s not. At least Lara and Lottie know, but Louis isn’t sure if he can open up. It’s not his secret to tell, right?
Back outside, his mother insists on buying him shoes, telling him she won’t be walking around the city with him being barefoot. So they stop at the first shoe store they spot and get Louis some black vans, though his mother preferred the Italian leather shoes, of course no surprise there. She agrees easily enough to get the vans, since Louis said he’d continue walking around with naked feet otherwise. However, his feet aren’t as cold anymore, as they stalk back to the car, so it’s a win on both ends.
“Drive another circle around this block.” Louis says later, pointing out the window and biting his bottom lip. They are on the main street, just passing the corner where Hawk shoved Louis onto the road and Louis tries not to flinch at the memory, as they make another turn.
“Louis,” His mother sighs and Louis is familiar with the tone she’s using. “We drove that road four times already, I don’t think—”
“Mother, please.” Louis sends her a wide-eyed look, “Or lemme get out of the car, I’ll just walk the alley a—”
“You walked that very alley so many times already, I think it’s safe to say that, this boy isn’t anywhere near it.”
Louis sinks his teeth into his bottom lip. Of course Jay is right, Harry isn’t invisible. If he were anywhere near Louis, Louis would see him. There aren’t any hiding spots. “Maybe when we drive—” He starts to say, but his mother cuts in once more.
“Darling, let’s go back to Charlotte.”
“No,” Stubbornly he crosses his arms. He’s not even close to giving up. He knows Harry is in Manchester, they are so close and yet… the lump he’s been swallowing around all day long, grows and his throat closes in on itself. It gets harder to breathe and Louis is fucking done crying for the day. “I just…” He groans, frustrated and helpless. “I have to find him.”
“Looks like he doesn’t want to be found.” His mother states, setting the signal to make a turn, Louis glances outside, noticing that they are on the way back to Macclesfield. His heart throbs painfully.
“What are you doing?” He asks shakily. “We can’t drive back!”
“I won’t be driving the same roads over and over again, Louis. This makes no sense.”
“It makes no sense to go back to Macclesfield when Harry is in Manchester!” Louis snaps, his cheeks flushed and hands clenched into fists in his lap. Why can’t she understand that? “Drive back.” He orders, narrowing his eyes at her. “Drive back or I’m gonna jump out of the car.”
His mother actually snorts. “Sure, that’s gonna help this boy.”
“His name is Harry and he’s my boyfriend.” Louis repeats for the millionth time today.
“The boyfriend that left you? Maybe he has a secret lover.”
Louis did not miss this cold side of his mother. His stomach turns. “How can you say something like that?” He hisses. “Stop the fucking car.”
“We…are on the motorway, darling.” His mother glances at him briefly.
“I don’t fucking care.”
“Well, I do.”
Louis laughs coldly. “This is such a good turn of things for you, innit?” He makes a grimace. “You never wanted to find Harry in the first place.” He crosses his arms and kicks his legs out. “You said you wanna work on things and still…” He cuts himself off, getting worked up again.
“Don’t be unfair.”
“You don’t fucking understand.”
“Then explain it to me!” It’s the first time she raises her voice and it actually shocks Louis into silence.
Perplexed, he looks at her, and she huffs, fiddling with her hair and avoiding his eyes. “Explain this shit or I’ll drive straight back to London.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” Louis snarls.
“Oh, trust me.” She laughs, hollow. “I would.”
When he doesn’t respond, she glances at him, lifting one of her perfectly shaped eyebrows. “Tick, tock, tick, tock.” She says, bobbing her head from left to right like it’s all a game.
“Harry…” Louis starts, dropping his gaze to his lap. Fiddling with his fingers, he continues nervously, “is a dealer…for, uh, drugs.”
His mother takes a sharp inhale, but stays mute otherwise.
“He deals to help pay for Anne’s treatment.”
“Louis, you should be with someone like—”
“I love him, mum, so much.” Louis says wetly, shocking her into stunned silence. Rubbing at his eyes, his shoulders start trembling. “I love him, he is the one for me and…” He looks heavenward, breathing in, breathing out. “I need to find him, before something happens to him. He is only nineteen, mum —
Nineteen
.” He winds his arms around his middle, trying to hold his ribcage together as his heart rips in half. He sinks his forehead against his thighs, doesn’t care that the seat belt is cutting into his throat.
“Tell me about him.”
“What?” Louis sits more upright, frowning at Jay, who looks at him with sad eyes.
“Tell me about Harry.” She repeats.
Louis gulps, gazing out the window, watching the cars they pass. Louis isn’t sure if they still are on their way to Macclesfield or if it’s a distraction from her secret plan to bring him to London. Either way, Louis is in the car and he can’t help Harry if he jumps into his own death. “Harry is amazing.” He starts with a hoarse voice. “Harry is a painter, you know? Proper artist.” A little smile tugs on the corner of his mouth. When he makes awkward eye contact with the driver in the car next to them, he averts his eyes to his hands. “Harry loves cooking, and is good at it too. To be honest…” Louis smiles at his mother, fondly and lost in thought, seeing the green of Harry’s eyes in his mind clearer than reality in front of him. “Whatever Harry starts, touches, it turns to gold. There is literally not one thing my boy isn’t good at.” His mother returns the smile at that and Louis rolls his eyes, chuckling. “Well, his jokes are bad, but I guess that’s all right.”
“He sounds lovely.” Jay nods, encouraging him to go on, so he does.
“Harry is the loveliest, he cares so much about everyone.” His smile turns soft. “He only got into the business to help his mum. His sister, Gemma, she’s just as lovely and so, so smart. She studies, gonna graduate next year,” Louis picks at a loose fray on his shirt. “He helped me a lot, you know?”
When his mother stays mute, he dares to explain. “With, you know, the drugs?” He wrinkles his nose, still isn’t too keen to say the words out loud, and to his mother, no less. “It’s a bit ironic, if you think of it, innit? A drug dealer helps someone not to take drugs anymore. But he did. He helped me. He got all our friends together and…they all helped and I’ll be forever grateful that they did that.” Louis can’t believe his luck, little did he know that he’d find the love of his life and the best friends he could have ever asked for in Macclesfield.
Macclesfield.
“Where are we going?” He asks, then, because after all, he’s not good at being emotionally vulnerable in front of anyone that isn’t Harry and he never imagined crying this much in front of his mum. What he needs is a topic change.
Jay sighs. “Don’t worry, we’re on the way to Macclesfield, not London.”
Well, that’s comforting. Louis nods, “Good, can we stop at Harry’s house?”
“You think he’s home?”
“No,” Louis chuckles humourlessly, “I don’t think he’s home but I’d rather spend the rest of my day at his.” To torture himself a little bit more, to sleep in the bed they shared, to be alone and lonely on top. Yeah, that sounds like the most pathetic plan he’s ever had. Also, he couldn’t stand being around people that pity him, that’s no help either.
“You won’t be doing anything stupid, Louis, right?” There is actual concern in her voice and it gives him a burst of odd sick pleasure, to know she cares to some point. The knowledge that his mother isn’t some heartless snake, ready to attack and bite and strangle and suck the life out of anyone that comes too close, makes his skin prickle. It’s all new, that they talk and kind of touch and smile, it’s new and Louis won’t ever get used to it, he thinks.
Maybe she’s lonely, too. Now that Mark left and she’s alone in London, sitting in that big posh city house with the maids coming in once a week to keep it from dusting in and rotting. Being lonely, with no other distractions gives you time to think, and when you start that train of thought, you start pitying yourself. Maybe his mother and him aren’t that different, after all.
One problem then the other, he reminds himself, Harry is more important right now and maybe Lara found something out.
“I won’t do anything stupid.” Louis promises weakly. He had that conversation with Harry once, and he thought to himself, how do you define ‘stupid’? You can’t. It’d be stupid not to look for Harry, it’d be stupid to linger around the house and not to worry, since the love of his life is missing.
That would be stupid, innit?
Louis gives his mother directions, too lazy to type the address in the navigation system and when the car comes to a halt in front of the house he has called home for the past weeks, his heart beats faster. “This is it.” He says, gulping.
“Louis,” When Louis looks at her, she licks her lips, averts her eyes and continues with a low voice, “I’m sure we’ll find Harry, but…I know you love him and he does sound lovely, don’t get me wrong, I just wish…do you think he’s—”
“Oh no,” Louis brows pull together, “you can’t decide to be a mother for one day, storm into my life and tell me the choice of boyfriend I made isn’t good enough.” The words are harsh and hard, but still true. “If anything, Harry deserves better. Harry is a good person.”
She looks at him with wide alarmed eyes, holding up her palms in surrender. “I just want the best for you.”
“Harry is the best for me.” Louis argues.
Her shoulders hunch. “Why do you have to be so difficult? Look at your sister—”
“Thanks for giving me a ride.” Louis cuts through her words, loudly. “Thanks for the shoes, but I think our mother-son bonding ends now.” Louis is an idiot, what did he expect, really? That his mum would show up, finally see the light and chose to be a proper, caring, loving mother. Think again, Louis, think again. Of course beliefs and behaviours never change overnight and maybe it’s too late for his mother to change at all. Whatever, he doesn’t have the nerve to have another crisis right now. It’d be unreasonable to let his hopes fall to the floor at this. He knows his mother.
She’s not Anne, she’s nothing like Anne. She is still Jay, the business woman with a broken heart and as bad as its sounds, Louis doesn’t have time for any of it.
He misses Harry.
“I will see you tomorrow?” Jay asks.
Louis shrugs, then nods, “Probably.”
They share tense smiles, then Louis unbuckles his seatbelt and is out of the car, closing the door forcefully and breathing in the fresh air. The house looks so innocent, he thinks, so familiar. Only when he walks up the stairs and reaches into his back pocket, he remembers with a long-suffering groan that he forgot his keys this morning. He drops his head with a bang against the solid door and chuckles humourlessly to himself, because…can this day get any worse?
Checking over his shoulder if Jay is still here, as pathetic it would be to climb back in the car, it’s better than camping outside. It looks like it might rain too, no thanks. Jay is gone, though, and Louis’ eyebrow twitches with annoyance.
Grand.
What now?
He always could sleep in the garage, last time he was in there, he saw a tent. Louis, thankfully, doesn’t have to go that far to survive the night, because just as he turns to walk down the steps, the door opens behind him and he spins around with big eyes.
Harry is home, Harry is home, Harry is…oh god—
It’s not Harry that stands in the doorway, though and Louis hates himself a tad for getting his hopes up, even if it was just for a second. Of course Harry wouldn’t be home.
“Louis!” Niall grins brightly, “Mate, we’ve been waiting for y’ arse to arrive.” Niall pulls him into a tight embrace and Louis sinks into the hug, lets himself being dragged inside.
“How are you mate?” Niall asks on their way to the living room, still as a casual arm slung around Louis' shoulder.
“What do you think?” Louis grunts weakly. “I’m great, couldn’t be any better, Neil.”
Niall’s smile drops and his expression turns sad as well. “I’m sorry Louis.” He says with sincere blue eyes. “I love you man, we’ll find this idiot and drag him home, promise.”
“Has this happened before?” Louis wonders.
Niall purses his lips, then shrugs, arm falling from Louis' shoulder as they make it into the living room, “Yeah, at the beginning.”
Louis bites the inside of his cheek and nods. “Where was he, then? Where did he run off to?”
“We don’t know.” Louis isn’t too surprised to see Lara sitting on the edge of the sofa, her brown hair a mess, tangled and greasy, under her brown usually warm eyes are heavy bags and her forehead is wrinkled with worry. Louis can sympathise and secretly is glad he’s not alone in this. Harry, after all, has the best friends in this world and a wave of gratitude washes over Louis for all of them. “Zayn knew, of course. He took care of Harry.”
“Could you reach him?” Louis asks, already knowing the answer, but since this day is full of surprises, he thinks, this wouldn’t be any different, innit?
Lara shakes her head, “Can’t even reach Liam and that’s kinda weird, since the boy jumps to the phone.”
“Fuck!” Louis exclaims.
“What do we know, so far?” Niall asks, sitting next to Lara and rubbing his hands together.
Louis starts pacing in front of the telly, pointedly avoiding the pictures on the bookshelf. “Anne is released from the Institution, which — Thank God.” Louis counts off his fingers. “Harry was in the Institution this morning, with Simon and…a ginger? Ed, Yeah…” He lifts his middle finger. “His phone is turned off and Zayn chooses today to be a ghost, same goes to Liam.”
“It’s a start.” Niall muses. “Ed lives in Manchester. I know that, but I never went to his flat.”
Louis trips on the rug, catching himself last second and kicking at the edge of it, like it’s its fault. He groans and ruffles through his hair. “How do we find someone that we know nothing of? I bet Ed isn’t even his real bloody name. Probably is called Andy or Rodger or some shit.”
Lara hums in thought and Niall stares at a spot on the coffee table like it holds all of the answers they need.
Louis craves to be alone.
“I’m gonna go for a smoke.” He forces out, and before anyone can join him, he’s outside, lit up cig dangling from the corner of his mouth and smoke curling artfully in front of his eyes. The sun has disappeared and so has all of his hope.
He gets the note out of his pocket, straightening the wrinkles out and reading it over again.
Don’t look for me. I love you. Always and Forever - H
He swallows and takes a much needed drag of his glimmering cig. The breeze whirls around him and a shiver runs down his spine. His fine arm hair sticks up but he is too numb to feel the cold or the first drops of rain.
“Where are you, my love?” Louis whispers at the note. “What happened?”
The note doesn’t answer and the world keeps turning, although his world shattered this morning when he woke up alone.
When more drops soak the note in his hand, he puts it back and finishes his cigarette, trying hard not to think.
Back inside the warmth, he flops down next to Lara on the sofa. Immediately she curls against his side like a cat and pats his tummy in a comforting manner.
“I’m starving.” Louis announces, remembering only now that he hasn’t eaten all day, actually. No wonder his stomach twists in pain and growls at him angrily.
What do young adults without any motivation and a dear friend missing do? - They order in.
When the takeaway arrives, they eat in silence. Usually, they chatter amongst themselves, loud and mostly talking over each other, everyone always having something to say, to explain, to announce, to wonder and laugh about. The silence that hovers over them is like a thick fog and even now that Louis’ stomach is full, it still twists uneasily when Niall, the most talkative human on earth, keeps his thoughts to himself.
“How are Amanda and Belle?” Louis asks, just to say something, although he is actually curious.
Lara and Niall look at him, then share a look between each other.
“Amanda is grand.” Niall is the first one to speak, eyes lighting up a tiny bit. “She is going to Rome next week, meeting some internet friend. How sick is that?”
“I’ve never been to Rome.” Lara pouts. “You tagging along?”
“Nah,” Niall grins, “wanna give ‘er some time with this girl.”
Lara quirks an eyebrow. “You sure…she’s…”
“Yes, Lala, I am sure it’s just a friend.” Niall rolls his eyes, “What about you and Belle, eh? She’s not with the doc, now, is she?”
Lara makes an offended noise in the back of her throat. “Excuse you, Niall, but this isn’t some weird rom-com. She is very much gay and loves my tits.”
Niall and Lara start bickering and Louis watches them with a tiny fond smile curling at the corners of his lips. At least he’s gotten them to talk, he thinks when Lara tackles Niall and ruffles his hair. In return, Niall kicks at her side and she falls off the sofa with a deafening shriek. Niall lets out a loud cackle as she stays on the ground, staring at the ceiling and probably questioning her friendship with the Irish lad. Louis has been there, too. No regrets, though, since Niall has the ability to brighten the room with his laugh that literally goes like ‘
Ha, Ha, Ha
’.
From there on, the mood shifts from somber and miserable to something more light, and although the usual banters replace the silence now, one presence is missing that no one can ignore. Louis misses the bad jokes Harry throws in whenever he can and he misses the warmth that radiates off Harry’s body and he misses the weight of Harry’s arm wrapped around Louis' shoulder, tucking him in.
“Hey,” Louis chimes into a conversation about pickles (Louis has no idea how they got there, but…is he surprised? Not one bit, they are that kind of weird, after all). Once he’s gotten the attention he was seeking, he carries on, “Remember when Harry was so high he rolled himself up in the rug and kept yelling he was a burrito now?” He chuckles at the memory, recalling how much out of their minds they were that night, the living room a mess of beer bottles and the coffee table more of a rubbish bin than anything else. That night, Harry refused to eat anything else but burritos, but the stores had closed when his boy’s munchies kicked in.
Niall’s loud laugh brings him out of the memory, “Oh yeah!” the Irish lad grins, showing his white teeth. “I think he cried when he found out what time it was.”
Lara chuckles. “No, I know he cried.” She recalls, smile turning soft.
“After that, he stocked up all the stuff to make burritos, did you know?” Louis declares, grinning, when Lara and Niall laugh and roll their eyes.
“Remember when Haz tried to do the lift from Dirty Dancing with me?” Lara asks, Niall and Louis wince at that, because, yes, Louis can remember the disaster. Harry could lift Lara, but Lara couldn’t balance and smashed her face against the wall, as Harry lost hold on her.
Niall sighs. “Remember when Harry…” He chuckles breathlessly, “Remember, when he pretended to be a pirate, after we watched The Curse of the Caribbean and got a clip earring with a cross?”
Louis frowns. “Hey, he looked good! The earring suited him well.” Louis actually tried to persuade Harry to get a real earring for a long while after, because…well, the pirate look was something else. Harry makes a good pirate, also the sex after they had the house for themselves was a plus: Harry tied to the bed with his bandanas, earring dangling with each thrust of Louis' hips. He really, really likes that memory, and realizes maybe he likes it too much when he blinks and sees the horrified expressions on his friends faces.
“We really, really don’t wanna know.” Lara says, holding up her palm to stop him from spilling any details. Louis’ cheeks turn a tad red and Niall laughs out loud, clapping Louis on the shoulder.
“Remember when Harry…” Louis switches memories and, well, so it goes. They play the
Remember When Harry Game
and time ticks on while they forget a bit about the situation at hand. Their worries fall off their shoulders and the weird gut feeling loosens a bit, as they exchange stories and inside jokes.
It’s all brilliant, good, amazing until the clock shows past midnight and Niall announces it’d be best to call it a night and get some sleep.
“I can’t go to bed.” Louis frowns at his blonde friend.
“Why not?”
Why…why not? Louis blinks aghast. There a multiply reasons why can’t go to bed. First: Harry is still missing and if anyone thinks he can get any sleep while his shoulder is cold and his heart feels heavy and empty, they can fuck right off. Second: the bedroom, obviously. Louis can’t sleep in that very bed where Harry and Louis had made love just the night prior, hell, even on the same sheets still. Third: what if Harry calls? Or Zayn? Or someone who knows where to look for Harry? What if he misses the most important call of his life?
Sleep, as good as it sounds to his tired eyelids, is out of the question. Never was in the picture in the first place.
Louis stays mute and glares at Niall, offended, hurt, sad, and scared. Too many emotions for one person to handle, that is.
Niall sighs, giving in and patting Louis' shoulder. “We all have our phones turned on, mate.” He says, “If anyone gets a call we’ll let you know, yeah?” Lara nods in agreement and smiles, sleepy and yet sad, at Louis, who can’t ask for more.
Lara and Niall leave him with warm goodbye hugs and promises that everything will be alright, that Harry is probably selling in some shabby strip club or sleeping on some other dealer’s sofa, and - isn’t that just extraordinarily calming?
Louis doesn’t respond, just says his own goodbye and leans against the closed door after his friends have walked into the dark, since Lara’s car is in the shop or something.
Being alone is much harder than Louis thought. His gaze darts to the pictures on the bookshelf, his eyes taking in the bright, happy smiles on the faces of his favourite people in the world. A family that deserves nothing but the best, and yet all they got is to experience pain. When he can’t take it anymore, he storms over, putting the pictures face down on the wood.
It doesn’t help.
Louis chain-smokes out in the cold to stay awake, slapping himself in the face now and then to startle him into the present and get himself out of the past. The pain lingers and so does the feeling of helplessness. When the moon shines through the clouds, Louis misses his personal, favourite moon more than ever and sends a glare at the round shining circle in the sky.
Louis tries calling Harry again. He never quite stopped during the day, but the results were always the same. Just like now, his call goes straight to the voicemail — on both numbers.
He spends some time answering messages from Lottie and texts back and forth with Nick, since that bloody idiot is still very much alive, despite his little prank on Hawk and the debt shit he got out of, thankfully. He finally came to his senses and took Louis much more seriously. After what happened between Hawk and Louis, he stayed away from the whole drug scene. Louis is proud of Nick, so to say.
It’s four in the morning and Louis' body feels fuzzy with the lack of sleep. He stumbles upstairs, giving up on staying out but refusing to turn on the lights when he gets to the bedroom. He clambers into the bed, back turned stubbornly to Harry’s side.
Louis checks his phone one last time (no interesting or hopeful messages, no sign from Harry, Zayn or Liam) and closes then his eyes, phone still in hand when sleep washes over him.
The nightmares that come startle him awake and he blinks around the darkness, feeling a presence that isn’t there and crying pathetically into Harry’s pillow, breathing in the cologne that Louis couldn’t stand when they first met.
A noise cuts through his dream of green trees and fields and just as green eyes, and Louis frowns. He was just in such a good place, felt warm and loved and protected. Louis doesn’t want to leave just yet, he had found peace after such a long suffering time. However the sound doesn’t stop and the more Louis comes to consciousness, the louder it seems to get. With a raspy groan, he blinks his eyes open, staring into the dark. What?
The noise stops then and Louis smiles, sinking more into the mattress. Finally, now he can go back to his safe haven.
It starts again and Louis' eyebrow twitches with nerves. “Haz, get tha’ yea’?” He mumbles, smacking his lips together. There is no response. “Harry, c’mon, wake up. Bet it’s yours anyway.” He says, pouting.
When the bloody phone still is ringing, Louis rips his lids open, because holy fucking shit. What. He rolls onto his back, staring at the ceiling for one little second until his mushy mind catches up with the situation and he jolts upright, reaching for the phone and hitting the accept button so hard he thinks the phone might break in two.
“Hello?” His heart beats loudly in the quiet room. “Hello?”
“Hey.”
“Zayn, thank fuck.” Louis cries out. “Do you know anything?”
Silence.
“Listen, I can’t. I don’t…” Zayn starts and Louis knows.
He bangs his head against the headboard, closing his eyes as hot tears crawl up his throat. “Zee…” He whimpers. “I know he’s with some other d-dealer. If you…if you can’t speak right now.” He hiccups. “Just say pizza if he’s with another dealer.”
There is a hesitant pause on the other line, then — “Pizza.”
Louis sits more straight, duvet pooling in his lap. “Ed. He is with Ed, isn’t he?”
“Yes,” Zayn confirms quietly.
“If you know the address of his flat, say, uh. Pineapple.” Louis urges, speaking too fast for his own tongue.
He hears Zayn swallow, “Pineapple.”
Louis presses his thumb in the inner corner of his eye and allows himself to feel relief. “Okay, okay, that’s grand.” Now, how does he get the address if Zayn can’t talk freely? “Manchester? Say, no extra cheese, if it’s in Manchester.”
“Uh…no extra cheese, mate.”
Okay, so far it’s nothing new, but it’s a good thing to get it all confirmed. It’s a start. Louis can do this.
“Send me the address.” Louis says quickly.
“No ham, no.”
“Zayn, this is
Harry
we’re talking about.” He hisses.
“I know the price…” Pause, then. “Okay, thanks, mate. Pizza will be there in fifteen minutes, yeah? Cheers.”
What?
Then that fucker hangs up and Louis is left with nothing.
Brilliant, just brilliant.
He swings his legs over the edge of the bed and gets dressed. He has no real idea what to do, but sitting in bed won’t bring him closer to finding Harry. When he is dressed in all black and his hair is held back by a blue thin hairband, he glances at his phone anxiously. It just lays there on the sheets: innocent and useless.
Ten minutes pass, in which he just stands there, waiting for something to happen. He is ready to run and this time he gets the feeling it will be the final time.
His hands shake as he pockets his phone and breathes in the smell of his favourite room in the whole wide world. When he closes the door, it all feels like a goodbye. This time around, he doesn’t forget the keys, and as he slips them in the pocket of his denim jacket his fingers curl around the note.
Fuck.
He will probably take the train to Manchester or the bus, if there is one. Thing is, it’s still the middle of the night. Grizzling fog hangs in the air and people tucked safely inside their homes are still sleeping. Louis lights a cig when he passes the diner and he finishes it, just when he arrives at Lottie’s house.
It’s all dark. His mother's car is parked out front and Tommy’s is in the driveway. This isn’t the train station, he thinks, this isn’t a bus-stop. This isn’t where he wanted to go, but here he is, anyway.
He gets his keys out, unlocking the door and entering the quiet house. Of course, they are all sleeping, it’s early.
His phone beeps once in his jacket taking him by surprise and making him jump. He shakes his head at himself and is quick to get it out.
There on his scratched display is a new message from Zayn; it’s an address and Louis doesn’t have to ask where it leads to…this is it. He’s got the address.
This is it. Unbelieving, Louis gulps.
“Louis?”
Again, he’s caught off guard, jumping out of his skin and spinning around as his mother rubs a sleepy hand over her make-up-free face and blinks at him, confused.
“I need your car.” He says with a galloping heart.
She eyes him for a moment. He bites his lip, holding his phone in a death-grip.
“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” Jay asks, calm.
“I don’t know.” Louis hasn’t had the time to think about what will happen when he finally gets to his boy. He hasn’t thought about leaving or running away. Louis never dared to go this far, but now, with the address…he thinks it’s the only option they have. Louis refuses to let his mind wander to the possibility that it’s too late. “I need your car.” He repeats numbly.
She nods. “I…” Jay swallows and gets to her feet. She pads over to him, smiling sadly. “I’m sorry for everything, Louis. I love you.”
He gives himself a moment to just feel the words, to let his heart flutter at the statement. He pulls her into a hug and again — it feels final.
“I…kind of knew.” Jay says. “I knew so I…” She avoids his eyes as they part and steps to the sofa, fumbling with her purse. “I got some cash. I thought just in case, you know?”
Louis blinks, dumbfounded.
“So, take it.” She says, handing him a stack of what looks like five thousand pounds and the keys to her beloved car. “Take it. Get your boy, and be safe, dear. Please.” There are tears glistening in her eyes as he accepts the money and the keys.
“Thank you, mum.” He chokes out, overwhelmed. “I’m sorry too.”
“Shh…” She pulls him in another hug.
“We’ll see each other again.” Louis says, sniffing wetly.
“Of course.” She says the words like she doesn’t believe them. Louis' heart clenches.
“Tell Charlotte, I love her.” Louis says. “Tell Tommy if he isn’t the best dad for their child, I’ll come back just to hurt him.”
They share a quiet smile, then Louis directs his gaze to the things in his hand, probably the most important items, ever.
He sniffs once more, then —
He just…leaves.
* * *
|
Chapter 3: More
Every night Morgan didn’t spend in Dream’s bed George would take her spot. He never allowed himself to fall asleep between the blond’s sheets out of fear that he would grow accustomed to waking up to bed head and morning breath. George understands his position in this equation. He is a backup plan, a hole to fall into when Dream doesn’t have her.
Though over the past two month’s she’s seemed to have been spending more evenings at her own home instead of theirs. George was still on edge, debating his return to the UK at least twice a day. His brain would go numb when Dream touched him. Rough hands and harsh kisses on his skin. Dream would bruise his stomach carelessly, leaving purple kisses in hideable places.
He stands in the shower, tracing over fading purple splotches. When they got careless George was reminded quickly of how precious their secret was. His mind drifts to the time he had stood from the couch he and Morgan were lounging on. At the time he was stretching, his back popping like bubble wrap while Morgan eyed the dark plum bruises left on his skin.
She had pried at him, pushing him to create a fake person and backstory quickly. Morgan seemed to believe him, teasing him, calling him a whore for allowing some random Florida boy to leave such marks on him. If only she knew that the random Florida boy was not so random at all. To be quite honest the culprit sat in his room editing a video George had left on his google drive.
The water is penetratingly hot, turning his skin red whilst he stands under the stream. He had finished washing some time ago but couldn’t bring himself to part from the comfort offered to him in the form of hot water and steam. George knows that once he leaves this shower he will be forced to leave the home and be pushed into some crowded bar.
He was right, the pub is crowded and musky. Being shoved between the shoulders of strangers as he follows behind Morgan, stopping at the busy bar and listening to the redhead order a drink. George has grown used to this. Each Friday she drags him to some bar under the guise that he is meant to protect her from the hungry eyes of drunk strangers.
“Are you sure you don’t want anything?” She looks back at him. “You look like you need to loosen up a bit.”
“I don’t drink.” He assures her, giving a small smile before turning his attention away to scan over the unfamiliar faces. “Is your friend still meeting us?”
“Yeah! He should be here-“
“Morgan!” A stranger shouts over the music as he steps out of the crowd.
He’s tall, long dark hair reaching his broad shoulders, his chest held captive by a thin black shirt. George watches him pull the girl into a hug, eyes following the strangers wrists as the man’s hands sink too low on her back. The touch seems anything but platonic, meeting the man’s gaze over the top of Morgan’s head for a moment before looking away.
She seems to be drinking with intent tonight. Her hand is always clutching a full drink in which she will drain quickly then replace with another. George could tell by her stumbling that she was too drunk to even think about driving, slipping her keys from her purse without her noticing. Dream had taught him a bit about driving over the past few weeks. He knows enough to get her back to the house, if he avoids the highway they will be fine.
Though the longer they stayed at this bar with the man he hadn’t caught the name of George came to a realization. Maybe it’s the eyes that kept dropping from Morgan’s face to rest on her chest, or maybe it’s the large palm rising on her thigh as they talk, but their gaze on one another only delves deeper into the water of romantic. Something is going on. Something that neither he or Dream knows of.
Dream.
The blond sits in his home, alone, ignorant to what’s happening in this cramped and dirty bar.
Morgan only smokes cigarettes when she is drunk, the pack in her purse had remained half-empty since last week. So when she lights one outside the door of the bar George isn’t surprised, guiding her to the bench with sturdy hands and reassuring words. The smell has become so normal to him that it doesn’t make his nose itch anymore. There’s a moment of silence before he finally breaks.
“Are you going to keep letting him eye fuck you?” The words spill out before he has time to think about them.
He’s met with a series of giggles as the redhead speaks, tossing hair over her shoulder, smoke leaving her lips. “He’s going to fuck me for real later.”
“What about Dream?” George sits dumbfounded, blinking away his confusion. “You’re just gonna cheat on him?”
The laughter that falls from Morgan’s lips was a reminder of how drunk she was. “I've been cheating on him. He hasn’t touched me in week’s, what else was I supposed to do?” She sighs. “Don't get me wrong, his dick is good, but when you don’t get it then anything is better than nothing.”
George can hear the blood rushing to his head from the anger he felt. His palms itch as he stops himself from slapping her. Does she not realize how important and special Dream is? Surely not. If she did then she wouldn’t risk losing him— not like this.
He stands. “You’re going home with him?”
“Yeah.” She giggles, taking a long drag from her cigarette.
Typically she is so beautiful and sweet though here and now she looks nauseating. Her hair sticking to her face with sweat, cigarette between her fingers, her eyeliner smudged. George is sure she will be taken care of just fine, the man inside more than willing to make sure she gets everything she could need or want.
“I’m gonna head out.” He pauses, thumbing at the keys in his pocket. “Let me know when you get to where you’re going, please.”
“Meeting up with your boyfriend?” She asks through a drunken grin.
“Definitely not my boyfriend,” George answers with no hesitation.
Before he left George walked back inside, scanning over the crowd of people for the man that he would leave Morgan alone with. Part of him wanted to punch the brunet in his face and thank him at the same time. When the brunet finally located him he reached up, dragging him down with a hand on the back of his sweaty neck, talking into his ear as he slipped Morgan’s keys into the stranger's palm.
“Wear a condom, don’t let her drive.” As he pulled away he patted the man’s cheek gently and gave him a smile. “Keep her as long as you want.”
“You could join us if you want.” The stranger rested his hand on George’s hip, the contact made him feel dirty.
“I have someone waiting for me.”
He no longer felt bad for spending so much time beneath Dream, if anything he felt pride knowing that he was the one to unknowingly bring out this girl's true character. She wasn’t worried about Dream, Morgan only cared about getting laid and if the blond didn’t give it to her she would go find someone else that did.
———
The uber ride home was long and riddled with contemplation. Was he supposed to tell Dream about Morgan’s sexual endeavors or should he let him find out naturally? Would not telling the blond make him a bad friend? As the car pulls up to the house he sighs.
Shoes left at the door, George finds his way to Dream’s room. He leans against the doorframe, watching the blond talk to his chat. The older man isn’t paying attention to his friend's words, instead focusing on the smile that seems to be etched onto Dream’s lips. How is he meant to take that away?
When Dream notices him his smile only gets wider, reaching out to mute his mic before he speaks. “Did she not come back with you?”
“No, she was feeling sick, she’s going home.” George sighs, the lie takes more from him than he expected.
He watches as Dream stretches an arm out towards him. “Come sit, they don’t have to know you’re here.”
Who was he to turn that down? Stepping forward to climb into the man’s lap, resting his head against Dream’s shoulder. He listens to the blond talk, pressing silent kisses against his friend's neck. George could hear Dream’s breath shudder when his lips graze a spot that he knew was sensitive, a palm coming to George’s thigh and squeezing gently before returning to the mouse.
George pushes the headset off of Dream’s ear, whispering as his fingers find their way under his shirt to fiddle with the waistband of the blond’s sweatpants. “Can you keep quiet?”
Dream looks at him for a moment before shaking his head and resting his hand over George’s as it begins to slip its way under the fabric of his pants. The pause in commentary to his stream was long, it was suspicious.
“Alright,” Dream chuckles, the brunet was sure the soft laughter was in response to incessant ‘no’s. “I have to go and do something, chat, I’m sorry.” George sinks to his knees between the blond’s thighs, pulling his cock free from its confinement and grinning to himself as he licks over the tip. “I’ll be back s-soon!”
Then the stream was over and fingers lace themselves in George’s hair, encouraging him. He wasn’t sure if this was a distraction for himself or for Dream, taking the man’s tip behind his lips slowly, licking circles around the head of his cock.
“You can’t just come in and interrupt a stream like t-this.” Dream groans. “Fuck.”
George takes him deeper, moaning softly around his friend's hardening shaft, glancing up to meet eyes that were already on him. The blush on his cheeks makes his face hot. George moves his palms up the blond’s thighs, looping his fingers around the waistband of his sweatpants and tugging them off of the man he held so tenderly in his mouth.
“I’m seri-“ He’s cut off by a gentle moan. “Shit, George.”
He takes his time, licking over each centimeter his tongue found, drawing moans out of his friend's throat. The sound is heavenly, dancing around the air like some ballet performance. Dream’s fingers in his hair tightening their grip, pushing George down subconsciously, taking Dream deep into his throat. Morgan was right, his dick is good. If George had to go without it he would probably be sleeping with some other guy to fill the void as well.
George understands her, in a way. Though there is nothing worth losing out on this feeling. Sitting on his knees between Dream’s feet is his favorite place to be. The feeling of the blond’s cock trapped in his throat makes him palm with need at his own bulge that remains confined by his jeans. George wants the man inside of him in more ways than one.
Dream stands, pushing his chair back, George keeps his mouth where it began. He pulls off only to sink back down, moaning softly as the heel of his palm pressed harder into his shaft. The hand in his hair pulls him back, cock slipping from his agape mouth.
“Please be rough with me, my bruises are fading, I want them back.” The plea slips from his lips before he has time to think it through.
When he’s guided up and onto his feet he only remains standing for a mere three seconds before he is pushed into the bed. Dream did as he asked, fucking into him with every ounce of his strength, holding him down as bruises began to clutter his chest and shoulders. Though they remain in the spots he could easily cover, he aches for them to be left in other places.
As Dream fucks into him the blond drags his nails down George’s thighs. It burns, causing his legs to spread further in hopes of getting the cock deeper inside of him. He has never been this rough, the moans in George’s throat being allowed to spill loudly into the air as he was ripped apart with no care.
There is only lust when Dream fuckes him, the brunet tries to not allow it to eat at him. Moaning out the man’s name, gripping onto his hips, watching the assault take place with his own eyes. He tosses his head back when he can no longer take it, his nails beginning to claw at Dream’s unflawed skin until his palms are pulled away and pinned against the bed.
“Careful, Georgie. Don’t want us to get caught, do you?” Dream taunts him, slamming into George harder.
Though he shakes his head, in all honesty, he does. He wants Morgan to find out. He wants her to break Dream’s heart so George can pick up the pieces.
“More,” He moans loudly. “Give me more, please,” George begs, his whines persistent.
“More what?” The blond laughs.
“Bruises.” The request leaves George’s cheeks a bright pink.
Dream smiles down at him, pulling out slowly and sinking down George’s body. At first, his lips leave gentle kisses, followed by sharp teeth and an adamant tongue. These bruises would be darker than the others, trailing down the dip in his hip, coming up over his ribs. George leans into them, his cock twitching as Dream’s teeth sink into untainted skin only to leave it ravished and sensitive.
“M-More, more, please.” He asks shamelessly, groaning as lips trail up his sternum, leaving bruises on their way.
Then his lips hesitate at George’s neck and the brunet aches for what they had to offer. He knows Dream won’t leave anything there but the hope wells up in his chest. A soft kiss, a gentle tongue running up the tendon in his neck, it’s enough to make him moan. George reaches out, wrapping his hand around Dream’s cock, beginning to pump slowly.
Teeth graze his collar bone, a moan being breathed against his skin, it was quickly quieted by a harsh bite. Dream’s tongue lashes out over his collar bone, causing George’s fist to stutter. This is the highest bruise the blond has left on him. It was carefully placed, he knew that it would be easily hidden by a hoodie or t-shirt. That isn’t what he wants.
George is pulled on top and he more than happily obliges, guiding Dream back inside of him, beginning to rise and fall roughly as nails dig into his back. He clenches himself around Dream’s cock, earning himself moans and painful scratches down to his hips. The combination makes his pace falter for a moment until he reaches out to grip onto the metal headboard.
It helps to ground him as well as assist in keeping him steady. His hips moving faster whilst his prostate is slammed into, George can feel his thighs shaking. When Dream paints his insides white the sensation makes the hair on the back of the brunet’s neck stand on end.
“Fuck,” George groans, calming his pace to a slow grind, “I’m almost there.”
Dream sits up on his palm, grabbing George by the back of his neck and kissing him deeply. The brunet knows that if he keeps moving he would eventually push Dream into overstimulation. The sound of the blond’s breath shallowing in his throat is all the proof he needs. He pulls off slowly only to be laid back gently and greeted with a smiling face above him.
“How close?” Dream asks, pulling George’s thighs apart and pushing two fingers inside of him.
“S-So, so, s-so close.” George stammers, pushing himself against the intrusion.
He listens to the soft laughter rumble in the air, George’s mouth dropping open as Dream wraps his fist around his throbbing cock. The friction is rough and so very deserved. Dream’s palm moves in unison with his fingers, brushing along George’s prostate, tightening around his shaft.
“Cum for me so I can taste you.” Dream speaks in a tone that taunts him. “Can you do that?”
George nods quickly, his back arching as a third finger slipped inside of him only to curl and twist. He moans loudly, tossing his head back, hand coming down to grip at Dream’s wrist. The fist on his cock pumps him faster.
“Come on, Georgie.” Dream laughs softly, leaning down to ghost his lips over George’s. “Cum for me, baby.”
The nickname makes him spill over Dream’s fist, moaning even louder, his throat raw. “Fuck, f-fuck.”
“Very good.” Dream praises him against his jaw before sinking down his body once more.
He sits up on his elbows, watching the blond lick over his stomach with care, collecting each pool of cum into his mouth. Dream swallows, humming happily against George’s skin before kissing softly at a fresh bruise. When the blond comes up George grabs for his hand, bringing it to his lips, he licks up a string of his own forgotten cum.
George watches as the man above him subconsciously licks his lips, he can only imagine what Dream’s thoughts were like, watching the brunet taste himself. The hand he holds pulls itself free gently before pushing George’s hair off of his forehead. There is something in the way Dream looks at him that makes his heart beat harder.
“Happy?” Dream asks breathlessly as he lays down beside the brunet.
George gives a nod, his breathing labored, legs still shaking. He glances over at the blond, watching his chest heave, his skin slick with sweat. Dream looks so beautiful like this, the glow of his monitor casting shadows over his naked body. George turns onto his side, need gnawing at him to reach out though he knows that would be too much. He understands his place in this bed is only temporary— the brunet can’t allow himself to believe anything else.
Then he remembers what Morgan said at the bar. Dream hasn’t touched her in weeks. Is he still in love with her?
“Why are you looking at me like that?” Dream asks through a smile.
George meets his gaze, dragging his eyes up from Dream’s chest, biting his lip before giving an honest answer. “Just trying to figure out why you keep fucking me if you’re in love with her.”
Dream sighs, sitting up slowly. George takes the silence as a sign that he has asked the wrong question, sliding out of bed and stepping into his boxers.
“Where are you going?” The blond asks, looking over at George and watching him collect his clothing.
“To my room.” He stops, glancing up at Dream for a moment before retrieving his shirt from the corner of the bed.
Dream held his hand out. “You can sleep with me if you want.”
The brunet allows his eyes to rest on the palm stretched out towards him, worrying at his lip for a moment before shaking his head and nodding towards the door. “I should go, you wouldn’t want your girlfriend to show up and see you in bed with me.”
Dream’s hand drops and he leaves, feet carrying him out the bedroom door and to his room. When George collapses in his bed he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he has been holding in. The older man hugs himself tightly, closing his eyes, begging himself not to cry.
He pulls the duvet over himself, the warmth it offers brings him comfort. His plush pillow cradles his neck and head, if George were to close his eyes he was sure that he would fall asleep. Though he keeps them open and glued to the ceiling, his mind racing quietly.
If he were to tell Dream about Morgan would it change anything? Or would he still be laying in this stupid bed alone? Dream had never asked him to sleep in the same bed before tonight. The collecting of clothing then separating to their respective rooms is a dance George has memorized. He was so bitterly used to sleeping alone.
George wasn’t sure how long he laid in silence, minutes had surely passed, maybe even hours. The door creaking open made him jump, ripping his eyes from the ceiling to watch Dream’s shadowed figure move across his room before falling into bed beside him.
Though he’s almost a foot away George can feel the heat radiating from his body. Dream has redressed himself in his boxers, the rest of him left unclothed and uncovered until he pulls the duvet over himself. The blond faces away from him and George wishes he wasn’t.
Subconsciously George reaches out, running his fingertips down the man’s spine slowly before he realizes he has even moved at all. George knows that the blond doesn’t like sleeping alone, maybe that’s why he started seeing Morgan in the first place. If he had just gotten here sooner this wouldn’t be their predicament.
“Come here, idiot.” George sighs, looping his arm around Dream’s waist and pulling him back against his chest. It was awkward shifting into position but once comfortable he became the smallest big spoon.
He presses his face between Dream’s shoulder blades, long fingers tracing George’s arm slowly. They had never cuddled before this, typically staying feet apart after Dream fucked him into the mattress.
“I’m sorry I fucked all of this up for us.” Dream speaks quietly.
George’s voice vibrates on Dream’s tan skin. “You don’t have to be sorry, it’s just as much my fault. I shouldn’t have expected you to wait as long as you did.”
“You’re right, you shouldn’t have.” He pauses, continuing after George scoffs. “I didn’t expect your visa to be approved that fast.” Another gentle pause. “I didn't expect to meet her.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not.”
George kisses between the man’s shoulder blades sweetly. “It is.”
“I’m sorry.” Dream sounds like he could cry.
The brunet rolls his eyes, turning the man beside him over onto his back then shifting to straddle his hips. Dream doesn’t look at him, instead, he focuses on George’s chest, fingers coming up to press into the polka dot pattern covering the smaller man’s abdomen. It’s a beautiful sight, the way Dream seems to lose himself on George’s skin.
“You deserve better.” The blond finally speaks. “Someone who can give you these wherever they want.”
“Where else do you want to leave them, Dream?” He watches as the man’s gaze comes up to his neck, a gentle smile spreading on George’s lips. “You can if you want, I don’t mind.”
Dream sits up, leaning back on his hands. “What will you tell her, though?”
“She already thinks I’m fucking someone else.” Dream cocks his head in response, a slight grimace easing its way onto his shadowed features. “What? Don’t like that?”
The blond is quick to answer. “No, it sounds gross. Some stranger covering you like this is disgusting.”
“Because it would be a stranger or because it’s not you?” George challenges him.
Silence. Absolute, unflawed, filtered silence. Then Dream leans in, kissing him innocently. He has never kissed George with pure intentions. There is always the expectation of sex, though when the kiss isn’t deepened and Dream pulls away George was left with confusion. His eyes open slowly, returning to the blond's darkened expression.
“If you meet someone that’s okay. Please don’t stop yourself from falling in love because you don’t want to sacrifice this.” Dream speaks quietly as if it’s a painful secret meant for only them.
George shakes his head, leaning in to kiss the blond deeply, tangling his fingers in the hair at the nape of Dream’s neck. He tries pushing the man back but the motion is stopped with ease.
“Please stop talking.” He pleads against Dream’s lips.
“We need to talk, George.”
“Not right now.”
“Listen to me.” Dream sighs softly, pulling George’s hand from his hair slowly.
George rests his hands low on Dream’s stomach. “Or you could let me make you cum again and we can pretend we had this conversation.”
The man shakes his head, taking a deep breath. “She’s mad because I haven’t touched her in a while. But, the thing is, when I touch her I don’t get anything from it. Like I don't enjoy it, or something.” He pauses for a moment before continuing. “It’s almost as if I got to feel you and now nothing else compares.”
He looks down, beginning to play with his own hands as Dream spoke. George wants nothing more than to make the blond stop talking but in a way he knows he needs to hear these words.
“Touching her doesn’t feel as natural as touching you. Touching you is so satisfying and it makes me burn up, but being with her is like an ice bath. Not nearly as… fulfilling?” Dream’s voice lilts as if the word is a question. When George doesn’t respond Dream grows impatient. “Can you say something so I don’t feel so stupid?”
“I don’t know what to say,” George hesitates. “It sounds like she’s not the one, though.” He glances up at the blond, the words he wants to say barely held in his throat. “I can’t give you advice on how to cheat on your girlfriend with me, Dream.”
Dream huffs a soft sigh, leaning forward and pressing his forehead to George’s. “I’m sorry.”
“Can you touch me, now? You talked about it and it sounded so much better than whatever this is.” George asks softly.
“Do you want me to touch you?” He smiles, bringing his hand up to the side of George’s neck.
“All the time.” The brunet leans into the touch.
This time when Dream eases himself inside of George its different. He’s slow and gentle, palms caressing skin carefully, holding himself above the brunet only to be pulled down and held against the smaller man. George doesn’t mind the pace, in fact, he finds that he prefers it.
Dream makes love to him for the first time. There is no biting. No pushing, pulling, or rough thrusts. There are no new bruises left on George’s body and if he’s honest he doesn’t want them. The kisses Dream gives him are sweet, lingering over his neck as the blond whispers his name lovingly against his skin.
If George could trap himself inside of this bubble forever he would never ask to leave. Leaving his own candied kisses on Dream’s cheeks and collar bones, he returns the man’s name softly in the form of hushed praise and whispered admiration.
“Slower.” He requests against Dream’s chest, running hands down the blond's back like dripping honey, sweet and steady. “Please take your time with me.”
He listens, going slower than before, Dream presses into the syrupy kisses left on his chest. The moans that leave their mouths mix like maple and melting sugar, the air sweet and comforting. It’s nice to see him like this, so cautious, taking special care to not be rough or quick.
Dream kisses him deeply, even the kiss is slow and attentive. Their soft groans muffled into one another’s mouths as the blond pushes deeper. George gasps softly when his prostate is nudged, gripping at Dream’s back before allowing his hands to drop to the man’s hips.
“Right there, Clay.” He speaks against the blond's lips.
Dream smiles in return. “I know.”
George blushes, pressing his face to the man’s neck, wrapping his arms around Dream tightly. Saying the name feels even sweeter than the gentle affection being given to him. He swallows his breath into his throat as the bundle of nerves is knocked against once more. George finds himself wishing his prostate didn’t exist, without it, he wouldn’t have to worry about this coming to an end.
Though by the time they both finish the birds are singing to the fresh sun, chests rising and falling slowly with gentle breaths. He allows the man to pull him in, curling into each other, leaving heedful kisses on arms and shoulders until sleep finds them and takes away their moment of solitude.
|
Everyone has finished their lunch, and we’re just sitting around the table with coffees. Mette has been strangely quiet, just listening to everything that Grete and Frode chat about. I speak whenever I can, because I have questions, and I’m no one important, so I don’t have to worry about embarrassing myself.
“Slim,” Grete says.
“Shit, really?”
“We went through this on the last one. Shooting in hospitals is a pain in the tits. We should find something that’s shut down, that we can slap some paint on. Or a group home or something. Group home, that’s the better idea.”
“You think.”
Grete nods, flipping through a text. “I do.”
“But—“
“No, Frode.”
“We could look into—“
“No, Frode.”
“We can’t even discuss this?”
“No, because life is short and I’m not spending any of it arguing with you about something I know is a dead end. We’ll find a group home that wouldn’t mind some money. It’ll be more realistic.”
“It will,” Mette says.
Frode looks at her. “Yeah?”
She pauses, then nods. “Yeah. It’s not like I was thinking of an asylum or anything. You know what I wrote. It’s just—a room. Not a lot of bright colours, furniture sort of beat up. Not like there’s bars on the windows. That’s not the movie we’re making, is it?”
“No. We’ll talk to Jorunn, see what she can do about it, what she thinks. I’m thinking maybe a greenish palette? Make sense? Washed out a little?”
I can’t help myself. “Flickering fluorescent lights?”
Forde glances at me, and raises his shoulders. “Well—“
“They’re not like that,” I say. “The places I’ve been, they’re nice. A little beat up, but no flickering fluorescents. We’re in a welfare state, not Silent Hill.” He grins a little, sitting back.
“How many have you been in?” Grete asks.
Mette and Frode are quiet, and I take just a second to collect myself. Putting up a few fingers, I say, “Three. But I was in the one twice.”
“Three different hospitals.” I nod, and Grete says, “So can you tell this idiot that we don’t need to waste our time trying to get a permit to shoot in a hospital?”
Looking at Frode, I lift a shoulder. “You don’t have to waste your time trying to get a permit to shoot in a hospital.”
To Grete, Frode says, “Next one, I want to shoot in a hospital.”
“You’ve got some sort of medical fetish,” Grete mutters. “I’m not here to enable you.” She squints at me from under her brows. “So you’ve been in, what, four times total?”
I nod again.
“It help with anything?”
There’s a question. I expect people to ask why I was there in the first place, not if things were made better. “Uh…yes and no.”
Mette speaks up. “He doesn’t need to be interrogated.”
“Kitten, if I was interrogating him, you’d know.” Grete shrugs at me. “No offense, kid. Just asking.”
And because it’s her, I don’t mind. “It’s okay. If you have questions, that’s fine. The answer is—sometimes it helps, sometimes it doesn’t. The first three times, I was there against my will. The first two, I’d tried to kill myself, and the third one, I was manic and accidentally overdosed on sleeping pills. Don’t give me that look, Mette, it was accidental. And the last time, it was after my father died, and I checked myself in. That’s when I finally got a good therapist, finally started taking medication regularly. So—it helps to a certain extent, but it all sort of depends on how much you put in.”
Grete nods, unfazed by what I’ve said. “God helps those that help themselves.”
“You’re religious?” I ask, surprised.
“No, but it was the first thing I could think of.”
Frode folds his arms on the table, nodding to me. “Can I ask something?”
Mette hisses. “What did we—“
“Sure,” I say.
“What would you listen to while you were there?”
Another good question that I did not anticipate. “Ah, well—last time, I just wrote a lot of my own things and played my guitar. The other times? A lot of Nas.”
“Nas?”
“Yeah, like—“
“Illmatic?” Frode asks.
“Yeah!”
Mette rolls her eyes. She puts her head in her hands. “Lord save me from the whitest men in existence. There’s a reason I wrote Anders as half Algerian. If you decide to make the soundtrack hip hop, it won’t be wildly exploitative.”
Ignoring her, Frode say, “What’s your favourite line of his?”
“Jesus, that’s a tough one. I mean, as a person who’s been manic, I’ve used ‘sleep is the cousin of death’ more times than I can count.” I give it a lot of thought. That whole album is so fucking good that it’s difficult to just pluck out pieces. Chewing on my lip, I say, “This rhythmatic explosion is what your mind has chosen.”
“Nice. I gotta go with, ‘Visualizin’ the realism of life in actuality, fuck who’s the baddest, a person’s status depends on salary.’ Hey, what do you think of the later stuff?”
Before I can speak, Mette says, “Fuck Nas.”
Jaw dropping, I say in mock outrage, “Fuck Nas?”
“Yeah, you heard me.” I make a noise of disbelief, and Mette arches a brow at me. “Does he use the word ‘faggot’ on that album all you pasty boys get hard over?”
I make a face. “He does.”
“Yeah. A bunch of bullshit male peacock posturing. You’re grown men. You should have gotten over this by now.”
Frode and I look at each other.
Then he looks at Grete.
After a moment, she sighs. “Fine, I’ll look into licensing.”
Mette groans, and I just grin.
I pause outside to button my coat up the rest of the way. It’s chilly. The wind has come in, and a few of the snowflakes that fell yesterday have decided to stay.
Mette took off about five minutes ago. She’s not happy about some of the decisions they’re making, but at this point it’s not just her project anymore. It belongs to a lot of people. On Monday I’ll go with her to meet the casting director. There’s not really much for me to do, but she just asks me to go along with her. She doesn’t even need an assistant, not really. She’s just letting me tag along.
And that’s fine.
“Even.”
I turn, smiling down at Grete. “Hey.”
She zips up her leather jacket, squinting up at me against the afternoon light. “You dance much?”
I stare at her.
Then I twirl my cane and say, “Yes, actually, this is just an affectation.”
She rolls her eyes, and says, “You know, I didn’t even think about that. No, it’s just—my partner’s kid mentioned this club. He’s a sweet kid, actually likes his mother. I don’t know, sometimes I think it’s weird, but who am I to say? Everyone’s weird, and I don’t have any kids of my own, so what would I know? But you said you’re still new in town. You seem like good people, and Mette said you didn’t have any other friends here, which seems like a pity.”
I arch a brow. “Grete, are you trying to get me laid?”
“Well, if that’s what makes you happy.” She pulls out her phone, scrolling through. When she finds what she’s looking for, she turns it to show me.
I take a second, then look at her. “Milk?”
Grete rolls her eyes, and puts the phone away. “Yeah, queer bars have to have terrible names. I don’t know why it’s always been like that. Like it’s a law or something.”
“Can I make an observation?’
She sticks her hands in her pockets and shrugs. “Sure.”
“Why do people have such a…” I make a non- committal noise, not sure how to finish the sentence.
Grete finishes it for me. “Why do people think I’m a bitch?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s just what people do. Form their opinion, blab to others, then you get a reputation. And I am a bitch. When I need to be. Life’s too short to let people walk on you. When I’m nice, people think I’m just fucking with them, though, so—“ Grete raises her shoulders.
I smile crookedly. “I haven’t been to a club since this happened.” I wiggle my cane.
“You seem like the kind of person who’d have fun at one of those places.”
“I bet you’d hate them.”
“A bunch of nineteen-year-olds in underwear writhing against one another in the dark? Yeah, I’ll be at home with my dogs, thanks.” She nods to me. “You go, let me know how it was. Text me after you two meet Annalise on Monday if you have any questions.”
“I will.” She turns away, and I say, “Hey, Grete?” She looks back, frowning a little. “Thank you for being nice to me.”
“Yeah, well—I Googled you, after Frode told me about that fuck up him and Mette made with you. You’ve had a shitty year. Doesn’t cost anything to be nice to someone who’s had a shitty year.” She starts to walk away again, but stops and points at me. “Before I forget—my partner’s kid, he’s a little shorter than you, red hair, has his lobes stretched out. Name’s Tom. Fuck anybody but him. He’s only eighteen, and I’d have to beat the shit out of you. Cool?’
I smile, and nod. “Very cool.”
“All right.” She walks away, a hand above her head. “Take care!”
I think that maybe the best thing about this project so far is that I now know Grete.
I stand on the sidewalk, thinking about it. Then I pull out my phone, and as I walk away, I look up the club.
|
Jane inspected Gene Finch's belongings as Frost drove. Most of the items were of no evidentiary value: an old toothbrush, travel size mouthwash and shampoo, a clean change of socks and underwear, a crinkled copy of Time Magazine. But what Jane found at the bottom of the bag was exactly what she had been hoping for.
"Ah ha!" the detective said, removing the bloodstained handkerchief with a gloved hand. "Just what I've always wanted."
"Damn," Frost said with mock disappointment, "I went and spent all that money on your birthday present when all this time you just wanted a dirty hankie."
Jane laughed. "Aw, Frost, you didn't have to get me a present." She said with equal facetiousness.
"Good," Frost said with a toothy smile, "because I didn't get you anything."
Jane elbowed her partner playfully, "Jerk." She placed the handkerchief in an evidence bag. "We should get this evidence back to the station. Hopefully, Maura can get something off it so we can close this damn case."
"Eager to get to personal matters?" Frost said curiously, noticing Jane checking her phone again.
"Will you stop pestering me, Frost?" Jane said, noticing Maura's missed call. She dialed the M.E. but there was no answer.
"I'll stop pestering you when you admit there's something going on." Frost said, as they pulled into the station.
"Fine. Something's going on. Happy now?" Jane said, climbing out of the car.
"It's Maura, isn't it?" Frost said.
Jane stopped dead in her tracks. She didn't dare turn around; doing so would only reveal the deer-in-the-headlights look on her face. Instead, she gulped and desperately tried to figure out how to change the subject.
"It's okay, Jane." Frost said patting the detective on the shoulder encouragingly, "It's not like I'm surprised or anything."
Jane followed Frost into the station in shock. She didn't know what to think, no less say. It's not like I'm surprised, the phrase repeated in Jane's mind over and over. She knew people had been suspicious about her sexuality before, but, honestly, was she really the last to know? She didn't know whether to be relieved or insulted.
"Maura's a wonderful person." Frost said, holding the door for her. "You just be good to her, okay?"
"Shit." Jane said, suddenly remembering how much of an ass she had been to Maura this morning.
"What now?" Frost said, frowning at her.
"Can you please take these down to Maura?" Jane said, handing him the evidence bags. "I've got something I've got to do."
"What about interviewing Gene Finch?" Frost said, staring after her confused.
"I'll meet you at Finch's. Twenty minutes, okay?" she said, heading for her car.
"Wait, where are you going?" Frost said, blinking in disbelief.
"Doing as you said, being good to Maura." Jane said with a wide grin on her face.
xxx
"What is it we’re looking for, anyway?" Frankie said bending down to peek under the kitchen table in the Thompson's cramped apartment.
"I have reason to believe that piece of plastic comes from a hypodermic syringe." Maura said, comparing a set of crime scene photos to a particular spot on the floor. She frowned pensively, as if making calculations. Her gaze skimmed over the uneven floorboards purposefully.
"A hypodermic syringe?" Frankie said, "I thought the victims died of food poisoning."
"Yes," Maura nodded, not really paying attention, "I believe it is a small one used to deliver subcutaneous injections of insulin."
Frankie stood up straight, looking at the M.E. confused, "Wait, so the murder weapon was insulin?"
"No, no…" Maura said absent mindedly as her eyes caught sight of a heating vent on the floor hidden by the outcrop of the kitchen counter. From her things she took an evidence bag and a pair of tweezers.
"Here we are!" Maura said, barely able to contain her excitement.
"What is that?" Frankie said squinting at the crushed syringe Maura had just un-wedged from the grate over the hidden heating vent.
"Proof that I can't trust anyone to do my job but me," Maura mumbled irritably.
"You can't do everything, Maura," Frankie shrugged. "So, how'd you know you'd find that here?"
"I didn't." Maura said, placing it into an evidence bag labeled 'bio-hazardous.'
"Lucky guess?" Frankie smiled.
"I don't guess." Maura said with utter sincerity.
"Then what would you call it?" he said.
"I made a hypothesis based on relevant observations, the second step in the scientific method," she said with a reassuring nod.
Frankie raised his eyebrows and gave her a classic Rizzoli "Oh, really?" expression. "So," he said, "what 'relevant observations' told you that you would find that here?"
"Well," she said, with a triumphant smile, "like every scientific inquiry I started with a question: how was the pathogen introduced?"
"But what made you think they would use a syringe?" Frankie said.
"Because,” Maura smiled, “if working with Jane has taught me anything, it's that criminals are highly predictable."
"What do you mean?" Frankie said, following Maura out of the kitchen.
"They tend to use what is readily available," Maura said with a smile as Frankie reached for the knob to open the door for her.
Suddenly, and all in one instant, half a dozen things happened. Frankie's hand was barely on the doorknob when the door burst open with a loud crack. In a flash, the heavy oak swung and smashed into his face with enough force to knock him off his feet. Instinctually, Maura jumped back, letting out a shocked yelp. Her sudden movement backward shielded her from a large amount of the force coming from a desperate tackle from one very surprised looking Joshua Finch.
With a thud and a groan, the doctor landed on the floor a few feet away, her things splaying across the floor—including the recently collected evidence. Spotting the evidence bag, a flustered and panting Josh dived into the apartment. By this time Frankie had recovered enough of his senses to reach for his gun.
"Stop!" Frankie yelled, blood dripping from his nose and into his mouth. He pointed his gun at the muscular brunet who was already leaping over the sofa and heading for the back of the apartment. "Police!" Frankie hollered.
Josh wasn't listening. He had already smashed through the living room window onto the fire escape. Frankie had barely scrambled to his feet by the time Josh had recovered from his rough landing onto the steel platform outside the window.
xxx
Jane had just pulled up in front of Finch's when she noticed Maura's car across the street. "Well that explains why Frost couldn't find you," Jane said as she parked the car.
She had just finished her errand and was on her way back to the station when her partner had called her, saying that he wasn't able to find Maura, but that Korsak was going to meet them at the restaurant as well. She hadn't thought much of it, figuring the doctor had just decided to go out for lunch. But when she saw Maura's car parked in front of Tommie-John's she doubted that the doctor was there for their famous pizza.
Considering she saw no sign of either Frost or Korsak, she figured she had a few minutes to spare. On top of being curious about what Maura was up to, she was hoping to get a chance to give her the surprise that waited for her in the front seat of her unmarked car. She smiled nervously as she crossed the street, she really hoped Maura would like them.
Just as she was peeking in the windows of the restaurant, she heard a muffled crack and a yelp followed by two thuds. Jane looked up at the apartment above in fright. Had that been Maura's voice she had heard? With the noise from the street she was surprised she had heard it at all. She had almost convinced herself she had imagined it when she heard glass shattering in the alleyway to the left.
Immediately, her hand went to her gun as she sprinted towards the alley. She raised her weapon at the figure struggling to climb down the fire escape. Instantly, she recognized him.
"Stop where you are Finch!" Jane commanded, aiming up at him threateningly.
He turned to face her. As soon as he noticed her weapon, his hands went up into the air. "Don't shoot!" he said, the evidence bag dropping to the ground.
The two of them flinched as Frankie jumped out the window gun first. "Hold it!" he yelled, but he was a little late to the game.
"Frankie?" Jane said, frowning up at her brother. Is that blood dripping from his nose? she thought.
"Jane!" Frankie said, keeping his weapon trained on Josh.
"I'm unarmed!" Josh said wearily eyeing each of them.
"What's going on here?" Jane said to Frankie, glad that Josh was out of reach; had he been closer she would have struggled with the urge to tackle him linebacker style. No one was allowed to beat up on her little brother but her. "Where's Maura?"
"He burst through the door." Frankie said, "Nearly knocked both of us out. Then he stole the evidence Maura just found."
Jane bent down and scooped up the evidence bag, keeping one eye on Josh and her weapon trained. Briefly, the detective eyed the contents of the bag. She had seen something like this before. Then she remembered. It was just like the syringe she had seen on the table beside Gene Finch's bed at the hospital, although that one had not been in quite so many pieces. Maura had solved the case.
"Maura!" Jane suddenly said, "Is she okay?"
"She's fine," Frankie assured her, "just a little bruised."
But Jane was not convinced until she had a chance to check on the doctor herself a few minutes later. Frost was reading Josh his rights as he cuffed and forced him, somewhat roughly, into the squad car. Frankie was trying to give his statement while an EMT was attending to his broken nose. Maura had refused medical treatment and instead was informing a crime scene tech—with somewhat unnecessary rebuke—the importance of thoroughness and careful management of evidence.
"Lay off the poor girl, Maur." Jane said, placing a hand delicately on the doctor's shoulder. "It's not her fault."
"You're right." Maura admitted, turning to face the detective with a weak smile. Other than looking a bit stiff and her clothes looking a little less than flawless, she seemed unharmed.
"You okay?" Jane said, brushing a strand of hair from Maura's face, studying her eyes closely. The doctor might not be physically harmed, but Jane could sense Maura was upset.
"This is all my fault." Maura said, looking flustered and teary-eyed.
"What?" Jane said in disbelief, squeezing her shoulder as if to shake this silly idea from her head. "How is any of this your fault?"
Maura winced slightly. Her shoulder was still sore from where she had hit the floor. The pain lessened as Jane ran her hand down her arm apologetically. The doctor suddenly wished they were somewhere else, anywhere but in front of her coworkers. It was hard to keep professional when she was struggling so hard not to cry.
"If only I had investigated that scene myself, I never would have missed that evidence, Frankie and I would never have been there and he never would have gotten his—" Maura said before Jane interrupted her by placing a hand softly on her cheek as if to force the doctor to look in her the eyes.
"Whoa, whoa, Maura," Jane said staring resolutely into her hazel eyes, "calm down. Frankie is fine. He might be a bit banged up, but he'll be fine. I've probably done worse to him myself."
Jane smiled, thinking back to how rough her and her brothers were back when they were kids. She had probably broken Frankie's nose at least twice, Tommie's at least four times. Jane wouldn't be surprised if her mother looked at her accusingly as soon as she caught a glimpse of Frankie's face.
"As for the evidence," Jane continued, "that's not your fault either. You can't be everywhere; you can't do everything."
"Yes, but if I had been more thorough, I would have known that—" Maura said, highly conscious of Jane's hand, which was now on her shoulder.
"But you figured it out now," Jane interrupted her. "You solved the case!"
"I did?" Maura frowned. "… I guess I did."
Jane quietly admired the smile that grew on the doctor's face. For a genius, Maura was often absolutely clueless. It was one of the many things about Maura that Jane found perfectly adorable.
"Come on, let me take you back to the station." Jane said, her hand falling to Maura's back protectively as they crossed the street to Jane's car.
They could talk about the case later. Right now, Jane just wanted to get Maura comfortable. Maybe then she would let Jane at least get her some ice for the bruises she was obviously hiding. It didn't matter how brave she was, a woman of Maura's size didn't get tackled by a man as big as Josh Finch without getting a bit beaten up.
"That's really not necessary," Maura said, even as she approached Jane's car.
"I know, but let me take care of you, okay?" Jane said holding the passenger door open for her. "One of the uniforms can drop your car off at the station later."
"What are those?" Maura said as she spotted the bouquet of flowers Jane had left on the seat.
"Oh…" Jane said, suddenly feeling her cheeks redden. In all that had happened since she showed up in front of Finch’s, she had forgotten all about the gift—and the terrible embarrassment she had suffered asking the florist for advice—"Those were for …"
"Jane, they're beautiful!" Maura said, reading everything she needed to know in the detective's blushing face. The doctor brought the flowers to her face, closing her eyes briefly as she inhaled the scent of lilac and lilies.
"I'm sorry about this morning." Jane said. Really, she was sorry for ever doubting Maura, for questioning where this was going, for thinking, even for a moment, that being with Maura was not the best decision she ever made. The detective smiled happily at the grinning doctor.
"I was a jerk," Jane continued, as a speechless Maura looked at her. She really hoped the teary look in Maura's eyes was a good sign, because she had gone to that flower shop with absolutely no idea of what the hell she was doing.
When she had tried to explain to the florist—in as little detail as possible— what the situation was, she had been surprised when the young woman had insisted on this particular mix, violet lilacs and sunset orange lilies. The florist had nodded at her reassuringly, giving her a knowing wink. In the end, she only agreed because the lilacs reminded her of Maura's perfume and the lilies had the same auburn hue as Maura's hair in the sunlight. She had shaken her head and laughed as she brought the bouquet to the car, silently cursing Maura for turning her into a hopeless romantic.
Jane only hoped that Maura didn't find them silly. Quite to the detective's surprise, Maura absolutely loved them. What Jane didn't know, and, of course, Maura did, was the symbolic meaning of the flowers. Later, Jane would mentally thank the florist for leaving out this little detail, because, had she told her what they meant, she never would have had the courage to purchase them.
The detective got her first inkling of this meaning when, quite suddenly, Maura leapt at her enthusiastically, placing a passionate kiss on her unexpecting lips. At first, Jane had a shocked look in her coffee brown eyes. Soon, however, she melted appreciatively into the kiss, her eyes closing dreamily and her arms wrapping around Maura's back. Maura draped her arms around Jane's neck, sucking softly at Jane's bottom lip and fighting the urge to press her tongue into Jane's parted mouth.
Jane was vaguely aware of the fact that several officers just some yards behind her were cheering. She also thought she heard her brother making very loud objections. What she was more worried about, however, was the fact that Maura was not relenting. She was more than appreciating the affection, but they were, after all, still at work.
The detective was just about to step back when she suddenly became aware of the relative silence behind her. She opened her eyes and nearly stumbled back, her gaze meeting just about the most frightening sight she could think of.
"Ma?" Jane said in the highest pitched voice Maura had ever heard come from her lips.
"Janie?" Angela said, a shocked look on her reddened face.
(to be continued)
|
Black, Brown, White
Jimin’s head was still swimming with sleep, his eyes still barely open and his worries not even on his mind when someone threw something at his head. He grumbled and shifted, his hair in a million different directions. Maybe he could get away with not brushing it today, or maybe he could get Taehyung to do it. Taehyung always liked brushing his hair. He was able to stay in dreamland for another few seconds before something else hit his head, though this time it was something hard and heavy.
“Hey!” he barked, sitting up quickly. He spun his head around to glare at the intruder standing in his doorway. “What was that for, Yoongi?” He squinted his eyes at the chuckling omega, his hands rubbing the soreness out of his head.
“I threw a pillow the first time,” he said with a shrug. He tugged his loose black tunic back onto his milky shoulder where it had fallen. Over the past few months, Yoongi had gained a little bit of weight, and his complexion looked closer to Jimin’s than a fresh sheet of snow, though he was still far too skinny for anyone’s liking. “It’s not my fault that you refused to get up.”
Jimin rolled his eyes, though there was a smile on his face. Yoongi had just gotten out of heat, so it was nice to see him. “You could have thrown another pillow, and I would have gotten the message.”
Yoongi shook his head and sat down on the edge of Jimin’s bed. “I couldn’t take that risk.” The omega leaned over to Jimin’s bedside table and grabbed his hair brush. Jimin smiled a secret smile at his small victory, and turned around for Yoongi, the fur blankets twisting around his body. “What are you smiling about, pup?” Yoongi grumbled, passing the brush through Jimin’s white locks with minor difficulty. Jimin laughed and shook his head.
Jimin looked around his bed. “What did you throw at me anyway?” He heard Yoongi sigh just as he found the pretty wooden box with a red silk ribbon wrapped around it laying on its side near his pillows. He gasped quietly and took it into his hands, turning it gently to look at all of the ornately carved sides and lid.
“Kook-ah wanted you to have a gift before he went into rut,” Jimin could practically feel Yoongi rolling his eyes from behind him. “Something about “I need him to know that he is my little treasure, even when I can’t be there with him.’” Yoongi shuttered. “It’s not like he hasn’t given you a million other courting gifts already. It would be impossible not to remember him when you can smell him everywhere.” Yoongi swept his hand towards the shelf that was built into Jimin’s wall which held the other carvings and baubles that the alpha had given Jimin over the course of their courtship.
Jimin giggled and felt the ribbon. It was so, so soft, though Jimin felt like it was familiar somehow. His smile ebbed just a little. He held the ribbon in between his thumb and index finger. “This ribbon must have been expensive. Do you know where he got it from?”
Yoongi leaned closer to take a look at the piece of silk, moving a section of Jimin’s hair over his shoulder. “Ah, yeah. He had gotten it awhile back from a nomadic pack…” he trailed off, as if thinking. Jimin blinked when Yoongi snapped his fingers. “Ah, yes, the Yoo Pack they were called. They came through before our pack fell into chaos and we traded some weaponry for textiles and fabrics.”
Yoongi continued to talk, but Jimin’s mind had gone elsewhere. The Yoo Pack, huh? He hadn’t heard that name in a long, long time. His chest began to ache with something, and he reached up to rub at it. He had hated that pack, he had hated the other pups, the walking, the color he had to wear just because he was an omega. He had hated his father, and he hated those stupid shoes that he somehow couldn’t get rid of. He looked to his shelf where they sat, dirty and tiny next to a carving of a bunny, one of Jungkook’s first gifts. Yet, he hadn’t hated his mother. Her thick jet black hair, her soft warm hands. Maybe that was where the ache was coming from. He still hadn’t been able to speak to the Head Omega in all these months, without feeling a well of anger boil up inside of him. Maybe he was just missing a mother figure, something he thought he had outgrown now that he was seventeen, almost eighteen.
Maybe it was the question he had always had playing at the back of his mind, even if he hadn’t seen nor heard anything from his biological family for years. He still wondered about it every now and again, when he couldn’t sleep or when he was waiting for something. Maybe the ache came from the Yoo Pack being brought up, forcing the question to the forefront of his mind. He felt he already knew the answer, but he couldn’t wrap his mind around it, even though it hardly mattered anyway. He glanced down at his white strands of hair and sucked his bottom lip. His father had had brown hair, he remembered.
“...Yoongi?”
Yoongi stopped abruptly, a little bit annoyed that he had been cut off, but he didn’t say anything as Jimin’s scent spiked into something like burning sugar. “What is it Jiminie?”
Jimin sighed and tugged at his hair. “What... “ he swallowed and tried again. “What is the likelihood of an alpha and a beta conceiving an omega?”
Yoongi’s eyebrow raised. He reached up and tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear. “That more of a question for Namjoon-”
“Please just answer it?”
Yoongi sighed and placed the hairbrush back onto the table. “Not… Not very likely.”
“Hm,” Jimin murmured. “And if that beta had black hair, and the alpha brown, what would be the likelihood of having a pup with white hair?”
“Jimin, what is this about?” Yoongi asked, his voice stern and hard.
Jimin gently put the box down on the bed and folded his fingers. They felt cold. He couldn’t even bring himself to turn around and look the older omega in the eye. This was so stupid. He probably wouldn’t ever see them again, so why was he being like this. Why did it… hurt so much? “My mother, my real mother, her hair was blacker than Jungkook’s. Blacker than the night sky. My father’s was brown. So, how…?” Jimin pulled at his hair again.
Jimin felt Yoongi’s head bump into his back. “I don’t want to answer that, just because stranger things have happened than a raven and a pony having a white hare, so I won’t. I don’t want you believing or thinking things that might not be true, but I do know this, and you might not like it.” Yoongi nuzzled his face further into Jimin’s back, making it harder for Jimin to understand but not impossible. He felt like all of the warmth had left his body, though he could feel his heart pounding his blood through his body. “I have only met a single family with hair as white as yours.”
Jimin swallowed. He didn’t think he could speak, so he didn’t. He let Yoongi take his time, let his thin arms come around his waist. “The Lee family. Each and every one of them has hair as white as snow, and they are all devastatingly beautiful. I had heard that a couple of the omegas from their family were traded awhile back to a nomadic pack, though this was before even I was born, so I don’t know much about it.”
Jimin nodded. He could accept that. So, his father had mated with one of these omegas? Then why had his mother still loved him so fiercely, even when he wasn’t hers, or was that a lie too? His chest was only beginning to hurt worse and worse. “What aren’t you telling me, Yoongi?”
Yoongi shifted behind him and breathed out harshly. “What do you mean?”
“You wouldn’t be acting like this if it was something as simple as this. Why do you seem so… scared?” Jimin asked, his voice weak. He just wanted to curl up and go back to sleep.
Yoongi was silent for a long, long time. “You’re too smart for your own good Jimin.” Yoongi pulled Jimin eve tighter against him before leaning to talk softly in Jimin’s ear. What he uttered made Jimin’s insides drop to his feet and his heart grow to ice in his chest. “Lee Joohyun is the one who killed Jungkook’s father, and it is he who sits as the Head of the once great Jeon Pack.
…
Heavy Talks and Heavy Times
“Imagine my surprise when I learned that the tooth goblin wasn’t real, and that my mother was the one sneaking sweets under my pillow. I couldn’t look at her the same for weeks. ” Jungkook laughed, helping Jimin off of the fallen log they had been using to cross the river. They were finally allowed to be alone, after much convincing on Jungkook’s part. He had practically begged on his knees to Yoongi, and Jimin sweet talked Taehyung into allowing them a full hour, sometimes two if they were lucky, of unsupervised time every few days. It wasn’t much, and the time seemed to fly by, but it was better than nothing.
Jungkook understood why he wasn’t allowed to be alone with him for too long. Jimin was the pride of the pack, the next Head Omega. It wasn’t just a matter of if Jungkook was going to do something to Jimin, to which he would never , but it was a matter of his image. What would the others in the pack think of him if he left to be alone with an unmated alpha for hours every day, doing gods know what, even if they were courting? Under usual circumstances, he wouldn’t care what people thought, but he knew that Jimin did, and that Jimin wanted to be the best Head Omega he could be, considering how much of a disappointment the current one was to him. So, Jungkook just smiled and bared it, though after a certain point, Jimin was getting sick of the strict no touching rule as well, and even he decided that they needed a little bit of them time. Jungkook almost wept in relief when Jimin told him that, and he thanked whatever god allowed him this every night for it.
Right now was one of those times. Jimin had gotten leave from his father and Taehyung, and Jungkook from Yoongi to take some time for themselves. Jungkook was glad for it. Jimin hadn’t been acting like himself for the past few days, since Jungkook had come out of rut, and he was hoping to get to the bottom of it. He wasn’t sure what it was, but Jimin wasn’t smiling as brightly or at all, and he seemed to be lost in thought most of the time. The Head Alpha didn’t seem to mind, though he had to gently scold Jimin a few times when he wasn’t paying attention to something that was actually important. When Jungkook had arrived to pick Jimin up, the alpha had given him a small nod and Jungkook took that as a “please help him”. So, Jungkook would try, if not for himself, then for Jimin and his family.
They were currently walking to their favorite place. They only came here when they were going to have long talks. Usually, they would walk around the forest outside of the camp and play or steal small kisses and touches. They would talk all the time of course, about nothing and everything, but for the long talks, the ones for heavy times and heavy words, they went to the special place. It was a little bit far from the camp, and it was a little inconvenient to get to, but that made them harder to find, and for heavier talks, that was perfect. It wasn’t even Jungkook that started walking to their spot, it was the quiet omega. As soon as they had stepped out of his cabin, he had tugged Jungkook’s hand to ask him to follow before dropping it and walking ahead of him. That was another thing that was bothering the alpha. Jimin wasn’t touching him as much lately, and it made his chest sore. It wasn’t like Jimin didn’t want to touch Jungkook, as Jungkook constantly saw Jimin reach out for him, but Jimin would seem to stop himself and let his arm or head drop before he could make contact. It was like Jimin was… scared to touch him, but Jungkook couldn’t figure out what he did to make the other frightened of him, and it made his chest hurt even worse.
While they walked, Jungkook tried everything to make Jimin smile, even if it was just once. He saw an inkling of a smile only twice, but he took his victories where he could. He had hoped the story he had just told would work, but Jimin only huffed out a breath, a mockery of his laugh. Though he did speak for the first time, and for that Jungkook was thankful.
“In our pack, it’s a Faerie that leaves the sweets.”
Jungkook turned and looked at Jimin with his eyes opened up wide. “ Faeries?” He scoffed and shook his head. “In my pack, Faeries eat pups and play nasty tricks.”
Jungkook won his third smile as Jimin’s lips turned up, but this one vanished quicker than the others had. He walked faster and Jungkook could do nothing but follow, his own mouth in a small frown. They passed a few more boulders and a few more small streams. Jungkook had a passing thought that he was glad that the summer was approaching, as these walks when the snow was high was near impossible, especially for Jimin who got cold easily. That and Jimin showed way more skin in the summer.
The area in which the Jeon Pack was located never really got warm enough to wear lighter clothes, but here there were actual seasons, and with actual seasons came clothing changes. Today Jimin was wearing a light blue short sleeved tunic and black soft leather shorts that showed off most of his milky thighs and light moccasins. Underneath his tunic, he wore a light cotton turtle neck to cover up his scent glands. That was the only part of Jimin’s outfit that Jungkook didn’t like, but Jimin looked drop dead gorgeous either way. His thick hair was braided in a way that reminded Jungkook of his old pack and pulled up into a high ponytail. Yoongi must have done his hair today.
They walked in silence for a few more minutes, and Jungkook couldn’t decide if it was uncomfortable or not, but he had a hard time deciphering between the two when he always felt comfortable with Jimin, no matter the situation. They finally reached the area, and Jungkook felt warmth tingling at his arms and legs at seeing the two worn down spots in the grass.
He sighed and quietly recalled the moments he and Jimin shared leaning against the massive rock face. The first time Jimin had brought him there, they had talked about Namjoon imprinting on Jimin. At first, Jungkook had been angry and confused, but it was quickly extinguished when Jimin explained that it was a different kind of imprinting, and that apparently Jungkook’s father had imprinted on Namjoon in the same way. Jungkook was suddenly proud that Namjoon had found a potential mate and someone he wanted to treat as his own blood in the Kim Pack, and he had let himself cry in relief at that. He had always been worried that Namjoon would end up alone. Not that he would ever leave Namjoon, but having a mate was something completely different from being someone’s brother, and he was worried that Namjoon would be left behind in that aspect, and he was more than ecstatic that Namjoon wouldn’t be.
This had been where Jimin had first told him about his first pack, about his father. Jungkook had been livid. He had yelled and punched the rock, and Jimin just let him. Jimin just sat and listened to Jungkook’s endless ranting and yelling, all with a soft smile on his face. He had said that he was happy that Jungkook felt so strongly about it, but that there was nothing he could do about it now, and that he was past it. But Jungkook could tell that the omega wasn’t. He could see it in the way he clenched his fists, in the way he chewed his lip. But he let it drop, and let Jimin softly tell him about his mother, his real mother, and he held him when he cried about missing her even if he hadn’t even seen her in years.
It was where Jungkook talked about his own family, about the adventures he had had with Yoongi and Namjoon. He spoke about his own father with fierce passion, and he talked about his mother with soft eyes and smiles, and they laughed until they cried when Jungkook told Jimin about Namjoon’s childhood crush on his mother.
Right here, at this rock, where the sun barely touched the top but warmed the whole thing nonetheless, they had talked and cried and laughed. It was their own world, and they could just be them, with no holds barred. Jungkook hoped they could have many more moments, with many more talks.
Starting with this one.
Jungkook eyed Jimin’s back warily as the omega came to a stop in front of the rock. Jimin wringed his fingers in front of him and looked over his shoulder at Jungkook. He gestured in front of him for Jungkook to sit down. Jungkook came forward and trailed his hand across Jimin’s waist from his right hip to his left before sitting in front of Jimin, his back against the rock. Jimin closed his eyes and Jungkook thought he saw him shudder a little.
When his eyes opened back up, he looked at Jungkook with what the alpha thought was worry and...guilt?
“Um…” Jimin breathed. He swallowed, and looked away. Jungkook had had enough. He sat forward and tugged Jimin’s hands apart, his fingers red from the rubbing. He held them softly and brought them to his face to kiss them gently. Jimin’s eyes met his for a second before he looked down again.
“What is it, sweet one?” Jungkook asked, his voice soft as a sigh. Jimin looked up to the sky and breathed in a big breath. He slowly let it out and kneeled to be eye level with the alpha.
“Who is… the Lee family?”
Jungkook felt his heart stutter, and his fingers went a little bit cold, and he felt his jaw clench unintentionally. He thought he should get angry, but he wouldn’t, couldn’t, get angry at Jimin, who had just asked him a question.
“Uh,” Jungkook cleared his throat. It seemed to fill with emotion all of the sudden against his will. “They… they are a powerful family in my old pack. They are a pretty big family, most of the smaller packs around the Jeon Pack have a Lee in them. Most of them are alphas, and they tend to trade their omegas off. Something about ‘staying in power is easier with no weak distractions’”. Jungkook swallowed and looked away from Jimin’s piercing green eyes for the next part. “My father’s second was a Lee,” his throat was getting scratchy again. “Lee Joohyun. And… and he betrayed him, and killed him.”
He heard Jimin gasp softly, and then a hand on his face. Jimin rubbed gently at the tears that were falling slowly down Jungkook’s cheek. Jungkook hadn’t even realized that he was crying. “I was pretty close to Joohyun’s son, an alpha named Jooheon. But I don’t really know what happened after my pack was taken over. I had to get away as fast as I could, or he would have killed me too.” Jungkook swallowed thickly and Jimin put his forehead against Jungkook’s, his eyes closed. Jungkook hooked his fingers underneath Jimin’s collar and pulled it down a little, letting that soft sugary smell roll over him. Jimin sighed and willed his scent to get softer and thicker, hoping to comfort the alpha before he said what he had to say. He was about to ask when Jungkook beat him to it. “Why? Who told you about them in the first place?” He didn’t sound angry, just curious.
Jimin sighed and sat back, his legs folding in front of him, though he kept his hands in Jungkook’s. He had missed this, touching Jungkook, but he felt as though he didn’t deserve to, considering who his family might be. He didn’t think he had any right. “Yoongi told me, before your rut. He said that they traded the omegas with the Yoo Pack… my… my old pack.” Jimin coughed and tightened his fingers in Jungkook’s. Jungkook tilted his head, confused as to where this conversation was going to. Jimin bit his lip. This was a stupid talk to have when it was all based on assumption, but Jimin could feel it in his core, his very being, that his mother wasn’t his mother, and that he was somehow related to this Lee family. “Kookie, my mother’s hair was pitch black. Darker than yours, almost blue. And her mother’s hair was black, and so was her brother’s. My father’s hair was brown. And so was his family’s.” Jimin met Jungkook’s eyes, and Jungkook just blinked, and Jimin had to fight the urge to roll his eyes. “What color hair does the entire Lee family have?”
Finally, Jungkook’s eyes spread open wider than ever before. They swiveled all around before landing on Jimin’s white hair. Jimin held his breath. “What are you saying, Jimin?”
“I think that my father got a member of the Lee family pregnant… and I was the result. I asked Namjoon about genetics, and he told me some really complicated things, but what I got from it was that one; and alpha and a beta have only a five percent chance of conceiving an omega and 2; there is no possible way for someone with black hair and someone with brown hair to have a pup with pure white hair unless the pup has albinism, which would be one in one thousand.” Jimin suddenly felt tears spring to his eyes, and he tried to blink them back. He couldn’t seem to look at Jungkook. “I’m… I’m sorry if you feel like you can’t court me anymore. I would understand if you left me, and the pack. I won’t hate you if you lea-”
Soft, warm lips against his own cut him off. They were a little salty and wet too, but Jimin couldn’t care less. He sighed softly against Jungkook’s mouth as Jungkook brought his hand to Jimin’s damp cheek. When Jungkook pulled away, he put his forehead to Jimin’s, his eyes red rimmed and glassy. “Why would I leave you, sweet one?”
Jimin shook his head the best he could. “For all we know, it was my uncle that killed your father. My family. How could you stand to be with me?” Jimin blinked when Jungkook chuckled. “What? What’s so funny?”
Jungkook took his time to kiss Jimin softly again before he sat back, his other hand coming to Jimin’s other cheek to hold his face. “For someone so intelligent, you are so silly sometimes.” Jimin just raised his eyebrow, making Jungkook chuckle again, though his eyes were so, so soft where they fell on Jimin’s face. “I don’t think I could ever leave you, Jimin. My body wouldn’t allow it, and I don’t want to either. Just because people who might be your family, which you didn’t know anything about, ended my pack, doesn’t mean anything to me. You are you, and I love you. You had no control, or knowledge of them or their horrible plans. Why would I hate you, or leave you? I wouldn’t dream of it.” He shook Jimin’s head a little. “You are mine. Now and forever. Don’t forget that.”
Jimin hiccuped and dove for Jungkook, his head landing on Jungkook’s chest. Jungkook wrapped his arms and legs around the other and held him close. He nuzzled his ears and head and let Jimin cry. He whispered sweet nothings into his ear and rocked him slowly until his tears ebbed, and his face grew puffy. They just sat for awhile afterwards, and Jungkook found himself dozing off here and there. He knew they should be heading back, but he didn’t want to share Jimin just yet. The omega was letting Jungkook touch him as much as he wanted, and he had missed it, missed this. He was close to falling asleep when Jimin spoke again.
“Jungkook?” His voice was quiet, like he was going to tell Jungkook a secret. Jungkook hummed softly in acknowledgement. “I am going to be eighteen soon.”
Jungkook shifted behind Jimin and put his arms around the omegas waist. Jimin sank against Jungkook and sighed again. “Yeah.”
“When I become of age, I’m going to take over the mantle of Head Omega, and... “ Jimin was silent for a while, and Jungkook smiled softly, his face burying itself in Jimin’s back. “I want to be your mate, when that time comes.”
Jungkook stopped himself from squealing, though he did squeeze Jimin tighter. “Of course, little one. When that time comes, I would love nothing more than to be your one and only.”
…
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With Native's instructions to stay on the rooftops in mind, Izuku pulled his cartoon zombie mask up and dropped down to street level. Most of the heroes were rushing towards the city center to contain the flames and any additional villains. That left the fleeing civilians to their directionless stampede, endangering just as many people as the nomu rampage was, if not moreso. He rushed forward to help a man to his feet before dodging through the mob to do the same for an old woman. Her head was bleeding from a kick she took from panicking peers, many people literally stepping on her to get away. Izuku growled as he hefted her over a shoulder. He silently vowed to add a megaphone to his equipment to help with crowd control in the future.
Four blocks away police were setting up barricades while trying to gain control of the flow of people. Izuku rushed over to a patrol car and handed the lady off before he began to sprint back to Native. He encountered two more people who were downed on the road, neither had a pulse. They had been trampled like the old woman almost was. Gritting his teeth in frustration, Izuku forced himself to continue on. There was no saving a corpse.
When he reached the street with the nomu it was already dead with several arrows embedded in its brain. It seemed that this particular nomu had been susceptible to ambush attacks. That was surprising since Izuku knew the one from the USJ survived even All Might's protective wrath. Did that mean that these monsters were underdeveloped or otherwise weak? Shigaraki had said they were genetically engineered to fight the number one hero - Native shouldn't have stood a chance. Shoving the useless speculation from his mind, the greenette turned to more dire concerns.
The pro was nowhere to be seen so the teen returned to the roof for a better view. Things were beginning to settle down in the immediate vicinity but he could still hear screams and fighting in the distance. That was the most likely direction his mentor could have gone. He was about to head towards the epicenter of the disaster when a shout echoed from a nearby alleyway. Dread built in Izuku's chest. Changing directions, he ran as quietly as possible towards the commotion and peered down.
Of course Stain would take advantage of the chaos to strike. Of course the Hero Killer would choose Native out of the dozens of other heroes available. Of course now there weren't even civilians nearby to send to the police for help. Shota and Naomasa were going to have conniptions when they heard Izuku's shitty luck. Pulling out his phone, he hurried to swipe a message with a location tag and hoped it was readable as he sent it to his contact list again. He was too focused on the murder attempt below to proof read.
The pro hero was quick on his feet but Stain was almost inhuman. Izuku could barely track his movements as steel slashed towards Native, sword missing his face by a hair's breadth only by the grace of an empty bottle the hero tripped on trying to scramble away. The villain immediately lunged forward and stabbed down with a knife held in his off hand. It drove home into the top of Native's left shoulder. The pro cried out when the blade was ripped free but fell limp when the blood coated blade was brought up to Stain's mouth.
Some part of Izuku was tempted to leave and plead ignorance. The world needed fewer people like Native in it. He doubted Naomasa would fault him for it, even if the greenette couldn't lie about the reason, given the circumstances. But then Shota's work to get the man's license revoked would be rendered pointless. And if there was anything Shota hated with a fiery passion it was having his precious naps stolen by meaningless bureaucracy. Then there would be the hassle of Izuku needing to pretend to be traumatized by Native's death if he wanted to avoid scrutiny just because of his quirk. Eating people skewed his morals enough that he didn't care about people dying outside of his family and friend groups - he
couldn't
care unless he wanted to starve. He didn't have the luxury of turning vegetarian because of squeamishness. Not many people would understand that logical disconnect.
Without further thought he pulled the cutesy mask down to expose the more intimidating sharp teeth and leapt from the roof. In hindsight he should have made a plan. But dropping feet first onto the killer like a sack of potatoes did the trick of knocking the blades from Stain's hands and forcing him to the ground. Izuku attempted to pull zip ties from his pockets but the villain recovered too quickly, bucking the one-hundred and twenty pound teenager off of him and whipping around to swat him away like a gnat. Izuku's vision swam as he crashed head first into the brick wall of the alley next to Native.
While Stain retreated a few steps to assess the situation, Izuku scrambled to his feet. "Before you kill Native, I have a question." Izuku was beyond grateful that his quirk didn't allow him to perspire, otherwise he would be sweating bullets as he stepped between the Hero Killer and his inert prey.
The man scowled but seemed reluctant to attack upon taking in Izuku's small fame, probably guessing he was young based on stature. "Out of the way. You needn't die tonight but if you interfere you will be killed. This fake isn't worthy!" He began advancing, a new dagger at the ready. Just how many blades did the guy have? Judging by all the sheaths strapped to his chest and belt, a lot.
Swallowing hard, Izuku took on a defensive stance in front of Native. As he slipped his stun baton and can of bear mace from their places on his belt he shut down all bodily functions aside from breathing enough to speak. "And I agree with you. But if I let you commit murder then I'll become just another fake hero that you'll come for later. But you'll kill me for doing what you want heroes to do? You have me in a catch twenty-two here. Native is a racist, quirkist asshole that I regret interning with but I can't let him die. His license is being revoked at the end of the week anyway. He won't be a hero for long, no death necessary."
That made the man pause his advance. "That's a nice thought but what's to stop him sniveling to the Hero Commission to get it reinstated? Or taking the loss out on civilians. No, there is no reprieve for the wicked. Leave now and we won't meet again if you continue on the righteous path. If we fight, the weak will be culled." His mouth was set in a stubborn, grim frown.
There was no reasoning with a zealot, yet Izuku couldn't let it go. The Hero Killer irritated him on a level normally reserved for door-to-door solicitors and nails on chalkboards. Stain's videos made him want to punch someone from how intolerable he found them, despite agreeing with the message of holding corrupt heroes responsible for their actions. Izuku just hadn't been able to figure out why until the man was standing in front of him.
"You seem to think the likes of Ingenium and Native are the scum of the earth. But I think you're just a coward. You go after easy targets while ignoring heroes who actually hold the power to back up their villainous natures unopposed. Like Endeavor who parades around completely unscrutinized despite mercilessly beating and murdering his own family members. Like Uwabami who prioritizes her modeling career above saving lives, to the point of ignoring emergencies in favor of giving out autographs and selfies. All you're doing is killing indiscriminately and preaching without real conviction to make yourself feel better about your own hypocrisy. All Might is the only true hero in existence? Bullshit. If it was really about heroes doing their jobs then you'd worship the underground heroes who do good work for shit pay without recognition. You're just an All Might otaku gone wrong." Izuku was fuming by the end of his rant. His fingers tightened around his weapons as the realization that he'd just insulted a serial killer slowly filtered into his brain. Not that he would ever take it back. If he was going to die for real then it might as well be for a legitimate reason.
Stain froze in shock, probably not used to victims verbally attacking him so viciously. His face slowly morphed into a snarl of rage. Without further warning he lunged at Izuku, swiping with the dagger. The greenette dodged back but missed the knife Stain slashed at his face. It came away bloody and the man looked triumphant as he licked away the traces on the blade. Only to gag and start spitting as soon as the taste registered.
Izuku took advantage of the distraction to swing the bear mace up and open fire directly in the villain's face. Stain howled and stumbled away, dropping his weapons once again and clutching his eyes. The irritant burned wherever it touched, the liquid base leaching into his cloth masks and forcing him to pull them off before it could reach his sensitive nose hole. Hacking coughs wracked his frame as the inhaled particles settled in his lungs. Darting forward, Izuku jabbed his baton into Stain's unprotected side and pressed the button to activate the stun feature. The man jerked with a strangled note and went down hard as his limbs seized. The teen pounced on the prone form to restrain him with zip ties. Six for his wrists and six for his ankles to try to prevent the Hero Killer from breaking them to get free.
It was over. The man's eyes were clenched shut and he seemed to struggle just to breathe through an inflamed respiratory system and sinuses. The fight was rather anticlimactic to Izuku, not that he was going to complain. Loud footsteps at the mouth of the alley made him tense and reclaim the can of mace, pointing it at the newcomers before even looking up. Iida, Shoto, and Flashpoint gawked at him in disbelief.
"Is… that Stain?" The pro sounded faint and blanched when Izuku nodded. Flashpoint startled into action when Native made himself known by whining in pain. "Freezer Burn, freeze Stain in place and disarm him. Tenya, get Native out of here and wrap his wounds. You…" They paused while pointing at Izuku, not knowing his codename.
"Revenant." Shoto supplied while helping said teen off of the villain.
"Right, Revenant, are you hurt?" Izuku seriously contemplated the question. Something in his neck was grinding when he moved, probably from hitting the wall, but beyond that he felt fine. When he shook his head, Flashpoint looked relieved. "Go with Tenya and flag down the backup I called for."
Everyone rushed to comply. Izuku helped Iida get Native to the sidewalk and helpfully provided bandages while keeping an eye on the surrounding street. There was a tense atmosphere between him and Iida that neither wanted to provoke just yet. Native was conscious and glaring at Izuku in silence as well. Apparently he'd heard the greenette's words to Stain and took them personally. Good. A group of pro heroes rounded a corner at the end of the street. Endeavor was among them, making Izuku grimace even as he waved his arms to get their attention. Hopefully he wouldn't start shit over Shoto with witnesses present.
Behind Izuku, a cry left Iida, quickly drowned out by an inhuman shriek and gust of wind. Before the greenette could even react, four large objects pierced through his armor and dug into his skin. Then the ground was falling away at an alarming speed. A look up confirmed that he was in the grasp of a flying nomu. He still had his weapons but he didn't want to test if he could regenerate from a fall of this height if the monster dropped him. The water tower near Native's agency came into view as the nomu aimed towards it. Two familiar figures stood atop it watching their progress and when they drew close enough a large warp gate opened midair. The nomu flew straight in, Izuku still firmly in hand.
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Nightmares were the least thing that Shen Yuan needed at the moment, especially when said nightmares were memories of the original goods. Needless to say, Wen Yang’s memories were way too horrible for him to contemplate with his current situation, yet he had the feeling that it was because he was in such a state that the memories that were dormant within him decided to awaken.
He wasn’t grateful for that, no matter how much information he could gather from those memories. Not a single thing could change the fact that Shen Yuan was losing sleep because of them and the lingering sensation of burning on his skin.
At first, he had been completely enraged with the System. It was so bad that he almost ended up as the reason for his own demise after an unhealthy outburst of rage (fortunately enough Mu Qingfang arrived on time). However, after a few months of nightmares and ignoring the damned AI he decided to look for a distraction in it. Who would have thought that the thing wasn’t at fault with the nightmares? For some reason that the System can’t specify, Wen Yang’s memories decided to trigger up.
The System had explained to him that the account that he was currently logged in, Wen Yang’s account, had certain things locked; such as his demonic heritage and memories. Since the System was some sort of powerful omnipotent entity, it was impossible for the memories or other stuff to be unlocked without his authorization. Yet the memories were unlocked, with no point deducted because it never gave the order.
In the beginning, Shen Yuan was so biased with the System that he didn’t think too much about what it was implying until an eerie chilly night came.
Shen Yuan was no longer cursed with a sickly constitution, so he decided to sit in front of the window of his room, gazing at the bamboo forest that extended itself graciously and proudly to the distance.
It was going to be another sleepless night for him thanks to the nightmares that still crept the corners of his mind. However, it wasn’t going to be a boring night.
Yet he wasn’t happy about that fact, not with what was about to come.
After a tiring session of sightseeing, Shen Yuan was absorbed by his thoughts until he stumbled with what the System had told him about the memories/nightmares he was having. The chill that climbed up his spine was so strong that it made him scuttle to the side of his bed as his hand clutched the fabric above his heart.
He was suddenly aware of how utterly terrifying the statement that the System had made was. No point deduction meant no authorization from the System, that was an irrefutable fact. The System hadn’t activated the so-called punishment protocol either nor the infamous scenario pusher that it loved to gush about. All of which meant that there was something out there strong enough to go against the System, an entity that could guide a soul to a world that was supposed to be fictional and made said soul inhabit another body, putting the previous soul that inhabited said body to who-knows-where. Shen Yuan wasn’t an idiot, and he didn’t need to be an extraordinary genius either to know that the System possessed power beyond his comprehension.
So… what had unlocked the memories of Wen Yang?
The protagonist has always been an absolute force in his or her world; however, Luo Binghe was still a white lotus with no trace of maliciousness in his eyes, much less his absolute and terrifying golden finger, Xin Mo. Shen Yuan easily discarded him for possible suspects, which made everything scarier.
Could it be that out there was a force as powerful or more powerful than the protagonist?
In theory, it shouldn’t be possible, but this was a world built out of Airplane’s shitty writing and inefficiency. Something as bizarre as that was possible.
Shen Yuan cursed that hack of an author's existence once more before taking his face into his hands, completely frustrated. How was he going to deal with another OP being in this hot trash of a stallion novel!?
He wasn’t sure he wanted to laugh or cry.
And yet, that wasn’t all.
After a while, he managed to get the System to talk about the mission and the trauma (which he was trying to deal with) that it gave him for free and that no one asked for.
Turns out that dear old System wasn’t all at fault there either. Funny, right?
The System had programmed the mission in a way that Shen Yuan's life wouldn’t be in danger, at most he was going to get out with a scar or two if he wasn’t careful. This meant that the entity that Shen Yuan met during the mission wasn’t the one that the System had predetermined for him to meet.
If he connected those two events together, Shen Yuan wouldn’t find it strange to think that the thing he found, or rather found him , in the missions is the culprit behind Wen Yang’s unlocked memories.
However, that on its own didn’t answer a lot of things to him, especially the most important one.
What or who was it? And what did it want?
He couldn’t talk with anyone about this, though he had the suspicion that Shen Qingqiu was hiding something from him about the accident. Unfortunately, Shen Yuan didn’t have a way of asking the man about it and gaining a truthful answer in the process. He knew that his shizun hadn't said anything to him because he didn’t plan on doing so. Was it because he wanted to protect him or because he didn’t trust him with that information? He didn’t know, but it didn’t matter, he needed that information, and he was going to acquire one way or another.
Shen Yuan walked around the bamboo house before sitting on the porch, gazing at the horizon when he heard footsteps. He gathered himself, trying to look as presentable as he could before the footsteps grew closer.
“Shixiong!” an eager voice called out, stopping in front of him.
“Binghe” Shen Yuan replied with a smile, looking at the cute little white lotus that was looking at him with stars in his eyes.
Jeez, Binghe, don’t look at this old man like that. Save that look to the sisters.
“Shixiong this Luo Binghe is happy to see you doing better,” the child said as he stretched his hands, letting Shen Yuan see a well-wrapped box “This one made a light dinner for his shixiong, this one hope that his shixiong accepts it”
As if Shen Yuan would turn down a dinner made by the skillful hands of the protagonist.
“This shixiong accepts his shidi’s efforts and kindness” he smiled, taking the box when Binghe approached him a little “Thank you Binghe… have you eaten? We can eat together”
Shen Yuan couldn’t deny that he enjoyed Binghe’s company, really, however, he didn’t want him to stay only for that. He was feeling way too lonely in the bamboo house. Shen Qingqiu would usually be around, so Shen Yuan would spend time by his side in a delightful silence, and sometimes they would even have some idle chat. However, Shen Qingqiu had to descend from the mountain with Liu Qingge for a mission.
There was also Ming Fan, but the poor guy had been dealing with Shen Yuan paperwork and hardly had time to spare. At first, Shen Yuan was laughing in his insides, but after noticing that he would resume the paperwork task when he recovers, he turned very dull. He really hated that damn paperwork. It’s not like Shen Qingqiu didn’t do any of it, but he couldn’t understand why he, Shen Yuan, had to do it. Also, wasn’t Shen Qingqiu supposed to approach Ming Fan and start giving him some stuff to do? After all, he was the head disciple, wasn’t he?
“This shidi would be thrilled to eat alongside shixiong… that is if shixiong really doesn’t mind” he added in a little voice, fidgeting in place thanks to how nervous he was.
“Is settled then, let’s eat”
It was peaceful, but Shen Yuan knew that such things didn’t last around here.
The peace actually ended a few weeks later after he had a meal with Binghe. He should have been more aware of the bad omens that were occurring around him, but he was too busy quarreling with the System, doing, possibly, Ming Fan’s head disciple work, supervising Luo Binghe here and there just to make sure that the child didn’t cross paths with Shen Qingqiu without anyone else present, and so on that he totally overlook them.
This time he was accompanying Shen Qingqiu to the Peak Lords meeting of that month and once again he was filling Ming Fan’s head disciple position, which he had started to accept, after all, he couldn’t do anything to change it. He just hoped that whatever his dearest frenemy of a shixiong had done to upset so much his shizun to the point of making him throw the head disciple’s chores to Shen Yuan didn’t take much longer to dissolve into thin air.
“Shen Yuan, stay close to me and do not make a fool of yourself”
If Shen Yuan didn’t know Shen Qingqiu a little bit better than in the past, he would have thought that the man was truly saying that because he didn’t want to lose face. However, thanks to the time that the two of them had spent together as disciples and teachers Shen Yuan could see that there was an ulterior motive of why Shen Qingqiu had said those words. If there was a deeper reason behind that, then Shen Yuan would truly behave and stay close to the man. No one will try to talk to him, if Shen Qingqiu didn’t want him to “make a fool of himself” then he would make sure to cut down every effort to start a conversation.
The meeting hall was impressive in its own way, not too lavish, but it still showed how wealthy Cang Qiong Mountain Sect was. The peak lord’s spots were arranged based on their position, and he knew that as soon as Shen Qingqiu went to sit at the right of Yue Qingyuan, who was situated at the head of the table. If it weren’t for that Shen Qingqiu would have much likely been sitting at the head of the table or as far as possible from the Sect Leader.
Shen Yuan took a seat behind Shen Qingqiu, gazing every now and then at the door when he heard the door opening, revealing one of the twelve peak lords that were slowly but surely arriving at the meeting.
When the twelve seats were full, accommodating their respective lords, Shen Yuan would have thought that it was as normal as it sounded, however, his shizun clenching hand told him otherwise.
“Since we are all present, let’s start the meeting” Yue Qingyuan stated with a gentle and polite smile.
The meeting and topics that were being discussed weren’t strange, no, it was the way that Shen Yuan could feel gazes on him that was strange. Why was he seized up by such intense gazes? He felt like the prey of some apex predator, he had felt that way before and he hated it completely. So, he did what any anxious and overwhelmed person out of his damn mind would do, he grabbed Shen Qingqiu’s clenched hand that was resting on his lap.
He wasn’t exactly sure what he had been expecting, however, he was sure that the answer to that was a tense reaction that suddenly evaporated just to be replaced by a caring caress to his hand. Even so, he couldn’t deny how effective that approach was.
H̶̗͖̱͊͘͝e̸̡̤͇͆̕ ̵̧̙̩̍̀f̵͕̭͍͐e̵̯̜͙͋͌l̷̨̝̐̓͠ẗ̸͚́̋ͅ ̴̖̣̤̈s̵̩͛͛̚ȃ̵̼͈̙͒̕ḟ̴̦ȩ̸̫̾̂̚ ̴̠̙̃̓
̵̗̙̯͑͂̄Ě̴̟͆ṿ̶̦̍̍̔é̵͔̺̄ṇ̷̇̚ ̸̘̐̀̓ṱ̷̞̞̇͊h̵̻̱̅͂̾ȯ̴̤̆̽ǘ̴͓̈́g̵͈h̸̘̠̟̀ ̸̞̞̌̄h̵̫̍͘e̸̲͛͝ ̸͉͋̓ͅw̴̠̱̒͐a̴͕s̷̲̫̪̊̄ ̴̗̦̼͑b̴̬̹̮͛̈́͊e̷͍͌͑͑ḭ̷̰͊n̴̺͊̉g̴̩͒̃̒ ̵͎͓̄c̶̟̥̚͜o̸̡̪̦͗̒̂m̸̙̓̾ͅf̵͔̈̂̉ô̴̖̤͖r̷̟̦͉͐t̸̝̭̱̉͝ĕ̴̘͊͋d̶͓̈́̿̑ ̴̡͕̐͑b̷̞͐͛y̴͠ͅ ̶̖͗̂ẗ̴͉́̐h̴̖͎̊̉̕e̸̡̟̞̎̐ ̶̙͈̌̏o̷̼̓͐̕ñ̴̖̋͘é̵̢̛͓͠ ̵͕͗̚͝h̶̛̻͖̍e̴̥̹͑ ̸̛͉̦̲̎̔h̵̢͊̊͋á̴̠̄d̷̦̳́ ̸̱͔̋o̸̹̾n̷̡̫͌͘c̴̛͇̆́e̴̦̒̈̇ ̷̗̑d̸͖̮͎̂͠ē̷̬̈̋s̵̲̤̼͐̔͛p̴͇̀ȋ̵̡̢ŝ̶̺̠͋̃ě̴̩̗̲̈́̚d̶̙̯͋̿.̷̳̻̈
̸̬̀̉H̶͓̒e̶̤̾̇̋ ̶̧̙̘̂f̷̣̋e̴͉͆̓l̷͔̎ţ̸͈̦̃͝ ̴̠̎̃̆s̸̞̀̏t̴̙̯́̕ṙ̶̰̉̕a̴̡̜̝̕͝n̸͉̔͒͆g̶̖̓ȩ̵̜̋̓l̸̼̏̈́̽ỷ̶̝͓̐̀͜.̶̞̋.̴̢͎̻̅͝.̸̨͆̒̌ ̵̺̀͌ͅͅẉ̴̨̠͊a̷͈̿̂̽r̴̪̮̆m̴̳͎͆̐̒
“There’s another matter we should discuss now that there’s everyone here, Zhangmen-shixiong,” one of the peak lords far away from where Shen Qingqiu and Shen Yuan were sitting said before Yue Qingyuan could successfully conclude the meeting.
“Is that so?” the Sect leader replied, and with his gaze alone one could see that he was disagreeing with the intervention.
“Yes” the peak lord stated, not once cowering yet not breaking his polite tone.
“Unfortunately, there’s nothing else to add. All the important matters have been discussed already” Yue Qingyuan replied.
“Not all of them,” the peak lord said as a matter-of-factly, gaze stopping on Shen Yuan’s figure for a couple of seconds.
“There’s nothing to talk, that matter was addressed in the last meeting” Shen Qingqiu intervened this time, looking at his fellow peak lord “I’m sure that peak lord Qiang is aware of it”
Due to the change in topics, Shen Qingqiu stopped caressing Shen Yuan’s hand, which caused the youth to jump once again to the reality that he was currently in.
“Yet there wasn’t a definitive conclusion, peak lord Shen” the man responded, still holding Shen Qingqiu’s gaze “If the matter wasn’t so important it would be fine to let it slide to a future meeting, but we can’t afford such actions. It will put the sect at risk”
If there was a person in the sect that could hold Shen Qingqiu’s personality with even ground and bring a point to him and actually get heard (not accepted but heard) it was peak lord Qiang.
“Qiang Qingling is right, we should discuss it once more, and this time we should arrive at a definitive conclusion” avowed Wei Qingwei, glancing at the sect leader alongside a few other peak lords.
Shen Yuan was very confused with the situation that was developing before his eyes, and he could tell that he wasn’t the only one in that position. The actual head disciples of the other peaks were as confused as him, even though they tried to conceal it the current circumstance didn’t leave room for such acts.
“Then we will do so” announced Yue Qingyuan after what felt like years.
At his side Shen Qingqiu tensed, he looked very mad for a second but composed himself with an impressive speed. However, Shen Yuan wasn’t sure if his shizun would be able to not unsheathe Xiu Ya and went to the nearest peak lord’s throat as the meeting progressed.
“This is not how the plot goes” Shen Yuan heard someone muttering as the head disciples started making their way out of the meeting hall.
He was going to stand up as well while thinking about what he just heard —because surely it wasn’t his brain playing tricks to him, he had clearly heard that— when Shen Qingqiu rested a hand on his shoulder, maintaining him in place.
“Shizun?” Shen Yuan looked at him in confusion, was it all right for him to stay in what seemed to be a very important discussion?
“Stay… this concerns you greatly” Shen Qingqiu responded, tone low and almost sorrowful as if he had failed miserably in something.
Shen Yuan nodded at that as he felt unable to utter a single word. Why did this super important discussion that could affect the sect so greatly concern him?
They couldn’t have noticed his heritage, right? It was still sealed and following what he knew about demonic seals his seal needed to be stimulated to weaken and break. The stimulation can be produced by both demonic and spiritual energy, yet both of those energies need to be strong and completely concentrated in breaking the seal. This meant that no matter how much stimulation Shen Yuan received his seal wouldn’t be broken unless someone knew about his heritage.
Something that was highly unlikely. However, Shen Yuan couldn’t discard the possibility of someone possibly discovering it in the future. After all, he didn’t know what had occurred to the original goods family. For all he knew about the introduction that he had received, Weng Yang had two older siblings, one younger sibling, and his father. There wasn’t anything about his mother and Shen Yuan suspected that her identity had to be another plot hole.
That aside, was he safe!?
He felt like a pig waiting to be slaughtered, unable to run due to the pressure. It was too much for his poor old man's soul.
“He needs to leave the sect,” a peak lord said as a matter-of-factly.
“He doesn’t have a place to return to and he’s being targeted, he can endanger others. He needs to stay until the situation is controlled” Qi Qingqi retorted.
“He’s a child but the threat that he presents is too big!” another one added, almost banging the table.
And so, the meeting hall became the bickering hall. Everyone was out of control and Shen Yuan lit a candle in his heart for the poor soul that they wanted gone.
“He won’t leave my peak unless he desires it” Shen Qingqiu stated, fan closed yet in his hand.
At this Shen Yuan’s mind started racing.
His peak? Was the person they were talking about at Shen Qingqiu’s peak? Who was it!?
“Shen Qingqiu!” Lan Qingxiang roared at him “Stop acting so mighty and think about the future of the sect and the rest of the disciples, we can’t leave the child here”
“Shen Yuan won’t leave” Shen Qingqiu stated once again, sending a vicious glare to the other peak lords that wanted to protest.
“What Qi-shimei said is truth, yet I can understand the rest of your worries, Lan-shimei” Yue Qingyuan started talking with a gentle yet firm tone “The entity that is after Shen Yuan is powerful, however, he’s an innocent soul and he’s part of Can Qiong Mountain sect, we protect each other, and Shen Yuan will be no exception”
“Even if the boy goes away, the thing that was chasing him wants him for a purpose, I bet that is a nasty one. It will probably make the thing more powerful” Liu Qingge pointed, succeeding in making Lan Qingsong close her mouth.
“Now that is clear that Shen Yuan will stay until he decides otherwise, we must discuss how we will protect him and the rest of the sect till we can deal with the entity that is after him”
“Shen Yuan? Are we still going to believe that?” Gao Qingfeng interrupted Yue Qingyuan, and this time Shen Yuan was being addressed “What’s your name?”
“Gao-shidi, Shen Yuan is not comfortable saying his birth name,” Mu Qingfang remarked “We must not force him”
“Yet it is very clear that peak Shen knows his disciple's birth name,” Qiang Qingling declared.
Shen Qingqiu glanced at Shen Yuan, noticing how pale the child was getting. He hadn’t divulged the child’s name even though he had heard it and knew how much relation it holds with the mission that they currently had. Unfortunately, it was time to bring it forward, but he wasn’t the one to make that decision.
“Shen Yuan” Shen Qingqiu called him “Is up to you”
Shen Yuan wasn’t feeling alright, he wanted to throw up. In the beginning, he would have surely done a victory dance, after all, back then he didn’t want anything to do with the sect that would be brought to nothingness by Luo Binghe. However, after a couple of years living in Qing Jing peak, he had started to consider it his home and he didn’t want to leave his home. Not in this way, not because someone wanted him gone.
He wasn’t going anywhere! He had plans set into motion, for god’s sake, he had so many goals that he wanted to achieve. No one was throwing him out of the sect any time soon, yet he had to reveal his real name. It was a gamble, sure, but if he didn’t reveal it the Peak lords that were against him staying would start to come up with more speculations and reasons to “why is essential to get rid of him”.
He wasn’t going anywhere! He had plans set into motion, for god’s sake, he had so many goals that he wanted to achieve. No one was throwing him out of the sect any time soon.
“Wen Yang” he finally said, looking at the rest of the peak lords “My birth name is Wen Yang, but I prefer to be addressed as Shen Yuan”
Some almost get their eyes out of their sockets, others manage to keep the shock in check like actual immortal masters, yet one of them lets out a shameless ‘eek’ . Shen Yuan would have laughed at that if the situation was so dire.
“Wen?” one muttered.
“This is more serious than I thought!”
“Is he the last one?”
The comments continued and with them the meeting.
When Shen Yuan was able to leave alongside his shizun he wasn’t far from looking like a paper sheet. The whole dilemma had left him without a drop of energy, he wanted to dig a hole and bury himself in it.
The only good thing about all the fiasco was that Shen Yuan had probably found another transmigrator that knew about PIDW like himself. However, he wasn’t going to deal with that in what was left of the day, he was too tired to have a conversation. He just wanted to go to Qing Jing peak, get a delightful shower and sleep like the dead till the next day and for how Shen Qingqiu was looking at him Shen Yuan knew that he was going to be able to do just that.
Tomorrow was going to be a new day. One in which he was going to obtain a lot of answers.
|
The Zeta was definitely different than a boom tube. It felt like it was moving Tim rather than Tim moving. Sort of like comparing an empty straw to water moving through a straw.
“Recognized: Batman, 02, Recognized: Nightwing, B01, Recognized: Robin Z06, Recognized: Red Robin, IT01.”
Tim scanned the exits as he looked to Batman. “IT?”
“Interdimensional Traveler,” Bruce explained. Tim hummed. Jason ran past them into the common room and started yelling.
“Hey Roy! Guess what!” (Red Arrow found his copy Arsenal, and Arsenal joined the Team)
“You egged the Batmobile?” Roy asked dryly, looking up from his book. He wasn’t the only one in the room, Artemis, Zatanna, Kaldur, Wally, and M’gann were there as well.
“That would be cool, but no. This is even better.”
“Oh really?”
A few of the other people looked up and/or started listening in. Robin and Arsenal might be a chaotic, troublemaking duo, but their trouble was usually interesting. (like that time with the glitter and slime gun)
“What’s better than a time traveler?”
Bart sped into the room and mock gasped. “How dare you! Nothing is better than a time traveler! I am wounded!” He fell to his knees, clutching his chest dramatically.
Bart clutched at the metal spear sticking through his chest. Blood dripped, almost matching the red of his suit.
“No,” Robin whispered as he fell to his knees in front of Bart.
“Tim. Tim! It’s not your fault.” Bart placed a hand on Tim’s shoulder. “You cannot blame yourself over this, promise me.”
“Bart…”
“ Promise me. ”
Tim blinked.
“But there is something better than a time traveler! A dimension hopping time traveler!” Jason announced proudly.
Everyone turned to look at him. He stepped to the left, letting everyone see Tim.
“Meet Red Robin.”
Tim stepped forward and gave a little wave. “Hi.”
Bart looked shocked for a moment, then slowly said, “No way.” (well, slow for a speedster anyway)
“Yes way,” Jason said.
Bart sped right up to Red Robin.
“Tim?” he whispered.
It was Tim’s turn to be shocked. Was this…?
There was only one way to be certain. Something only Bart would get.
“Truth or Dare?” Tim said.
Bart grinned. “You wore a second mask.”
They both met in a crushing hug.
“How?”
“I woke up here after making you promise. It wasn’t immediate, but my memories came back as I aged, matching up timeline-wise. I have to say, living two lives is very weird.”
“Am I the only one who’s confused?” Jason asked.
“No,” Dick said. “You two care to share with the class?”
“ I don’t even know how this happened,” Tim said, stepping back from the hug. “You remember everything?”
“Right up until the end. How long’s it been since then?”
Tim sighed. “Ah… a year I think.”
Bart looked scandalized. “Who are you and what have you done with my best friend? You think ?”
“Bart, part of how I got here was being yanked out of the timestream.”
“Oh. That makes sense.”
“What is happening,” Roy said.
“Do you two know each other?” Zatanna asked.
A hand landed on Tim’s shoulder. “Red Robin,” Batman rumbled. “Was there something you wanted to share?”
“Actually, this is a pretty new development. As in, just now. Apparently this is Bart Allen, one of my best friends, and he remembers everything that happened in my universe.”
“Ah! I forgot to tell Kon and Cassie!” Bart sped away and was back in a few seconds. “All good!”
“They made it here too?”
“Yup! We’ve bonded over living double lives.”
“How does that work exactly? Do you just remember or...”
“It comes back in dreams, so like, when I fall asleep, I’ll remember what happened that day, but when I wake I still feel like I’ve slept. That’s how I knew which universe I was currently in.”
“Ah, that makes sense.”
A blue-red-and-black blur crashed into them both, followed by a red-gold-and-black one.
“Oh my god you’re actually here! I thought Bart might be pulling my leg! How much do you remember yet?”
Tim laughed. “Actually, I multiverse jumped here by accident, so… everything really.”
Kon shook his head as he set them down. “Only you Rob, only you.”
Cassie poked Tim in the ribs. “Scrawny. Obviously you’re dying without us.”
“Cassie, Kon, he’s got a new hero name! It’s Red Robin!”
“Really? That’s sticking pretty close to the Robin theme. What’s your new suit look like?” Kon asked
Tim grinned. “Let’s just say you guys won’t have to carry me anymore.”
“It has wings doesn’t it?” Cassie guessed.
“Definitely,” Bart agreed.
“He always said he’d add a flight feature,” Kon added.
“Got it in one,” Tim said.
“Okay, we need a full explanation now,” Nightwing said. “You guys have had your reunion, and I am still confused about how you know each other.”
The three exchanged a glance.
“Well, it’s kinda complicated. We should probably find a meeting room.”
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
A very long hour and a half later
The entire Team had been gathered for the explanation. (Jaime already knew most of it and had theories, Bart had told him about the dreams after they stopped the Reach invasion)
All of the younger heroes were kicked out so the older heroes could ‘discuss’ and the Core Four had left with them. (Tim had planned on staying, but this was more fun) At the moment, they were playing mario kart.
“So…” Tim elbowed Bart. “You told Jaime.”
“Yeees,” Bart said. “What are you getting at here?”
“Someone’s got a crush〜” Cassie sing-songed. Bart turned red.
“I do not!”
“Bart does go to Blue’s house a lot,” Conner mused.
“Because we are friends and that is what friends do,” Bart emphasized.
“Well, I think Jaime might be crushing back,” Tim commented.
“What?” Bart, Cassie, and Kon asked, looking at him. Tim smoothly pulled into the lead as they careened around the track.
“Really?” Bart asked.
Tim gave him a knowing look. “He spends just as much time with you as you do with him. Also, he was staring during the meeting.” Jaime had looked worried, but blushed when Tim caught him.
“You gotta ask him out,” Cassie said as Tim won the game. She came in second.
“Yeah dude, go for it,” Kon said. He came in third as Bart was very distracted.
“But what if he says no?” Bart asked in a small voice.
“Well then at least you tried,” Conner replied. Bart looked alarmed. Cassie whacked him in the back of the head.
“Ow!”
“What Conner means ,” she gave him a pointed glare, “Is that if Jaime said no which is very unlikely , then at least you’d know. But he’s not going to say no, because he’s still crushing on you.”
“Exactly,” Tim agreed.
Bart raised an eyebrow. “Since when are you good at romance?”
Tim scoffed. “Since it’s not directed at me. I have been told I am very oblivious.”
“Yeah,” Cassie said.
“Oh definitely,” Bart agreed.
“It’s kinda cringy,” Kon added helpfully.
Tim rolled his eyes. “Wow, thanks guys.”
“You’re welcome.”
The conversation fell into a comfortable lull. Then Tim realized something.
“Oh!”
“What?” Cassie asked.
“You guys don’t know because it was in the year after and ohhhhh,” he looked at them. “Please don’t kill me.”
“What did you do?” Kon asked.
“Uh…”
“Tim?” Bart prodded.
“I uh… mayhavegottenmyspleenstabbedout.”
“What!?”
“Explain, now .”
“It’s a bit of a long story?”
“We’ll be here all day.”
They were going to kill him.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
“-and yeah, so then I ended up here.”
“So, theoretically you could alter the Zeta Tubes to get back to your universe?” Bart asked.
“Yeah. B even said they could switch to a Boom tube setting.”
“But you’re staying, at least for now,” Kon said.
“Yeah.”
“Why?” Cassie asked.
“I hope I can stop a little heartache this time.”
“Jason?” Bart asked quietly.
“Yeah.”
Cassie put a hand on his shoulder. “We’ve been watching out for him on missions, but it’s tricky when we don’t know exactly what happened.”
Tim nodded in understanding and thanks. “Just call me if he tries to go to Ethiopia.”
They nodded.
|
Throughout the day, Rey catches glimpses of Ben -- in the cafeteria at lunch, in the hallways where it seems like he’s a foot taller than everyone else, in Calculus where their eyes meet and the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end for the entire period.
Tonight, Ben is going to watch her touch herself.
It should make her feel nervous, scared, maybe even some kind of dread. But it doesn’t. Everytime she thinks about it, her panties get damp and she has to squeeze her thighs together to alleviate the throbbing. And when she’s in class with him, when she feels his eyes on her, it makes her squirm in her chair.
By the time the final bell rings, she’s a mess -- both figuratively and literally. Rey didn’t know it was possible to be this wet and it’s both embarrassing and confusing how she’s so into the idea of Ben watching her touch herself. She finds herself daydreaming about it, wondering if he’ll touch himself too as he watches her.
Where she’d viewed masturbating as a means to make money or even occasionally as a perfunctory human need, she now craves it. She can’t stop thinking about getting home and stripping down and —
“What’s up?”
It’s Finn and Rey freezes because she’s let her guard down. “Uh, just grabbing my books for 6th period.”
“Want me to carry them for you?” He grabs the books out of her hand before she has a chance to stop him and offers his arm to her. He’s a gentleman at least, Rey will give him that. “What’s your next class?”
“Physics,” Rey tells him, folding her arms over her chest only because it feels strange to not be holding something.
“So, um, do you have a date for homecoming?” There’s a fine sheen of sweat at the corners of Finn’s forehead that Rey notices for the first time.
“Uh, no but—”
“We should go together then,” Finn blurts out before she can say anything. “I-it doesn’t have to be romantic, you know? But everyone else already has a date and it’d be nice to have someone to dance with.”
She tries to think of an excuse but her mind is blank; besides, there’s nothing she can say that wouldn’t be rude. The dress was still hanging up in her room and she’d told Tallie that she would pitch in towards the limo. “Yeah, I guess,” Rey hedges and there’s a familiar figure she catches out of the corner of her eye, standing at the foot of the stairs
Ben.
She can feel his eyes on her and she squirms, her mind drifting momentarily to what will be happening in a few hours. How it will feel to really have his eyes on her.
“Great! It’s a date then,” Finn grins, shoving the books back into Rey’s arms even though they’re not even in the science wing yet. She’s shaken from her thoughts as he spins on his heel and jogs down the hallway in the opposite direction, towards Poe.
“You’re going to homecoming with Finn then?”
Ben’s voice makes her shiver and she turns to look up at him. “I guess so.”
“Cool.” Ben shoves his hands in his pockets, trying to look casual but there’s a twitch under his left eyelid that gives him away.
There’s a strange sense of shame at Ben catching her entire conversation with Finn. Or at least, the important part. “You’re not going, right?”
Ben shakes his head, “Fuck no.”
“Yeah, well then—” She begins defending herself.
And then Kaydel sprints towards them, shoving Ben out of the way unceremoniously. “Get lost, loser,” she glares and waits for Ben to skulk off before she grabs Rey’s shoulders and squeals excitedly. “You finally said yes to Finn.”
“I guess. Look, I gotta get to class. I’ll talk to you later.” Rey shrugs and resists the urge to turn her head and let her eyes trail off after Ben. There’s no point in feeling bad about him leaving or about going to the dance with someone else. Ben doesn’t think about her like that, despite whatever imaginary twitch she thought she saw. It was a pointless, stupid crush and she’d be better off forgetting about it for her own sake.
*****
After school, Rey considers blowing Ben off, not sure what to say to him on the entire car ride to her apartment on the other side of town. But then she sees him in the parking lot, leaning against his car like he always does, as he puffs on something that Rey is fairly certain is not a cigarette.
He pulls it from between his lips and offers it to Rey, who glances around nervously before taking it and putting it between her lips. The idea of getting caught is terrifying, but maybe it’ll take the edge off of what might otherwise be a very awkward ride.
“Rey!” When she turns around and Finn is sticking his head out of the window of his own BMW. “Need a ride?”
She hesitates, opening her mouth and then snapping it shut. Not that she’d mind getting out of her current predicament. There’s a tension between her and Ben, she can feel it even if he can’t. Maybe it’s one sided; maybe it’s all in her head and she’s the one making things weird.
But she can’t risk Finn finding out where she lives. Hanging out with Ben is a social faux pas that she can survive from because at the end of the day, he’s Kaydel’s cousin. And maybe it would be fine if she hadn’t lied about who she was or where she lived, but she’s dug herself into such a deep hole that everyone will think she’s crazy if they find out the truth.
“Get lost,” Ben hisses. “I’m dealing and you’re drawing attention.”
Finn has the decency to look embarrassed. “Oh. Right. I’ll uh, talk to you later then?”
Rey nods and gives him a wave as he drives off. Once he’s gone, she turns to Ben and heaves a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”
Ben grunts in response and climbs into the driver’s seat. Rey licks her forefinger and thumb and pinches off the end of the joint and then climbs into the car next to him. He starts the engine and when he doesn’t say anything, Rey watches him from the corner of her eye — noticing the tick in his jaw this time. His hands are tight on the steering wheel as he pulls out of the parking lot, making Rey shift in her seat. She’d almost prefer if he exploded at her. Gave some kind of reaction.
He doesn’t say anything the entire car ride and neither does Rey; his silence makes her feel on edge, like something big is on the brink of happening. When he pulls up to the curb, she pushes the door open but Ben clears his throat, “Do you want me to watch? Tonight?”
Rey swallows as a million butterflies tumble around in her stomach, “Yes.”
He nods and then shifts gear. “Alright then.”
When Rey closes the car door, he drives away and Rey can’t help wondering if their friendship will be okay. If she should have told him no.
*****
As usual, when Ben gets home, the house is dark. His parents are off doing something more important than being at home, making sure their kid is safe and fed. He drops his backpack to the ground and makes his way to the kitchen. At least the freezer is stocked full with frozen pizzas — he can count on Leia for that much, at least.
While it bakes in the oven, he goes to his room and counts the dime bags he has and checks his burner phone for messages. Hux comes by for a bag as he’s eating dinner and when his cousin texts him to drop off some, he ignores it.
He feels… strange. Annoyed. Useless and worthless and insignificant. He knows why, but it’s pointless to let his thoughts linger. Rey is allowed to go out with Finn, if that’s what she wants. She’s allowed to go to the dance with him. Kiss him. Date him. Sleep with him .
The thought makes him feel like throwing up and he shoves the rest of his pizza into the garbage can.
On his way upstairs, he grabs his backpack because he knows that Leia will throw a fit if he leaves it lying around and the last thing he wants is for his mom to walk in on him later as he’s jerking off to Rey.
He knows he’ll do it too; even if she’s dating Finn. He can’t help the way he feels, how he’s so attracted to everything about her. He thinks about her smile and her dimples. The sound of her laugh. The way she smells like cheap green apple shampoo. Her lean body and her breast, the long legs and freckled knee caps. And he thinks about the thing he likes the most about Rey Johnson — how open and vulnerable she is with him.
He feels a pang when he thinks about how easily he can be replaced. How in a few days or weeks, maybe it will be Finn that she’s sharing all of her feelings with instead of him.
The plan had been to go into watching Rey while clean so that he could give her the most lucid advice possible. But he’s digging himself deeper and deeper into a hole at the thought of losing whatever it is that he has with Rey and he’s on the verge of losing it.
He grabs his handpipe and packs the bowl, lighting up and taking a deep hit. While he waits for his high to kick in, he speeds through his homework; anything to keep his mind off of his fucking feelings. When that’s finished, he logs on to Daisy’s cam page and takes another hit as he waits for her to go live.
As soon as her session starts, he opens a notebook in front of him, prepared to take notes but it’s so damn distracting when she pulls off her top. His mouth is dry as he watches her trace a finger around her areola. She’s nuts if she thinks her breasts aren’t enough, he thinks. They’re everything.
He wishes it was his fingers touching her. That he could kiss her breasts, lick the undersides where he just knows the skin is so soft and sweet. He’d latch onto her, suckle her nipples and tease them with his tongue. He’d listen to the way she moans and find out exactly what she likes.
She moans as she teases her own breasts and Ben wonders what kind of noises she would make if it was him. Could he make her breathier? Would she beg him for more?
He ignores the chat because his feelings about Rey and Finn are too raw after today. He’d rather think this is all for him, especially when Rey knows he’s watching her.
If he hadn’t already been hard, that thought alone would have done it. He shoves his khakis down, boxers and all, and after a pump of lotion onto his palm, he takes himself in his hand. If he pushes aside his hurt, focuses on the fact that Rey is going to touch herself for him, the misery he was feeling almost melts away.
He knows that Rey must have gotten a decent donation when she stands up to slowly take off her panties; she’s getting better at this, he thinks. She’s learning to tease, to take her time and build up the tension. When she lays back on her bed, she keeps her legs closed, letting them fall open every few seconds so that her audience can see how pink and wet she is.
And she is so wet. He thinks she’s wetter than he’s ever seen her and every time her legs open, her cunt and thighs shine with how wet she is.
It’s different and he doesn’t want to think it’s because of him as he watches her slowly tease her clit with a vibrator, but how can he not think that? Her cheeks are rosy and her eyes half-lidded and her pink tongue keeps darting out to lick at her lips.
God, she’s sexy.
He can’t think of a single thing that would make her more attractive in his eyes and suddenly he has no idea what he’s going to say to her when he sees her at school tomorrow. There’s not a single thought in his head that won’t make him sound like a total lovesick simp.
He strokes himself, and he grunts as she drags her vibrator lower, imagining that it’s his cock dragging through her dripping folds. She whimpers when she presses it against her opening and he swears under his breath as he imagines she’s making that noise for his cock.
There’s a wet, squelching noise as she begins pushing the toy into her cunt and Ben’s hips arch off his chair as he imagines sliding inside of her. With his free hand he pumps more lotion onto his dick, trying to simulate just how wet Rey seems to be. He strokes himself, doing his best to time each pump of his hips with how she fucks herself.
His spine is tingling and he feels so hot and damp as he watches her hips rise off her mattress. In his mind, he pictures Rey moving under him, trying to keep up with each of his thrusts, begging and whimpering for more, more, more. In his mind, she doesn’t just lie there. She craves him and his body.
It’s an easy thing to imagine with the way she’s panting and thrusting and squirming on her mattress, and that’s different too. He can’t just be imagining that she’s so into it. He’s watched her and masturbated to her at least a dozen times and she’s never been this into it. Yet his brain still refuses to believe it's because of him. Maybe it’s Finn that has her all worked up.
He shakes his head, pushing that thought as far as possible to the back of his mind and focuses on how beautiful Rey looks, naked and in the throes of pleasure. He strokes hard and fast, almost punishingly, and the sound of flesh on flesh ricochets off the walls of his room. He grunts again as his orgasm draws closer and he knows that he should be quieter, that he should have shame, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t care when all he can see and think about is Rey.
And then it happens. He sees the tendons of Rey’s inner thighs pull tight and her back arches off the bed at an angle where her head and face are no longer visible. Just the tips of her breasts, the peaks of her nipple standing tall and begging to be suckled. Her entire body shakes and this orgasm is different from any of her other orgasms — orgasms he’s questioning now that he’s seen her come completely undone like this — and she cries out.
“B-Ben…”
Clear as can be. It echoes in his mind, almost making him short circuit as his own orgasm crashes over him, streams of cum spurting onto his desk and computer screen. “Fuck,” he curses, scrambling to wipe it away as his brain still processes what he’s heard. What he thinks he’s heard.
He’s almost convinced himself he’d imagined it, but then Rey sits up with a panicked expression and jumps off the bed. She races across the room and snaps her computer shut, effectively ending the session and Ben’s mind is racing. He smiles; a smirk at first that slowly stretches across his face until it’s a full blown grin.
She’d said his name. She’d cried it out as she came.
*****
|
They say nothing good ever happens after 2 a.m.
They say that’s when you’re most likely to do something you’ll regret in the morning.
Things like stalking the ex on Instagram even though you swore to yourself you wouldn’t anymore (and then ending up accidentally double-tapping a post from two years ago), things like drinking too much alcohol and drunk-texting said ex to tell them you miss them, things like calling them in the middle of the night because you have no one else to call.
However, this, Dani thinks, might be an exception of the rule. Because if it wasn’t for her insomnia and restlessness that had her looking for new meditation apps in the middle of the night, she wouldn’t have come across --
“Sounds of pleasure”, Dani whispers into the darkness off her bedroom, liking the way it rolls of her tongue. Dani thinks she knows what kind of app she just found and her assumptions are confirmed when she reads the description.
(Sounds of Pleasure empowers you to dive into all those things that turn you on. Find ways to feel more alive, learn how to understand yourself better, unlock confidence that has always been there, and enhance intimacy like you never knew before.)
If spending entire nights staring at the ceiling and waiting for her brain to stop talking, has taught Dani one thing, it’s that the harder you try to fall asleep the less likely it is to happen.
Sometimes the best thing you can do, is to give the brain something else to think about, your hands something else to do.
Later on, when you give it another shot, maybe, your brain gives up and you’ll get at least a few hours of sleep.
Some nights, though, none of Dani’s methods seem to work. Some nights she gets the feeling sleep won’t come at all.
And if that’s the case, as much as it sucks, she tries to make good use of her time, since she doesn’t really have any other options.
Sometimes she watches an old film, because she likes the way things have been. Sometimes she reads her favorite book for the hundredth time, because it’s a comfort to know how it ends.
Some nights she writes short stories or poems, that never see the light of day. Some nights she cleans the entire appartment in record time, that at least something is taken care of.
Whatever she feels like doing. It’s not that anyone is there to judge her.
(Couldn’t since they’re all asleep, for fuck’s sake.)
Not once though, Dani had killed time by ‘extending her knowledge’ on pornographic content.
Anyway.
There’s a first time for anything.
*
Dani tells herself that she’s just looking, nothing more, as she checks out names of different categories of the app she just downloaded.
(From new releases, fan favorites, couple fun, romantic, straight stories over to rough, hook ups, off limits, group experiences--)
Nothing that catches her attention.
But then Dani’s eyes land on something that’s more her cup of tea:
queer adventures.
And she thinks, if there’s something on this app that could be something for her, then it would be this.
Before she realizes, she’s already scrolling through a bunch of stories labelled her+her and her+them and her+you. A couple of tags below each recording to describe what it is about.
Dani tells herself she’s just curious, that’s all. She sure has no intentions to listen to any of those stories. For one, she’s way too tired to follow anything for longer than half a minute at a time and for two, she’s quite certain it isn’t for her since porn was never really her thing.
Never understood the thrill of it, never understood what is so appealing about it. Never understood the sense of it, really.
Even though something tells her that this might be a little different, she won’t listen to any of those stories.
She won’t.
(Dani might not know it yet, but--)
Then she reads the title of an episode listed below this week’s releases.
It says: Be a good girl for me? – recorded and submitted by J.T.
(--it’s not long, and her plan goes straight out of the window.)
This gives Dani’s heart a surprising, but not entirely unexpected squeeze in her chest; her blood is coursing faster through her veins, and her breath hitches audibly.
Dani thinks about it for a moment. Realizes her brain has already made the decision for her.
“Fuck it”, she whispers, her desire to know what it’s like is overwhelming.
(And really, that’s the thing with being an inquisitive person. You don’t want to miss out on new knowledge, do you?)
Dani tells herself the only reason she’s doing this is because she wants to find out what the creator intends with that title, wants to find out what this particular episode is about.
(Refuses to listen to the voice in her head that says, you know exactly what it means, Dani. You know exactly what this is.)
Once she knows, she’ll stop. Shouldn’t she like it, same thing.
Should be simple enough.
Right?
Dani holds her breath when she presses play.
*
“Hey, my Queens and welcome to tonight’s episode. For all you first-time-listeners: My name’s Jamie.”
Okay. Fuck.
Whatever it was that Dani thought would happen when she decided to give this audio porn thing a go, it wasn’t this.
She didn’t think someone’s voice – from a strange woman on the internet on top of that – could perfectly destroy her in a matter seconds. Two-and-a-half sentences in and Dani knows she’s done for.
And Jamie’s british accent – never has Dani heard anything like it – gives her the rest.
The woman speaks slow and deliberate, and Dani can hear her smiling, “But you can call me whatever you want. I’m whoever you want me to be.”
Dani swallows.
“Since my last episode I gained quite a bunch of new followers”, Jamie continues. “So I thought I repeat our golden rule. This kind of, let’s call it, entertainment, is not everybody’s thing and that’s okay. ‘S your body, your pleasure, your mind. If this is not workin’ for you, if it doesn’t feel right, if you don’t like it, just know you can always close the app and carry on with your day.”
It’s not that Dani didn’t know it herself; that it’s her decision if she wants to listen or not. It’s up to her for how long she’d like to listen, too. But it feels good to hear it from Jamie. It’s strangely reassuring and it immediately puts Dani’s mind at ease.
“And please remember”, Jamie says, sounding incredibly soft. “This is a safe place for everyone. I hope you can be your true self here.”
There’s a small smile on Dani’s lips now, and she’s wondering how it is possible to feel like she knows Jamie already. She’s never met her. She doesn’t know a thing about her other than her name.
She must imagine it, she thinks, must be the lack of sleep.
“I always like to take a selfie in the beginnin’ of each episode”, Jamie says, “for those of you who like to know what they’re dealin’ with, rather than leave it to imagination.”
Dani’s mind goes fucking places. If she looks nearly as good as her voice sounds, then --
“If you want to know what I’m wearin’, or not for that matter --”
Dani bites down on her lip. This woman knows what she’s doing.
(Dani’s aware this is for anyone who might listen; and yet, it feels as if Jamie would say those words to her, and Dani doesn’t know what to do with that.)
“--Check out my newest post. You’ll find the link in the description box."
Before she knows it Dani is already smashing the pause-button and clicking on the link.
The seconds it takes to load the page feels like a forever and a day; but then a picture appears on her screen, and --
“Oh my God.”
Dani stares at the photo for a few seconds. Locks her phone, lets it fall onto the sheets beside her. Takes a deep breath.
“Oh my fucking God.”
Dani’s throat has never been so dry. It’s almost painful to swallow.
She reaches for her water bottle on the floor next to the bed, choking a little on the water when she thinks of the photo again.
Moments later when Dani takes a second glimpse at Jamie’s photo, her reaction is pretty much the same, but she can’t look away this time.
(After telling herself to keep it the fuck together, Dani begins to notice the details:
The selfie shows the other woman on a couch, in nothing but a dark Calvin Klein bra and underwear, and a white button-up shirt.
Jamie’s hand – the one that isn’t taking the photo – rests gently on her the juncture between her thigh and hips. One of Jamie’s legs is slightly bent at the knee, while the other one is tucked underneath her.
Other things she takes note of:
Her stomach: toned. Her jaw: sharp. Her skin: freckled.
If that outfit, that pose, the look, didn’t take her apart, Jamie’s smile does it. It has glint of mischief, that Dani is convinced would also be in Jamie’s eyes, but the photo cuts off right there where Jamie’s nose would be.
Jamie’s wild brown curls make up for it, though. By the look of it they’re still damp, and few drops are trickling down her neck to her collarbones.
“I am so very gay”, Dani mumbles to herself, when she can’t find any other words to describe what this Jamie is doing to her.
Dani resumes the episode shortly after that, knowing damn well she already reached the point of no return.
(Even though she refuses to see it.)
“Oh, and before I forget it”, Jamie adds, “If there’s somethin’ you’d like me to do, submissions are open Saturdays and Sundays.”
Then:
“ ‘M sure there’s a way to turn your kinky fantasies into somethin’ real “, Jamie says with a smile, the teasing quality in her tone undeniable.
Dani has no clue what Jamie’s subscribers would request, but now she’s curious if it would be anything she’s into as well.
“This one here is for all you ladies out there”, Jamie’s voice changes with those words, it’s now deeper, “wherever you might be in the world, who have thing for being told what to do.”
Dani’s breath hitches.
“Who like being told how good they are.”
There, Dani thinks. There’s the answer to your question. Now you know what the title means.
(She thoroughly ignores the voice in her head: stop pretending you didn’t know.)
You can stop now.
“Let’s go over the rules”, Jamie instructs, and with every word she says the harder it gets for Dani to put an end to this.
“One, this only works if you do exactly what you’re told. Pretend as if I’m there with you, answer my questions and follow my commands”, Jamie begins to explain the rules, “Two, any thoughts or feelings you experience while listenin’ to this, are valid. Think about me in whatever way you please. Really. You have my permission. And three, and that’s the most important rule: If you’re a good girl for me”, Jamie teases, “I won’t punish ya. Might even reward ya.”
(The voice in Dani’s head chimes in again: if it wasn’t totally your thing, you know, the idea of being told what to do, being told you’re a good girl, you wouldn’t still be here.)
This time Dani listens.
(You don’t want to stop.)
(You like where this is going.)
(Stop fighting it.)
Eventually, Dani gives in.
Jamie chuckles softly, as if she knew Dani couldn’t resist, “That being said, let’s begin.”
*
Dani digs for her earphones in her night-stand drawer and plugs them in. Puts her phone next to her onto the pillow. That way she won’t have to hold it, just in case her hands are needed elsewhere.
“If you haven’t already”, Jamie says, “now would be a good time to move where you feel most comfortable doin’ this.”
Dani’s already in her bed, sheets kicked down to the end of it. It’s mid may, therefore Jamie’s not the only reason she won’t need a blanket.
(At least that’s what she tells herself.)
“And enjoy me”, Jamie whispers.
Dani’s eyes close, allowing the last bits of inhibition to melt away.
“Speakin’ of me”, come Jamie’s next words, and Dani thinks that now things are getting interesting. “I’ve been lookin’ forward to this all day and couldn’t stop thinkin’ about it. Believe me I tried it.”
Dani can’t help but wonder what Jamie does when she isn’t doing this. Wonders what she’s doing for a living, what kind of things she’s into, what she is like behind the scenes.
“And sure, I’m here for your pleasure”, Jamie says, “But knowin’ you touch yourself, make yourself come to my voice, my moans and my sounds. Fuck, that really does it for me.”
God, that word. It has never sounded better.
Jamie telling Dani what’s arousing her – she’ll just pretend the other woman is saying those things to her, damn all the others – is something else altogether.
“Just before startin’ to record, I took a long and hot shower. Didn’t get fully dressed again, because really, what’s the sense if the clothes come off later anyway?”
When Jamie speaks those words, two things happen: In her head appears an image of Jamie, naked in the shower with her head tipped back as water rushes over her, and one where Jamie takes her clothes off, piece by piece, swaying her hips to rhythm of music.
Dani doesn’t know what turns her on more.
“If you feel like you’re overdressed, why don’t you get rid of your clothes? Anything you feel okay takin’ off. Except your panties and your bra’, the other woman says, ‘They’re goin’ to stay on for now.”
Dani hits pause and does as she’s told. Right when she wants to take off her sleep shirt, she remembers she isn’t wearing a bra, and of course she isn’t, it’s in the middle of the night.
There’s no way she’s going to put one on, so she does the second best thing. She folds up the shirt in in the back and gathers the leftover fabric in the front. She twists the section until it forms a spiral, wraps it around the ball and pulls the end piece through, creating a make-shift bra.
That’ll do, she thinks.
Before getting back to Jamie, Dani makes sure she’s feeling comfortable: the window’s tilted, the water bottle is filled, her hair is up in a messy bun.
She lies down on the bed again, and clicks play.
“Now, close your eyes”, Jamie instructs softly, “Bring awareness to your lungs breathin’ in and out. Notice touch and pressure where it makes contact with the surface beneath you. Move your attention to every limb, feel every muscle. Explore all the sensations.”
Dani, following Jamie’s directions step by step, feels herself loosening up. It’s not that she’s tense or anything – she’s way too tired for that – but Jamie’s words calm both her body and mind.
On the other hand, the way she speaks, in her stupidly attractive accent, it also excites her. And she can feel her body reacting to Jamie, more by each second that passes.
“Make yourself aware body.”
Dani laughs a little. Especially aware of one thing, she thinks, and that is the mess in my underwear. From just hearing you talk.
She wonders what will happen to her, when she’ll do more than just listen to Jamie.
“I need you to be fully here for this”, Jamie continues. “If you need a moment, you can always pause. You decide the pace.”
Dani appreciates that Jamie wants to be sure she’s prepared, but there’s no need in waiting since Dani is as ready as ready as she’ll ever be. In every sense of the word.
However, she’s not so sure anymore, when Jamie says, “Now, that we’re all set, let’s come.”
*
“I need you to be good for me”, Jamie rasps. “You think you can do that?”
Okay, so: the thing about Dani being prepared? Scratch that.
Nothing could’ve prepared her for what it would do to her to hear Jamie say that.
Nothing.
Jamie had said something similar before – if you’re being good girl for me, I won’t punish ya’, might even reward ya’ – but Dani was too busy arguing with herself, that she didn’t -- however, now that she’s allowing herself to have this, it completely fucks her over.
She’s got a feeling that this is only the beginning.
Dani swallows. Then, with a start, she remembers Jamie’s rule: answer my questions.
Without thinking about it twice, Dani nods.
Jamie hums gently, “Didn’t expect anythin’ else from you, baby.”
“Oh God”, Dani mutters beneath her breath. This is going to be a wild ride.
Everything about this is ridiculously sexy, so unbelievably hot. At the same time, though, it’s so soft, that Dani almost melts, “You’re so beautiful. Anyone ever tell you that?”, Jamie husks into her ear. “I mean, look at you. You have no right to look this good.”
Dani can’t help but smile. It shouldn’t feel so real, so tangible. And still, it does.
“Anyway”, Jamie whispers.
Dani’s smile wavers, when--
“I want you to tease your boobs a little’, comes Jamie’s commanding, yet gentle, voice once again, “Squeeze them softly, if that is somethin’ that feels good for you. If you want you can pinch your nipples through your bra. Or trace your fingers around them. Anythin’ that feels nice.”
As Dani’s following her instructions, she imagines Jamie doing the same to herself. Those beautiful slim fingers, ghosting over dark fabric, and doing all the things she spoke about.
The idea of it alone is exhilarating.
Dani gasps, a new gush of heat pooling low between her legs, when Jamie praises her, “Yeah, just like that.”
She presses her thighs together in search of something that lessens the ache, but it’s of no use. She’d need her fingers there. Or a mouth. Jamie’s mouth, preferably.
“Let your hands wander”, the woman says next, and Dani’s heartbeat picks up in pace. And before she knows it her fingers are already making their way lower.
Jamie has other ideas though, “To anywhere you want, except where you most need them.”
Dani lets out a shaky breath, clenching a fist. She should’ve known.
“Anywhere”, Jamie repeats, smiling, “but not down there.”
A few seconds pass, and Dani thinks letting her hands wander to anywhere but not down there won’t make it better. If anything, it will make it a million times harder.
(But isn’t that what Jamie is trying to do?, her brain offers.)
(Make you desperate?)
Dani bites down on her tongue, choking back a whimper, when Jamie says, “You’ll have to earn it.”
(Isn’t that what you want?)
“It’ll be worth it, trust me.”
(It is, her brain says, and there is not a thing Dani can say to that.)
So, Dani follows Jamie’s example, “Let your nails lightly and slowly graze over your skin. Wherever you’d like. I’ll scrape mine along the insides of my thigh, and down my neck, over my collarbone, down to--”
Jamie cuts herself off with a soft hum. The sound of it, holy shit. There’s no way Dani will make it out of this alive.
“You’re really good at this”, she mumbles, her voice quiet, “So good, I might let you have a taste of what’s yet to come. You want that?”
Dani bites her lip, whispering, “Yeah.”
“Thought so”, Jamie teases. “Why don’t you touch yourself where you’ve been wantin’ to touch all along?”
Dani makes the same mistake again, doesn’t let Jamie finish speaking. A fraction of a second later her fingers are slipping underneath the waistband of her underwear, and--
Of course, Jamie knew this would happen, “Hold on. I’m not done yet.”
Dani removes her hand so quickly, almost as if she’s been burnt. At Jamie’s commanding voice, her hips give a light jerk, and she buries her face in the pillow, letting out an exasperated sigh.
Her hand rests on her stomach – anything further away would’ve been too much – while the other holds tightly onto the bedsheets.
“You’re only allowed to tease yourself a little through your underwear”, Jamie speaks after what feels like an eternity. “Just one finger, lightly brushin’ over your clit.”
Dani waits, if there’s more to come. Doesn’t want to mess things up again. But then there’s a soft groan coming from Jamie, “I’m goin’ to do the same”, and for a second she forgets herself.
Fuck.
Thankfully, she can touch herself now – not really, and not much, but enough – because she couldn’t have not after this.
The first contact, even if it’s just barely-there touches and soft circles, with one finger as she’s been told, is enough to make her moan. It’s never been like this.
Dani can feel the damp fabric underneath her fingertips, making her blood rush, and she thinks it would be easy to just push it aside and --
At once, she needs more – forget enough – and Jamie’s, husky, “God, my underwear is soaked”, isn’t helping. Not in the slightest.
Jamie, who knows what she’s doing, is slowly killing Dani with her words: “ ‘S not enough, huh?”
Dani huffs, rubbing a hand over her face. God, this is frustrating.
The other woman chuckles, “Well, that’s all you’re goin’ to get for now.”
She’d be lying if she said it wasn’t incredibly arousing, to listen to Jamie talk to her in that way, Jamie deciding when, what, how.
Dani reminds herself that this is the sense of it all, and that, no matter what, she’ll see it through. Wants to prove it to herself that she can, even if it almost kills her.
And hearing Jamie moan, “You being so good for me is really turning me on”, makes her want it even more; hasn’t wanted something so much in a long time.
However, she didn’t factor this into her calculation:
Jamie intakes sharply, and there’s rustling on the other side, “I don’t think I can wait any longer."
And: “You will, though: wait.”
And: “And you will listen, while I touch myself.”
Dani’s eyes fly open, and her jaw drops. She had not seen that coming. Yep, Jamie is going to be her cause of death.
“Continue teasin’ yourself”, Jamie instructs on exhale, “And go slow. Don’t you dare pick up in speed or add more pressure.”
Dani thinks it would be easier to not do anything to herself while Jamie -- Christ, she can’t even think about it, without wanting to shove her hand down her underwear.
“Oh, and you can’t stop or not do it.”
Dani groans.
Okay, fine.
“You think you can do that for me?”, comes Jamie’s question. “C’mon, show me what a good girl you can be.”
You’ll have to earn it, Jamie’s voice echoes inside her head. It’ll be worth it, trust me.
So she does.
“I’m slippin’ a hand inside my underwear now”, Jamie mutters. The end of the sentence turns into a long, breathy moan, that absolutely kicks all air out of Dani’s lungs.
“Oh, fuck, god, ‘m so wet, baby.”
The fact that it seems to be an effort to get the words out makes it worse, and it’s so hard to keep it slow. Her fingers tingle with the craving to move faster and press in harder.
At once, there’s a noise coming from Jamie, that sounds a lot like --
“Jesus, can you hear how wet I am?”
Dani can’t take it anymore, and she surrenders to the feeling of wanting more, and the next thing she knows, are her fingers circling her clit through the cotton, in a way she shouldn’t.
Dani slows a little when she realizes what she’s doing but can’t go back to one finger and slow. Jamie’s sounds make her desperately want to fuck herself.
“You sure you didn’t cheat a little?”, Jamie speaks after a little while, and Dani feels caught. Shit. “You did, didn’t you?”
Dani bites down on her knuckle, feeling heat rise in her cheeks, “That’s not what I call a good girl.”
Still, Dani continues to move her fingers, whimpering against her hand, and unable to stop.
“ ‘S okay”, Jamie says with a low chuckle. “Like it when you lose control ‘cause of me.”
Jamie’s wet sounds have her seconds away from pushing aside the fabric, that is too ruined to be of any use, anyway, and get the job done, but she doesn’t. Has already bend a rule, wants to keep herself from breaking it altogether.
Dani sighs, both in relief and pleasure, when Jamie tells her, “You may join me now, baby.”
Dani doesn’t need to be told twice, her hand sliding past the hemline of her panties half a moment later. “Make yourself feel good”, Jamie mutters, her voice thick with arousal, “You deserve it.”
The amount of wetness Dani’s fingers find should be criminal, but Dani hasn’t it in her to care about anything else than the intense pleasure that is building after only a couple gentle strokes.
Dani can’t help but notices how hot it is between her legs, compared to the rest of her body. The cool of her fingers is a welcoming contrast to the blazing sensation, that slowly makes its way to every part of her body.
It takes seconds, and Dani’s positively alight with something she can’t quite name.
She moans in pleasure, the fingers against her throbbing clit feeling different without anything in the way, and she didn’t know how much she truly needed this until now.
It’s a wonder Jamie can still talk, given she’s doing the same thing as Dani. She just seems to be worlds better at having herself under control, and it’s stupidly sensual, “Just the thought of you touching yourself because I told you so, fuck, that’s hot.”
The sound of her voice is – damn, there’s no adjective in no existing language for that. And even if there was, Dani’s sure she wouldn’t find it now.
Dani coats her entire hand with her slick arousal, her body reacting to Jamie before she even has a chance to form a coherent thought about what it is doing to her.
Jamie moans again, an utterly filthy sound from the back of her throat, and Dani thinks she could come from just that. Another one of those, and she’d -- “Oh, that feels so fucking good.”
Jamie moaning is one thing, Jamie swearing is another. But Jamie telling what feels good to her, while Dani’s imagining all the things she is doing to herself, is something else entirely.
Dani wants to make it last, she really wants to, all of this being way too good for it not to, but Dani’s already hurtling towards the edge in a pace that she doesn’t know of herself.
“If you’re getting to close”, Jamie manages to get out between laboured breaths, “Slow down or stop for a few seconds. As long as you can take it.”
It’s hard, to stop, but Dani makes it. It’s harder to keep slow, because also slow would get her there, sooner or later. Sooner, in this case.
“You’re not”, Jamie chokes out after another heavy moan, that neatly cuts through Dani’s core, “allowed to come before I do.”
At first, Dani stops after ten seconds, starts working her fingers again, but it’s too much and she has to stop again. Ten seconds in between turn to eight, and eight to five. Five to three, and at one point she’s certain another stroke and she’d fall apart spectacularly.
“Who tells you when to come, baby?”, Jamie husks, and Dani can almost see the lazy grin on Jamie’s lips, “That’s right, me.”
Dani’s clit twitches more with every second she doesn’t continue, but she just can’t. She figures if she waits long enough – half a minute should do – she’ll be able to touch herself again without the beginnings of her orgasm slamming into her, so that she has to stop again.
It’s torture.
“I want you to come with me, yeah?”, comes Jamie’s next command. “If you can’t, you have another fifteen seconds to do the same.”
If Dani can last until there, she’ll want to hear Jamie come, holding off as long as she can, before letting go herself, doesn’t want to miss what Jamie sounds like, just because she’s at it herself.
“I take the rest of my clothes off now”, she says, sounding as desperate as Dani feels, “Take yours off too, baby.”
Dani does. Shirt and underwear discarded somewhere on the floor, Dani wears nothing at all, and Jamie on the other side is naked too --
“Mhm, much better, isn’t it?”, Jamie mumbles, the end of the sentence softly breaking, and Dani has a feeling of what’s the reason for it.
Jamie hums in pleasure, “Want you to fuck yourself. One, or two fingers, whatever feels better. Inside, please.”
It’s a mystery to Dani how someone can be so tender, and so dominating at the same time, but all she wants is do all the things Jamie wants her to.
Dani sinks two fingers into herself right away, sure that she won’t even feel one. She curls them upwards, and the intensity of it has her gasping for air, has her free hand fisting the sheets.
Jamie expresses what Dani’s experiencing right this second, and knowing Jamie feels similar things, is intimate in a way it shouldn’t be, “Oh, oh my god, yes.”
“That feels good, hm?”, Jamie breathes. Speaking seems to be a challenge now, and it sounds incredibly sexy.
In that moment Dani desperately wishes it wasn’t her own fingers, but Jamie’s. It would feel a thousand times better.
“Harder, baby”, Jamie instructs, and it sounds beautifully strangled. Jamie stifles a moan against what must be her hand, and Dani thinks this is it.
This is it.
Jamie is worried about being too loud, because it feels too good, and Dani wants to hear it over and over again. Wants to feel how much Jamie wants this.
And Dani fucks herself harder, while the heel of her palm drives up into her clit with every thrust, “Good girl”, Jamie praises her, and Dani can’t help but moan in response.
“If you can -- another finger”, the other woman mutters, controlling her voice the best she can, “like I do. And use both hands.”
Dani does as she’s told, at last getting the hang of this, and adds another finger. The way takes a third inside herself, perfectly and effortlessly, should take her by surprise, but it doesn’t.
Nothing does, not since she decided to give this thing a go. Since Jamie happened.
She focuses on her clit with her other hand, a new wave of slick heat soaking her fingers, when she pictures Jamie doing the same to herself, and Dani doesn’t think she’s ever been that turned on before.
At least not without anybody else being physically with her.
It takes her at most ten seconds to arrive at the point where she’s been moments before, and she’s right there on the edge; it’s all-consuming now, the combination of both sensations is overwhelming her in the best possible way.
Dani’s moans are becoming shorter now, are more frequent, and she doesn’t know if she can hold her orgasm at bay until Jamie’s there too. But she also can’t stop, can’t, she’s too far gone.
But then: “Holy shit, ‘m so close. Fuck.”
“Fuck fuck fuck”, Dani whispers, hearing Jamie say this is killing her. Dani’s moans are becoming quieter, until it’s more of a rhythmic breathing than anything else; most times it’s like that just before she comes.
And she’s right there, like right there.
She’s nearly coming, a fraction of a second away, when Jamie speaks the last words, “ ‘M gonna come, fuck.”
A beat.
“C’mon--come with me, baby girl.”
And then Jamie’s falling apart with a long, soft cry, and its hands-down the most erotic sound Dani has ever heard in her entire life.
At the sound of it, she’s coming too, like hell she is, more, the longer Jamie’s moans last.
She pictures Jamie’s spine arching off the couch, fingers thrusting inside herself a messy rhythm that is none at all, fingers working at a fast pace on a sensitive bundle of nerves, teasing every last drop of pleasure out of herself.
Jamie slowly comes back down, and so does Dani, her breathing returning back to normal, “Jesus, that was … intense as fuck.”
She chuckles lowly, sounding exhausted but content, “And all of that because you’ve been such a good girl for me.”
Dani takes a deep breath, wiping her fingers on the sheets, her muscles softly twitching in the afterglow of an earth-shattering orgasm.
“Can’t wait to make you come next time”, Jamie teases, the rawness in her voice work Dani up all over again, just like that, “’Cause that’s what you did, right? You imagined me doing this to you.”
Dani turns to her side, a hand sliding underneath her pillow and slowly coming back to reality, “I like that idea, you know”, Jamie whispers, “That you think it’s me.”
Dani’s eyes flutter closed, feeling the exhaustion of the day and half of a sleepless night in her bones, and all she wants to do is sleep.
Jamie says a few other words, but she’s doesn’t really hear them anymore, slowly drifting into a dreamless slumber.
(“Thank you so much for listening”, Jamie says, ‘I appreciate each and every one of you who dare to come on kinky adventures with me. Means the world to me. See you next week, my Queens. Take care.”)
Dani, so it seems, has a thing for ‘porn’ after all. All it has to be Jamie, a strange woman from across the ocean, who’s just too good with words. Who sure as hell is good with hands too, and all of the other things.
Oh, what she’d do to find out if that’s true.
On top of all this, Jamie helped her fall asleep, slowly and then all at once, which is a wonder on its own.
*
On a Tuesday on a warm June morning, Jamie wakes up to Heart of Glass and bunch of new notifications on her phone.
She usually doesn’t bother reading any of them, just opens them so the notification symbol disappears again (she hates unread messages); sometimes she deletes them even right away.
One text (in fact, it is three), catches her attention.
dnxcltn: hi x just wanted to drop by to say thank you, on behalf of everyone who listens to you, for all that you do. it’s a pleasure every time, and i mean that quite literally, lol.
dnxcltn: but that’s not the real reason i’m texting you. i don’t have as much sleepless nights as i used to before i started listening to you. sorry if this is weird, but it’s true. you helped me a lot. still do. you bring so many people pleasure with your work that i thought you deserve the same thing. want to show you how much you’re appreciated. so with your permission i’d like to record something for you. if that’s something you’re cool with. if not that’s fine too.
dnxctln: oh, name’s dani, btw.
Jamie typically doesn’t reply to messages either, because if she’d start doing that she’d spend hours on end texting back strangers. However, from time to time she does, and there’s something about this one that exceptionally intriguing.
jmxtlr: hey. that’s quite a message to wake up to. my day only can be a good one if it starts like this. i’m happy i could help you out in more ways than one. and sure, by all means, go on. i’d love to hear you, dani.
Dani’s text comes in shortly after, and Jamie sits up against her headboard, figuring she can spare some minutes before she has to get up and get ready for work.
dnxcltn: oh you replied, didn’t think you would!
dnxcltn: yeah, so, are you okay if i send you a photo of me, too? if we’re doing this i want you to do this right, and that includes … visuals. just like you post a picture before every episode. it’s only fair.
jmxtlr: yeah, sure. whatever you want, love. and if you realize halfway through you don’t like it, that’s okay too. no hard feelings, yeah? but yes, I’d love to see you as well.
dnxcltn: oh thank you sm. that’s sweet of you, jamie.
dnxcltn: when would be a good time to send you my little gift?
jmxtlr: i get off work at six (pst) so any time after that. so i can listen to it when i come home.
jmxtlr: if i make it home, before curiosity gets the best of me, haha. it’s not every day i someone makes a recording of themselves, just for me.
dnxcltn: every other day then? can’t imagine how many queers must slide into your dms, all the damn time, lol
jmxtlr: dms yeah but i barely read them. let alone text back. it’s too many. but there was something else about your message
jmxtlr: and welp, now i am here, texting you while i should get ready for work. oops
jmxtlr: oh, and about the recordings. you’d definitely be the first
dnxcltn: really?
jmxtlr: really. i’m serious.
dnxcltn: can’t believe no one has ever thought of doing that
dnxcltn: see it as a thank you x
dnxcltn: anyway, i won’t keep you any longer. don’t want you to be late, jamie x
jmxtlr: it’s okay, i’m still in time. also, i like talking to you.
jmxtlr: so i can expect to hear from you later?
dnxcltn: yeah, “later”. but i can’t promise i’ll wait until you’re done working before i’ll send it, since i’m already… you know. and i’m dying to know what you think about it.
dnxcltn: but WHEN you’re going get it, that’s going to be a surprise.
Jamie beams at her screen, already liking this Dani more than she’d care to admit.
(To anyone, including herself.)
jmxtlr: guess who’s going to be distracted all day at work now
jmxtlr: you better make it up to me, dani
Dani takes her time to text back this time, but then it’s this:
dnxcltn: i will
A second later a photo of Dani is coming in and--
dnxcltn: how about this for a start?
*
There aren’t a lot of things in this world that throw Jamie off her game. Maybe one, or two. At most, three.
The first thing would be exams, without a doubt. But since she’s twenty-eight, out of school and never went to college, it’s unlikely she’ll ever be in a situation of that sort again.
The second would be events she hadn’t seen coming, such as a car accident or an unexpected death of a loved one. Chances of it happening are low, but not exactly zero.
And the third thing: women.
Not every woman, no. Not every attractive woman either. Not even those she’d hook up with now and again.
But women like Dani.
Dani, who takes Jamie by surprise from the very beginning.
Dani, who tuned in to Jamie’s episodes on Sounds of Pleasure, and thought Jamie deserves to be the one who listens, for once.
Dani, who reaches out to Jamie one day, asking if she could make a recording for her as a thank you, for all of the things she does for anyone who listens, but mostly for her, who she helped in more ways than just one.
(I’d love to hear you, Dani, Jamie said, I’d love to see you, because it’s true, she would.)
(And if it’s only because Jamie’s curious about Dani’s thought behind it: what is the true reason she’d like to create a tape for Jamie? Something tells her there’s more to it.)
(All this time, she wondered if someone would ever work up the courage to record themselves while they’re listening to her. And now, there’s Dani. She’s no idea what Dani’s plan is, but she’s here for all of it.)
Dani, who said she can’t promise to wait until Jamie gets home from work to send her recording, because she dying to hear Jamie’s thoughts on it.
(In other words: Dani thinks there’s a probability that Jamie listens to her audio – at work, on her lunch break, on her way home – long before she’s in her flat again. To be honest, to Jamie that isn’t entirely out of question.)
Dani, who sends Jamie a photo of herself, just like that. Barely covered in the thin fabric of her bed sheets, asking ‘how about this for a start?’, when Jamie said she better make it up to her, for being the reason she’ll be distracted all day.
(Jamie needs a whole minute to recover. It’s not even 8 in the morning and a pretty girl on the internet is sending her a nude. What are the odds.)
jmxtlr: that’s not how this works, dani
jmxtlr: now i’ll be distracted and turned on
dnxcltn: take it you like it then?
jmxtlr: oh absolutely
jmxtlr: still. not fair
Dani, who is without a question Jamie’s type.
Dani, who is cheeky. Fascinating. Incredibly gorgeous.
Dani, who --
(Jamie never finishes that thought, forgets what it is about the second Dani’s next text pop up in the chat. And a second, a third.)
dnxcltn: sorry/not sorry
dnxcltn: actually. damage is already done, so what’s one more?
dnxcltn: you don’t mind, do you?
Dani, who just sent Jamie another photo of herself.
(Like the last one, it doesn’t show all of her. From her just above her lips down to her waist. Nobody would be able to tell it is her. She’s got common sense, Jamie has to give her that.)
Dani, who has a smile so beautiful, that Jamie doesn’t even have a chance to notice anything else.
*
Jamie’s at work, currently securing the over-the-shoulder restraints of a passenger on Batman, when her phone buzzes in her fanny pack, which is slinged across her chest.
She ignores it, pulling down the safety bar of another passenger and buckling the emergency seat belt, before moving on to the next.
Pull. Buckle. Repeat.
Once she’s made sure all patrons are secured safely, she announces over the loudspeaker that the train is about to depart.
(“Dear passengers of Batman, are you ready to combat crimes in Gotham City? Because as you know: the world only makes sense if you force it to.”)
Jamie double checks all lights are on green and pushes the button that starts the ride.
(“Take-off in three, two, one.”)
As the lift hill pulls the vehicle on top of the coaster, the nervous and exited babbling of the passengers subsides, and the static hum of the roller coaster fills the air.
Well, until the coaster is up hill. Once it descends, it’ll be all but screaming.
It’s a slow morning, only one train out of three is operating, and Jamie has exactly one minute and twenty seconds until it rolls back into the station.
Luckily, Blake is not around.
Before coming back from their break they agreed to get some oil to lubricate the wheels of one car that consistently gives off an unpleasant squealing noise.
That means, Jamie is alone, at least for now, and no one gives her weird looks for having a quick glimpse at her notifications. She stands on the one spot, outside of the security camera’s range, and takes her phone out of the fanny pack.
Her face lights up when she sees a new message from dnxcltn on her lock screen. There are a few other notifications, including an e-mail from Hannah, a missed call from Michael and a bunch of DMs.
Jamie pays no attention to that.
She thinks about whether she should open Dani’s message now or wait until later. If it’s what she thinks, or rather hopes it is, it would be a bad idea to do it now.
If she’s distracted, even more than she already is after the morning she had, she’ll forget to latch up a passenger correctly.
Worst case scenario: the patron falls out of their seat halfway through the ride and dies a horrible death, which wouldn’t fit in her plan today.
Later, she decides.
Jamie changes the song that is currently playing from her headphones, increases the volume to max and shoves her phone back in.
Adjusts her black-yellow baseball cap (with BATMAN – The Ride embroidered on the panels, Six Flags Magic Mountain on the bottom left of the visor) and takes a deep breath.
Batman rolls in shortly after, the loading platform closing up once the cars reach a standstill.
Jamie tries very hard not to think about what she’ll get back to once she’s got time. Tries even harder to concentrate on the task at hand.
Thing is: if you do the same thing for months, at some point you know all sequence of movements by heart. You just know what is next, without thinking about it twice.
If everything does it by itself, then your mind goes places you don’t want it to go.
So the next thing is as inevitable as something can be:
Jamie thinks about Dani while she de-boards the passengers.
Thinks about her while she collects the tickets for the next ride.
While she secures the restrains.
While she informs the patrons about the departure.
While she presses the start button.
She thinks about Dani.
And on and on it goes for a couple of rides, always in the same order.
After the tenth ride or so she can’t take it any longer. She needs to know at least if it’s in fact the promised recording or rather a text that says sorry this was a bad idea or something like that.
When the next train rolls out of the station, she pulls out her phone again. She almost drops it when she reads Dani’s text below the audio-file.
dnxcltn: sorry the recording is so long, but i couldn’t stop after just one… had to have a second and a third. it felt too good thinking about you like that. i hope that’s okay.
Jamie chokes on her own saliva, when she reads it again.
“You okay there, dude?”, Blake says as they come back, a container of engine oil in tow. They put it down next to the small operator cabin, and Jamie still gasping for air, nods frantically.
Jamie reaches for her water bottle she keeps in the side pocket of her dark grey cargo pants and empties it in one go. For two reasons: one, to soothe her throat and two, to keep herself from fainting.
As the next train enters the station, and Blake and her set to work, Jamie does some quick math.
Thirty-three minutes.
Dani’s recording is thirty-three minutes long.
Jamie’s lunchbreak: forty-five minutes.
Twelve minutes to get to the staff car park and back.
Impossible.
Needs at least twenty.
Hm.
If she begins listening the moment she clocks out, she will be at minute ten once she reaches her truck.
That leaves twenty-three minutes of Dani’s recording.
And twelve minutes of her lunchbreak when she’s done.
Two minutes of buffer in case anything comes in between.
Should work.
“What’s up with you today?”, Blake asks once the train launches. “You’re looking all grumpy.”
“I’m not grumpy”, Jamie shoots back, picking up some waste from the platform, and throwing it into the bin, “I’m thinkin’.”
“Ah”, Blake says. They snatch the broom from the operator cabin, and both clear up the space, as much as you can in under ninety seconds, “Wanna tell me what about?”
Jamie shakes her head, tucking her close-fitting Batman shirt back in after it slipped out as she reached for a forgotten pair on sunglasses, on the shelf where passengers put their belongings, “It’s nothin’.”
It’s a lie, but who cares. Blake wouldn’t understand.
Nobody would.
Because how on earth to you explain to someone you’re going to skip lunch so you can listen to an audio from a strange woman on the internet you only met today, who will fuck herself for you?
Right.
You don’t.
*
Jamie has never thought that time could pass so slowly. It’s been only two hours since Dani sent her the recording but to Jamie it feels like an eternity.
Another five minutes.
Another two rides.
And she’ll be out of here.
“There’s clearly going something on with you, Jamie”, Blake gives her a concerned look as Jamie checks the time again. “I won’t ask what’s going on, because it’s none of my business, but you look like you can’t wait for your break.”
Jamie shrugs, doesn’t know what to say. “It’s just--“, she shakes her head, starts over, “I have a, uh… thing."
“A thing?”, Blake repeats, sounding confused, “Look, why don’t you leave five minutes early?”
“Wait -- Really?”
“Really. I got everything under control here. Come on, give me your key”, Blake extends their hand, winking, “I’ll clock you out in five. Nobody has to know.”
Jamie nods, fishing out the key from her pocket and handing it over, “I owe you one, Blake.”
“I expect you to be back here with a clear head”, they call after Jamie, who already rushes to the exit, “or you’ll end up accidentally killing a passenger!”
Jamie grins on her way out. This running gag just never gets old.
As she makes her way through the bustling crowd – there are significantly more guests in the amusement park as in the morning – she pulls out her phone, opening Dani’s chat.
Just when she’s about to hit play, she hears a shrill honk behind her. She whirls around to see Noah, driving a Six Flags Club Car, waving at her from the distance. “Fancy a ride?”, Noah asks, once she’s within earshot. She nods to the passenger seat.
“Depends”, Jamie asks, looking at her watch. Forty-nine minutes left. “Where are you headed?”
“To the gate.”
Jamie beams, hopping onto the back seat of the cart, “Oh, must be my lucky day then.”
(And by that she doesn’t mean Blake allowing her to leave early, or Noah being at the right spot in the right time.)
(But we all know that.)
If Jamie doesn’t have to walk she’ll save five minutes, seven if Noah drives in a timely manner. However, if Noah insists on conversation she’ll miss those five or three minutes she could listen to Dani.
Counterproductive.
But things seem to work out in Jamie’s favour after all.
A second later Noah receives a call from the radio. She’s needed as soon as possible by the ticket counters because apparently there is a huge problem that needs fixing.
That means, it’ll take them closer to three minutes to the exit, two and half if Noah takes a short cut and two if she steps on the gas.
Noah receives another call shortly after, and Jamie thinks it’s safe to start the recording. She keeps only one ear bud in, just in case Noah wants something.
“Hi Jamie”, comes a lovely, very American voice. No one said her name quite like that before, and it makes Jamie smile.
“I’d like to think you know who just send you this since we just talked this morning and you said you were never the one who listened. But, in case you forgot, which I hope you didn’t”, she chuckles softly, and it’s incredible adorable, “this is Dani.”
Jamie relaxes into the seat, already loving every second of this, “As promised: A thank you on behalf of everyone, wherever they might be in the world, who listens to you every Friday”, Dani says, “Or in my case: who have listened to you nearly every night for three weeks, until there were no more episodes left”, she laughs a little, sounding flustered. “Not a problem, though. I’ll just re-listen to my favourites.”
Jamie is astounded by the fact that she has listened to all her fifty-something episodes, however, she hadn’t expected Dani to have favourites to which she’d listen to again.
“Now, before we get to it”, Dani intakes softly, and Jamie can tell she’s a bit nervous, “I’d like to say a few things.”
Jamie clenches a fist, suddenly feeling kind of tense as well, “I told you before, haven’t I, the way you helped me a lot with my insomnia? The first time I listened to you, you basically fucked me to sleep”, Jamie bites down on her lip at the sound of it, only noticing it when she feels the pressure of her teeth, “I didn’t even get to finish the episode, before sleep took over.”
Jamie smirks, trying to imagine a very tired Dani falling asleep before she even realizes it’s happening.
“Woke up in the morning, wondering why the hell my ears hurt so bad”, Dani continues, sounding amused, “When I realized I had still my headphones in and why they were there in the first place, the memories of the night before came back to me in a flash.”
Jamie stops the recording once they reach the rest rooms near the exit of the park. She turns to Noah, who’s still on the same call, or another. Jamie wouldn’t know. “That’s me”, she says, and Noah nods as she slows down the vehicle enough for Jamie to jump off. From here it’s only a hundred meters to the car park.
(Jamie refuses to use anything but the metric system, even after more than a year in the states. Anything else just doesn’t make sense.)
She thanks her co-worker and makes a quick stop at the rest room to freshen herself up a bit. Gets herself a bottle of water and an apple from the snack vending machine on her way out.
She can’t eat anything at all, just because of Dani.
Forty-five minutes left.
Jamie resumes the recording as she jogs the rest of the way to her truck.
“First, you, in only your underwear, bra and button-up shirt. Seriously, if I hadn’t known I was into women before, that would have been my gay awakening”, Dani jokes, and Jamie can’t help the grin that breaks out on her face.
“That, or it could also have easily been your body”, she continues, the pitch of her voice is slightly changing. Oh. “Jesus, your arms, the way you rolled up the sleeves of your shirt, your toned stomach, your smooth thighs. It made me have”, Dani chuckles again, “very gay thoughts.”
Jamie wipes off the sweat on her face with her shirt, smiling, when she reaches her truck.
Most days she parks behind the administrative building. The shade that it provides is welcome in the summer heat and the temperature in the cab of her truck is pleasant, despite it having 28 degrees Celsius outside.
(She still can’t convert to Fahrenheit, after all this time, but she also really doesn’t care.)
No one else ever parks here, because apparently it is too far from the entrance. That the degrees inside of the car don’t resemble the one in a Finnish sauna at the end of a scorching hot day, doesn’t seem to matter.
It’s only her car and another one quite a few of parking spaces away.
“Oh, and your voice, your accent”, Dani sighs, “You sound so attractive when you talk, it’s insane. I have never heard anything sexier in my entire life.” God, her voice. So, that’s what Dani sounds like when she’s aroused. Fuck. “Once I heard what other sounds you can make, though, I might or might have not changed my opinion on that matter.”
Jamie swallows.
At once her clothes feel way too tight for her body. She kicks the door open and throws her baseball cap next to her onto the passenger seat. Runs a hand through damp curls.
Maybe it was a bad idea to do this now.
“And all the things you said”, Dani continues. “The way you said them… Trust me when I tell you that I learned a lot about myself that night.”
To do it here, of all places.
“Apart from figuring out that I definitely like being told I’m good. Being told what to do.” Jamie lets out a shaky breath. “I also learned that I do have a thing for ‘adult material’ after all.”
Jamie finds it funny Dani can’t call it by its name. It’s porn. That’s what it is.
“It just needs to be you”, the other woman says, and it warms Jamie’s heart. It feels good to be appreciated. “After that night, I continued to find out about things that I like, things I don’t like. All of that thanks to you. And that’s one reason you deserve this.”
Jamie is having all the feelings right now. She fidgets with her hands, like she always does when she feels kind of overwhelmed.
“The other reason, is, that ever since I started listening to you, I fall asleep faster, and mostly sleep through the night, too”, says Dani.
Jamie remembers her ‘lunch’ and pulls out the apple from where she keeps it her side pocket and nudges the door further open with her foot.
She really needs something to do, while she listens to this.
“I thought a lot about why that is”, Dani says, and Jamie opens the water bottle with her teeth. “It could be the hormone oxytocin that’s released during an orgasm. It’s thought to reduce stress levels, you know, which then leads to relaxation and sleepiness.”
Jamie smirks around the bottle cap, as she washes the apple under the soft stream of water that trickles down onto the gravel.
Orgasms make you tired, that’s nothing new. But Jamie likes the way Dani put it, how she explained it scientifically. Cute.
“It could also be the fact that you are currently the only thing that’s, uh --”, she stops right there, unsure how to continue. Takes a deep breath, begins again, “I guess what I’m trying to say is, whenever my mind is running wild you help it slow it down.”
Jamie rubs a hand over her face. Sighs. Doesn’t know what to think.
Takes a bite of her apple instead.
“You give my brain something else to think about”, the other woman admits. “You’re there, as much as you can be, and I’m not alone with my thoughts anymore.”
Jamie knows the feeling. Sometimes you need something else, or even someone else to fill the void, when nothing else seems to help.
“God, that sounded so much better in my head”, Dani laughs, and it’s seriously the best thing Jamie’s heard in a while. “I didn’t mean to give the impression of being unhappy or anything”, she explains once she can speak again, “I’m not, really not, just an overthinker, that’s all.”
Jamie nods, even though Dani isn’t here to see her. It’s just. She can relate.
“Anyway: you might not have known it until today, Jamie”, it’s the second time Dani has said her name and it might already be Jamie’s favourite way of hearing it, “but thanks to you things are a much better, and I’m truly thankful for that.”
She takes another bite of her apple, grimacing every time at how sour it is, but she powers through it. If time allows it, she’ll get a protein bar on her way back. God knows she’ll need it.
“And that’s why we’re here today”, Dani speaks after a moment, “To appreciate you. For all that you’ve done for me, without even knowing. I’d like to say thank you my way, because I wouldn’t know how else.”
Jamie smiles at Dani’s words.
And her stomach does a weird thing she can’t quite make sense of.
“Just know that nothing about this is for show”, the other woman says, “This is all me, to one hundred percent. I couldn’t ‘perform’ this, even if I tried.”
Dani giggles, “It’d be super awkward, trust me.”
Jamie finishes her apple, aims for the trash can five meters away, hits, and the apple core lands with a soft thud in the container.
“It’s my first time doing this”, Dani admits, “so I’ll just have to trust myself to not mess things up. I’ll try not to overthink what I’m doing, because that’s where things go sideways, lol.”
Jamie snorts. Did Dani really just say lol out loud? God, how can someone not like her?
“I’d like say one more thing”, she adds, “If you don’t like this, for whatever reason, don’t feel like you have to finish listening to this. I won’t be upset or anything if you don’t.”
Jamie would be surprised if she ends up not liking it. She’s having the time of her life listening to Dani, even though it fucks a bit with her head.
“Anyway”, Dani whispers, “Let’s begin.”
Her mouth goes dry at prospect what’s to come, and she takes a long drink of her water. Jamie winces at the lukewarm temperature of the liquid.
Somehow it makes her realize what she’s about to do.
Now.
Here.
Is she really so horny, that she can’t wait until six?
That she can’t wait until she’s home?
That it has to be in her car?
In her lunch break?
In the car park of Six Flags?
Huh. Looks like it.
Jamie checks the time again.
Thirty-five minutes of her lunch break left.
Twenty of Dani’s recording.
Ten minutes to walk back to her assigned ride of the day.
Five minutes as buffer.
“Fuck it”, Jamie mutters, slamming the truck door shut. She reaches down to the handle and moving the seat back a notch for more legroom.
“Since you are the one who’s listening this time, things are going to be a little different”, comes Dani’s next words. There’s a teasing quality to her tone Jamie can’t ignore, and she bites down on her lip, “But you’ll figure out soon enough.”
“While listening you, I also learned one or two things about the things you are into.” Dani’s voice is undeniably tinged with arousal, and the effect on Jamie is immediate. “You like it most to tell me what you’d like to do to me. I always imagine it’s just me you’re talking to, you know. And I figured I could tell you --"
Dani’s soft voice is cut off by an incoming call.
It’s Blake.
Jamie drops her head against the steering wheel, letting out an annoyed sigh. Absolutely not going to take that.
She decides to wait until Blake hangs up. If Jamie declines the call, they know she’s aware of them calling.
If Jamie doesn’t do anything, they’ll think she’s unavailable and later she can’t be blamed for not having seen the call.
They’d only call if it’s urgent.
But Jamie is like in the middle of--
She’ll risk it.
Just as they hang up, and Dani’s voice comes through again, “about all the things I would want you to do to me--"
Blake calls again.
“Fuckin’ hell”, Jamie swears, slamming with the fist onto the dashboard. “Yeah?”, she says as she accepts the call a moment later, not even trying to hide how irritated she is.
“I hate to be calling you”, Blake’s voice comes through, “while you’re on your break, but, uh. We have a technical issue with a car. You know the one that squeaks all the damn time.”
Jamie sighs, rubbing at her neck. Tries to keep her emotions in check. “Can’t you fix that?”
“I caught my hand really bad trying to solve the problem”, Blake explains, talking a mile a minute, “Liam is no where to be found, and you’re the only one who--”
“Can it wait until I’m back in thirty?”, Jamie interrupts, “It’s like--the worst possible time, Blake. I told you I had something to do.”
Blake grunts, apparently trying to fix what she can with one hand, “No, I’m sorry, but you’ll have to come here. As soon as you can.”
They curse something under their breath Jamie doesn’t quite catch, “Bill is already furious that the ride is out of order. Any minute longer and the asshole will chop my head off.”
Jamie doesn’t say anything.
It’s none of her goddamn business what is going on at work while she’s on her break.
“Please?”, Blake begs, and they never do that, “I promise to make it up to you.”
Jamie sighs, “Okay, fuck, tell him I am on my way.”
She ends the call before Blake can say anything else.
*
“I think we’ll have to use another train”, Jamie says, more to herself than anyone else, “while I have a look at this.”
She thinks she knows what the issue is, but she can’t do it under time pressure. Even less when people are watching her.
“Can’t promise anythin’ though.”
“You made some minor repairs quite a few times”, Blake reminds her, “if someone can fix it, then it’s you.”
Jamie nods, “Okay, let’s see what I can do.”
Soon she’s beneath the side-track trying to solve the problem, while Liam who finally decided to show up, operates Batman. Blake has gone to the emergency point, their hand turning all kinds of colours already.
The high temperatures, the physical work and the heat radiating from the coaster is a deadly combination. Minutes in, and Jamie’s sweating her ass off.
She removes her shirt, and throws it over her shoulder, leaving her standing in a short white tank top.
By the time she’s done, she has dark oil stains all over her top. And her pants. Got some black streaks across her stomach, and on her neck.
Jamie should’ve brought a ragged cloth.
But whatever.
Just when she comes up, toolbox in one hand, shirt in the other, Blake’s returns from the emergency, their hand all patched up and an ice pack cooling the injury.
“Excuse my French”, Blake stops in their tracks, when they see Jamie, “but holy fuck, Taylor.”
“What?”, Jamie looks down on herself, noticing only now that there’s practically more oil on her than anywhere else on the entire roller coaster.
“Don’t move”, Blake instructs, taking a picture of Jamie looking like that. They show it to her, grinning, “You look hot as hell, dude. Could be straight out of a porno, that.”
“Send me this.”
Jamie bites down on her lip, trying to bite back a smile. She just has come up with an idea.
In the bathroom, she texts Dani.
jmxtlr: wanted to listen to your recording in my break, but then there was an emergency at work only i could fix and i only listened to some of it.
jmxtlr: i know you wait for me to tell you what i think but that’ll have to wait until later
jmxtlr: i hope this makes it worth the wait
Before she can think better of it, she sends Dani the photo.
She takes a bunch of selfies before she gets rid of the stains, thinking she could absolutely use them for an upcoming episode.
Once she’s done she’s exited to see Dani has texted back.
dnxcltn: I-
dnxcltn: just when i thought you couldn’t be any more attractive
dnxcltn: fuck.
jmxtlr: i knew you’d like it, dani
dnxcltn: like is an understatement. i’m dying over here.
jmxtlr: please don’t
jmxtlr: or you’ll never know my thoughts on your recording
dnxcltn: true. wanna tell me what do you think so far?
jmxtlr: i was ready to get myself off to you in my truck.
jmxtlr: in the car park of my job. on my lunch break
jmxtlr: does that answer your question?
dnxcltn: yep, yeah. it does.
Jamie still grins as she takes a new set of clothes out of her locker and heads to the changing rooms.
She literally can’t wait for her shift to be over.
*
The minute the clock strikes six Jamie’s out of there. She’s running to the exit, as fast as her feet take her.
Someone else would ask why on earth she’d do that.
But: Jamie’s horny as hell.
And running to her car is relatively harmless, considering.
Driving a few kilometres per hour above the speed limit, is too.
Stopping by the side of the road because she can’t fucking wait, however, is not.
“Before you, I never really did dirty talk. But I discovered I quite like it when you do it and I’ve got the feeling you’d like it if I’d talk like that to you. And after listening to you for hours on end, I think I know how.
Oh, and since all your episodes have titles, I thought I give this audio one too. It would only the be right thing to do. I think I’ll name this ‘fantasizing about you’.
I’m sure you know already what it’ll be about, but I tell you, because I know you’d want to hear me say it: It’s called -- ‘fantasizing about you’, because that’s what I’ll be doing: touch myself, fuck myself and bring myself to orgasm, while thinking it’s you. Your fingers inside me, your mouth on me, your tongue licking into me.
Holy shit, the thought of it alone is –
Honestly, it’s all I’ve been thinking about for days. Jamie, you have no idea how much I’d want you to do all that to me.
And last night, I reached my breaking point. Couldn’t stop thinking about you, and I had to do something about it. So I texted you, hoping you’d say yes.
Because with your approval I can touch myself to the thought of you, without having the feeling to overstep a line. I know it’s allowed, even encouraged, to think about you all the way I want, when I listen to you, but -- it wouldn’t have felt right to do so, without you talking me through it.
But now I’m making this for you, you’ll be the one thinking about me, while I think about you, and it’s such a turn on. I think I get it now. The idea of you, touching yourself because of me, fuck, it – it makes me so wet, Jamie.”
That’s when Jamie realizes she’s truly and irrevocably fucked.
“I’m so wet for you”, Dani whispers, and Jamie didn’t know much she needed to hear Dani say this until now, “From just--Jesus, I didn’t even do anything yet.”
She turns off of the highway, driving onto a street that looks like nobody has been on for a while, killing the engine a few hundred meters away from the road.
“See what you’re doing to me, Jamie?”, Dani asks. Jamie’s eyes roll into the back of her head, and she her eyes flutter shut. “All I do is think about you, talk about you, and that’s the outcome.”
She brings herself to open them again, looking around the area to make sure she’s alone. She doesn’t think she could take it being interrupted for second time today.
No sign of life.
Good.
Jamie doesn’t think about what she’s doing too much. In truth, if she’d start thinking, for real, she’d see how bat shit crazy it is, that ten fucking kilometres are too far for her to do this.
She could have stopped the recording, if it was too much. Could’ve resumed the recording the second she walked in the door.
But no, she’s about to do it here.
In the middle of nowhere.
“I wonder”, Dani says, and Jamie pushes all her unwanted thoughts to the back of her head, “what would happen if you were really here with me. Fuck, I’d be a dripping mess.”
Oh, how Jamie would love to see that. And all the rest, too.
“Wish you were here, Jamie”, Dani says, and Jamie knows she means it, “I really do.”
You wouldn’t believe it, but:
She’d would like the exact same thing.
“There’s a spot on the Mulholland Drive in Los Angeles”, Dani speaks after what feels like forever, “where you can see the entire San Fernando Valley, the City and the Ocean. All at once. It’s a beautiful view, especially at night.”
Jamie’s heart stutters in her chest.
If Dani knows about this place – and it looks like she’s been there more than once – it means she either lived in the area, or still does.
Some part of Jamie hopes it’s the latter. Maybe, she’ll ask about it at some point.
If that really were to be the case: Dani, here, in L.A., of all places in the world; it would be the coincidence in the history of coincidences.
“In my mind, we’re driving in your car to that spot on a warm summer night”, Dani carries on, and Jamie tries to imagine it all, “We bring a couple of blankets and pillows, play some music from the radio, and drink some wine straight from the bottle.”
Dani’s words make Jamie think.
She hasn’t let anyone in for years. At least not in a way for her be to be with them beyond sharing her bed for a night.
So why does this feel different?
“And it’s just you. And me”, Dani whispers, “No one else. We’re the only two people in the world.”
Jamie smiles. She loves how Dani does this her way. If her story includes a setting, a time and a place, so be it. If she needs this for it to feel real, so be it.
Her smile falls, though, when things take another turn, “We fuck right there on the bed of your truck. “Underneath the stars of L.A. Over and over again, until the sun rises.”
Dani’s breathing changes, just enough for Jamie to understand why. Jamie’s eyes fly open, when she hears Dani make the softest of sounds. Soft and yet, oh my God.
Dani intakes sharply, “You feel so good, Jamie.”
Jamie swallows thickly.
She shifts to sit sideways, now with the back against the door, and her feet on the passenger seat. She makes herself comfortable, as much as she can, with a blanket and a pillow she keeps in the back of her car.
And lets it happen.
“You, holding me down like this, placing my hands above my head and keeping them there, while you softly grind into me, running your hot tongue up my neck, biting down on my shoulder when you hit the perfect spot, softly groaning against my skin.”
Jamie undoes her belt and slips her hand past the hemline of her cargo pants, placing it right there where she knows Dani has hers.
“You, with my legs wrapped around your hips to encourage you to go faster, push into me harder, and you stay there, close to me, a beat longer, to make sure I want it, and when I say ‘please’ you know I do, and you move against me in a quick, rhythmic pace, until we’re both breathless.”
She’s way more turned on than she should be, from just this, from just words. And she thinks she gets it now, more than ever, what they can do to you, if it’s done right.
Despite it being Dani’s first time, she masters it perfectly. Better than she did in the beginning.
“You, with your leather suspenders, I’d love to tug on to bring you closer to me, but you won’t let go of my hands, even as your hands make your way underneath my shirt, squeezing my boobs, teasing my nipples, you don’t let go, even as you ruck up my skirt, and slide down my underwear, just enough to have room to work, you still hold me down.”
Jamie moans lowly, when she starts to move her fingers. Loose wide circles, not nearly enough pressure, but it’ll have to do, for now. She wants to savour each second of it, and it’s best done slow, and she lets things build.
“You, in your white shirt that clings to your form as you sweat a little, on one hand because of the humid weather, and on the other hand because you’d do everything if it meant it feels good for me, and you yank off your shirt with your free hand, and I stare at the muscles of your abdomen, that shine from the thin sheen of sweat, and I want to know how you taste there.”
Her hips jerks softly, but insistently against her fingers, asking for more and Jamie doesn’t want to give in just yet. She’s waited the whole day for this, doesn’t want it to be over too soon.
“You, with your fingers that find what they’re looking for, just like that, and you look up to me so check if it’s okay, and I can only nod, moving my hips upwards to show you I want it, and you smile, as you begin to circle my clit with your fingers, and we both moan; I do because it feels better than I could’ve ever imagined, and you, because you didn’t think I’d be so ready for you.”
Jamie bites down on her lip when she pictures it, because it sounds like something she’d do. All the things Dani discovered about Jamie while listening to her, and she uses them to make Jamie feel good. Fuck.
“You, who lets go of me in favour of using the other hand elsewhere, giving me a don’t-fuck-with-me look as you say ‘hold on here and don’t let go’ and gesture to the metal bar below the window of the cab, and once I do, you sink two fingers inside me after a final ‘yes’, and you tease my clit with your thumb at the same time, while I softly rock my hips to meet you with every thrust; and then you put your free hand inside your trouser, your fingers beginning to move a moment later, and I want to see you, want to see what you’re doing to yourself, while you’re doing this to me, and I say, ‘Jamie, please’, and you smirk, already knowing what I want.”
Jamie pushes her pants down to her knees, not caring about anything at this point, anything but how much more she wants, and she increases the intensity of her fingers on her clit, and she shouldn’t, really shouldn’t.
It’s too much, too soon, too good.
“You, with your trouser halfway down, kneeling between my legs, fucking yourself, while you fuck me and it’s turning me on so much that it’s almost too much to take, and your movements are becoming sloppier, the closer you get, and it shouldn’t work, that you screw up the rhythm and I feel the climax building anyway, but it does; and when you say, ‘tell me when you’re almost there’, I know you’re on the edge of orgasm, waiting for me, so we can come together, and the idea of that is what ultimately makes me come only a fraction of a second later; and it’s too late to tell you, but you’ve already realized it yourself, and, me seeing me come, is your breaking point, and you come too, moaning out my name, how I imagine you would, all this time.”
Jamie comes quietly with a hand over her mouth, taken by surprise by how hard the orgasm hits, and her hips buck rhythmically, as her fingers keep moving.
Distantly, she notices: Dani’s change in speech, now strained and breathless, Dani’s change in breathing, now short and shallow, Dani’s lack of words, now not speaking at all.
And she too, loses control.
But there’s more:
“You, collapsing next to me onto the blankets and pillows, your chest heaving from the effort of fucking us both, your skin flushed and warm against mine, miles and miles away, so that you don’t even notice that I’ve jumped off the truck, until I say your name, and ‘can I go down on you?’, and you say yes, because you don’t turn an offer like that down; and so your clothes are gone next, and once you’re close enough, I drag you to the edge of the bed by your hips in one swift motion, and you don’t have time to think about any of it, because after two strokes, you’re already fucking my tongue, and your hands are already in my hair, making sure I stay there.”
Jamie lies down onto the blanket, unable to hold herself up anymore, and she sinks two fingers into slick heat, and she’s hungry for a second one, and she pushes in harder, faster.
“You, coming into my mouth only moments later, your cum trickling down onto the blanket, and I can’t help but wonder if you have another in you, because fuck, I want to witness that again, but you have other plans, and so you reach back for your duffle bag, pulling out a strap-on, and you look at me, giving me a wink, and asking, ‘interested?’, and I can only nod, because ‘yes, a million times yes’.”
Somewhere along the way Dani comes again with a soft ‘fuck’, and Jamie wants to be the one who makes her say that. Wants to be the reason she comes.
It makes Jamie so wet, it’s unreal. So wet, that there’s not enough friction on her clit, and she starts moving her fingers at a near brutal pace, because anything less wouldn’t be enough, while the other curl deep inside her.
“You, standing next to me, adjusting the harness and making sure the toy is secure, and you gasp a little as I curl my fingers around it to give it an experimental pump, and you tell me how it is designed to pleasure the giver as well, and how you’ll feel everything, and I just say ‘what are you waiting for?’; and the next thing I know, I’m naked and bend over the edge of the truck, and you’re taking me from behind, and all I can think about is how good you feel inside me, and when your thrusts pick up in pace, now shorter, but deep all the same, I can tell you’re close again, and I come shortly after you do, from just that, and without having touched myself once.”
Jamie comes again, this time with a cry that sure is audible from outside the truck, and it’s long and intense, and somehow it’s even better than the first.
Only when Jamie comes down from her high, slowly but steadily, she remembers the thing that made Dani come a third time, was the idea of Jamie inside her, and how good it would make her feel.
And the realization alone makes Jamie want to go again, just like that, but this time she feels a different kind of want, a different kind of lust.
This time she wouldn’t want to do it without Dani.
“And on and on it goes”, Dani says, sounding as exhausted as Jamie feels, “for hours, until we’re both fully satisfied, until we can’t even walk anymore, because our knees would just give out.”
Jamie cracks a smile, despite being too tired for anything, and she isn’t sure if she can even make it home in this state. She might go for a power-nap.
“And after a few hours of much needed post-sex sleep, I’d take you out to brunch and treat you, just like you deserve”, Dani adds. “And then I’d take you back to mine and we do it all over again.”
Dani’s recording ends right there.
Once Jamie has recovered from don’t-know-what-to-call-this, she picks her phone up from where it had fallen from the seat, and she texts Dani that she just finished listening.
dnxcltn: and?
jmxtlr: do you really want to know?
dnxcltn: yeah…
Jamie thinks there are no words anyway. To describe what this did to her. To listen to Dani, to hear her fantasize about Jamie, to hear her come.
She has a better idea:
jmxtlr: how about i show you?
Truth is: life is too fucking short to not take risks.
Step out of your comfort zone. Try new things. Allow the unexpected to happen.
In the end Dani wants to say yes, I did that! instead of fuck, I wished I did.
Because that’s all that matters, really.
That’s why she did it.
All of it.
Texting Jamie one morning (after fifty three of her episodes), telling her about the idea she couldn’t stop thinking about (couldn’t go one more day without shooting her shot), sending Jamie photos of herself (tasteful but revealing, yet nothing explicit).
Then:
Planning the recording.
(What it’s going to be about, what she wants to say, what details she’d like to include. Thought about all the things she knows Jamie is into and how she can turn that to her advantage.)
Making it.
(Through all of it Dani experienced all kinds of emotions. First, nervousness. But that quickly turned into excitement once she got into it. Shortly after she felt a huge confidence boost at the idea of Jamie listening to this. It didn’t take long and Dani got really really turned on just thinking about her.)
(10/10 would do again)
And ultimately: sending it.
(It took her about seven minutes of internal screaming and another five of gay panic to convince herself to hit send.)
If the hours between her messages and Jamie’s first reply (and that photo) seemed to stretch into an endless time, it was as if time itself stopped existing after that.
Eventually, time was re-invented when Jamie fucking finally texted again hours (or days or years) later.
Now Dani’s here, making out in how many ways Jamie could possibly murder her with words. And how about i show you is certainly one of them.
Dani stares at the screen, with her heart thudding against the ribcage and her blood rushing through her veins in speed of light, waiting. Again.
A minute passes (could have well been an eternity) and Jamie sends another message. Dani wastes no time to open it.
To her surprise, it’s not a text. Or a photo.
(Which Dani guessed it would be to be honest, after that last line.)
It’s a video.
*
The best thing you can do after sending a risky text or something like that, is putting your phone far far away from you and doing something else.
So if things go down hill you still did something with your time.
Since Jamie’s still god-knows-where she can’t do much, though. Sleep is out of question now, anyway, doesn’t think she could stay still for even half a minute.
So she might as well drive home.
As she pulls onto I-5-S she notices how her phone buzzes on her dash. After the fourth notification she throws her phone into her work bag so she doesn’t have to see it and turns up the radio.
(Jamie pretends to be awfully interested in the scenery despite driving on the same road five days a week, twice a day. Sings along to songs even though she doesn’t know the words. Counts all the vehicles that she passes and keeps track of which colours and brands appear the most.)
(Anything that keeps her from thinking about --)
Her fingers tingle with the desire to reach for the phone, unlock it and read what Dani has texted. You know, just a quick look. And then she’ll put the phone away again.
Just so that she knows what it says. That’s all.
But of course, she doesn’t do it.
For two reasons: a) she’s driving. And b) she’s a bit nervous.
But: that’s the whole thing about sending a risky text. Why it is called ‘risky’ in the first place. You can’t foresee how the other one will react.
And once they do text back you’re scared to look, even if you desperately need to know what the reply says.
When Jamie turns left on Country Ridge Lane and parks the truck in front of the garage, she’s more than just ‘a bit nervous’.
Thing is: she wants to know what Dani has responded but she also doesn’t.
Once Jamie opens the messages and reads them, that’s it. There’s no going back then. No going back to a moment in time where she didn’t know, in case Dani’s reaction shouldn’t be the one she was hoping for.
Jamie throws the rest of her belongings into her work bag, puts her baseball cap back on and jumps out of the car.
It’s a warm and clear evening, and there are just a few clouds on the horizon. In a couple of hours from now the sun will set behind Granada Hills. Maybe, if she’s lucky there’ll be some stars visible in the sky tonight.
Jamie makes it as far as closing the door behind her, before--
“Fuck this”, she mutters, and she squats down, dropping the bag in front of her. She zips it open and rummages for her phone.
Jamie groans in frustration, when she can’t find her phone right away. How is she supposed to in all that mess?
“Where is”, she says through gritted teeth, “that bloody thing when you need it.”
She drags out all the things as she goes: wallet, water bottle, the wrapping paper of a protein bar, and her oil-stained clothes from earlier.
Then: her pen and a small notepad, sunglasses, a bandana she’s been looking for since April, and tissues.
Once she finally gets her hands on her phone – it’s on the bottom of it with some change, receipts and a hairband – the battery is seconds away from dying.
Her phone’s upside down as she pulls it out, and she makes an attempt to turn it the right way, but it slips out of her hands and falls directly onto her foot.
Jamie hisses in pain and she picks it up, but it’s too late.
The last thing she sees before the phone buzzes for a fifth and final time, is fuck you can’t do that behind Dani’s name.
And then the screen goes black.
*
Ever since Jamie sent that video, Dani has watched it more times than she can count.
In truth, she did. Count it. But she wouldn’t say it out loud, to anyone in the world, how often she hit replay in the last half hour.
God, if it wasn’t so incredibly fascinating.
The video in question is twenty seconds long, and it doesn’t show much at all. Jamie says a few words, but other than that it’s just--
Jamie’s hand.
Dani presses pause, admiring the sight in front of her for the hundredth of times.
She swallows thickly, when she sees at last that it doesn’t get better, no matter how often and how long she stares at it.
“See this?”, comes a stupidly attractive british voice, that Dani will never ever get tired of, “This has all been you, Dani.”
Jamie’s voice is thick with something Dani knows all too well. After so many nights, it’d be surprising if she didn’t. This time, however, there’s a depth to it, that has never been here before.
Dani’s sure of it.
Jamie slowly rotates her hand, so Dani can see it from all sides, “You did this.”
Dani bites her lip every damn time the other woman says that line. Still, she can’t quite believe it was her who supposedly caused it.
It took her about three replays, before Dani could put it into words what she’s looking at. Thought about other ways to say it but there is none.
Jamie’s fingers are soaked.
Jamie’s fingers are soaked in her arousal, and Dani has never seen something so erotic. And she’s sure there will never be anything that comes even remotely close.
Slowly, it trickles down Jamie’s fingers, from tips to the knuckles and into her palm.
Dani’s mouth waters. She desperately wants to know what Jamie tastes like. Thinks she’ll die if she doesn’t.
“I think”, Jamie teases, and Dani can totally hear the smile in her voice, “the state of my hand says it all.”
If that is how her hand looks like, then Dani can only imagine what it might be like in between Jamie’s legs.
“And the fact that this won’t be the last time I listen to this”, Jamie says coolly, “should answer your question whether I liked it or not.”
(Yep, yeah. It does.)
Dani chews on her lip, her cheeks flushed and warm.
“Thank you for this, Dani”, Jamie adds, before her video comes to an end, “It was a pleasure. And I mean that quite literally.”
Dani takes a deep breath and hides underneath the covers. She absolutely can’t watch it another time. She couldn’t take it.
Instead, she re-reads her messages she sent Jamie a while ago.
No answer.
Dani curls into a ball, unable to deal with all the feelings life throws at her today.
Actually, she thinks, the bed could just swallow her whole. Emotions, thoughts and all.
That’d be the best thing.
*
Jamie barges through the door, walking straight to her room to get her charger.
(So she can plug it into the next best socket, jam the other end of the charging cable into the port, wait those torturously long seconds until it switches on, enter the pin, open the app, and read Dani’s reply.)
But: the charger isn’t where it always is, where it is supposed to be. In the bottom drawer of her desk.
Jamie rakes a hand through her hair, asking herself where the hell she has seen her charger last. Can’t think of anything off the top of her head, so she checks all the places where it could be.
On the nightstand? No. Kitchen island? Neither. In the bathroom? Negative.
By now the lack of her response must’ve given Dani the impression she said the wrong thing, if in fact, Jamie doesn’t know what her texts even say.
“Fuckin’ hell”, she curses, pulling out a box from underneath her desk with all kinds of cables, headphones, memory cards, hoping she finds a spare charger there.
She empties the content on her bedroom floor, scanning all the items, but nothing. Not even an a usb-a to usb-c adapter, to which she could connect her old charging cable to.
“You lookin’ for this?”, comes a familiar voice from behind her. Jamie turns her head to see her brother standing in the doorway, holding up her charger. “Couldn’t find mine, so”, Michael smiles apologetically, “I borrowed yours. Again.”
Jamie grunts, throwing all the items back into the box. Next time she orders something on Amazon, she’ll make sure to add a charger for him to the cart. Or ten.
“Can you please”, she points to her bed, her tone impatient, “plug in my phone?”
“Yes. Sure”, Michael says, doing as he’s told, “Sorry, I took it without askin', but you were at work. I’m goin' out with my friends later and --”
“ ’S okay”, Jamie insists, shoving the box back with her foot, “Just, put it back where it was next time, yeah? You know I don’t like people messin’ about my things. Especially not, when it’s stuff I need every day.”
Michael nods, “Yeah. You’re right.”
“You said you’re goin’ out?”, Jamie asks as she walks over to where her brother has connected her phone to the power supply.
“Yeah. Drive-in movie. Me, the guys and a few chicks we met at a party last weekend. Maybe a drink or two at a bar afterwards.”
“Take care, yeah?”, Jamie says, entering the pin code on her phone. “Don’t drink too much, no drugs except maybe a joint, and please for heaven’s sake: use protection.”
“Promise”, he replies with a chuckle as he turns to leave, disappearing around the corner, “Oh and by the way dinner’s almost ready”, he calls from the kitchen.
“Yes, yeah”, Jamie mutters absently, closing the door behind him. “I’ll just –” want to see what Dani has to say to my-- to my-- No seriously, what do you call this?
She walks over to the bed and sits down, tapping on the icon of the messenger app only to discover that Dani has sent another text, or more, in the meantime.
The chat list only ever shows the last message the other person – in this case Dani – has sent. Jamie’s heart drops when she reads what it says:
dnxcltn has deleted the message
When Jamie opens the chat a fraction of a second later she finds this exact notification seven times.
(-- should have waited for Dani’s reply in the car, should’ve had a peek while driving, should’ve looked once I arrived at home, should lock my fucking door while I’m gone, should--)
She lets herself fall back onto the bed, burying her face into her hands, “Fuckin’ fuck.”
Jamie wants to kick herself so bad.
*
Dani sits at the kitchen table, planning the activities for the upcoming summer camp. As a coordinator it is her job to organize each and every day, meticulously, from start to finish.
Things like:
What games will they play?
(game of musical chairs, capture the flag, tug of war)
What songs will they sing?
(she’ll still have to think on that one)
What activities?
(scavenger hunts, experiments, story-telling)
What crafts?
(tie dye some shirts, make friendship bracelets, build a bug hotel)
As she checks her to-do-list – to which she continuously adds more points to – she notices that she still has to email the parents a detailed list with things they can absolutely not forget to pack in their kid’s backpack.
(Things like: sunscreen, a peaked cap, walking shoes, spare clothes, a seat pad, and of course, healthy snacks and drinks.)
Just as Dani opens her email account and starts to fill in the addresses of the parents into the recipient bar, her phone chimes where she left it on the couch.
It’s unmistakably the tone from the app she chatted with Jamie on, and since she’s the only person Dani she talks to on there, it can only be her.
Dani has come to the conclusion that the things she said in response to Jamie’s video were too much of a good.
That’s why Jamie never replied.
That’s why Dani went ahead and deleted her texts.
Like that, they could move past this moment of absolute embarrassment, and they wouldn’t have to mention it ever again.
(If Jamie would even want to talk to her after all this.)
(But she texted, her brain offers.)
(What if it’s a notification from the app that says jmxtlr has blocked you, Dani shoots back.)
In order to distract herself from the hell of a day she had, she decided to take care the organisational part of her summer job. With the first day of summer camp being on the first of July there’s still plenty of time to get it done.
Dani continues to work, but now that she knows Jamie messaged her, she can’t quite concentrate on the task at hand and continues to look over to the couch.
Tries to focus on the inventory list Hannah has sent her. What’s left from last year’s summer camp? What material do they have to order for crafts? What utensils do they need to buy for games and activities?
But it’s of no use, she can’t think of anything other than Jamie.
She tries a few more minutes because she’s nothing if not determined. It doesn’t take much, however, and Dani gives up and gets up to check her notifications.
As expected, it is Jamie.
jmxtlr: sooo sorry for the late reply. my phone died and i couldn’t find my charger, because my brother stole it. i never had the chance to read your texts, let alone text back.
jmxtlr: then i’ve seen you deleted your texts, and i wanted to explain everything but then dinner was ready and i want to give you my undivided attention, so i ate first.
jmxtlr: i didn’t ignore you, i swear. life is just a bitch sometimes…
Dani lets out a sigh of relief, feeling so much lighter all of a sudden. That, and stupid. Of course all this has a simple explanation. She should’ve known better.
dnxcltn: and here i thought i said the wrong thing.
jmxtlr: you couldn’t.
jmxtlr: tell me what you wanted to say, please? x
Dani pads over to the kitchen table to fetch her iced tea, thinking about Jamie’s words and settles on the couch. She can continue working after they took care of this misunderstanding.
dnxcltn: you sure?
jmxtlr: yesss. absolutely. to one hundred percent.
jmxtlr: but only if you’re cool with it too x
dnxcltn: i can tell you if you like. just maybe not over text?
jmxtlr: you can also send me a voice message if that works better for you.
dnxcltn: no, i mean… could i call you? maybe? or would that be super weird?
A literal second later Jamie’s number pops up in the chat and Dani’s heart does a funny thing. She grins as she types out her response.
dnxcltn: fuck, you really want to know, huh?
jmxtlr: hell yeah.
Dani grin only grows bigger. The other woman’s eagerness makes her feel endlessly bold, and still, it’s all going a bit too fast.
They talked for the first time only this morning, yet, she feels like they’ve been doing this forever.
Everything that followed up to that (Dani’s recording, Jamie’s video, Dani’s texts), it all happened in one fucking day.
She doesn’t think she could handle more of what-the-hell-are-we-doing-here, so she wants to make Jamie an offer.
Just in that very moment, Jamie texts Dani again. She’s more than relieved to see the other woman seems to see things the same way.
jmxtlr: but it doesn’t have to be now, or today or tomorrow, you know. whenever you’re ready, love. and if you won’t ever be, that’s okay, too. promise.
dnxcltn: you know what we’re going to do?
jmxtlr: what?
dnxcltn: if all of this still feels right, i’ll call at this time tomorrow.
dnxcltn: you’ll know it does, for me, when you see my name on your screen.
jmxtlr: and you know it does, for me, if i pick up the phone.
dnxcltn: and if it’s neither of those two, we know where we stand. and we carry on with our lives. deal?
jmxtlr: deal.
dnxcltn: good night, jamie x
jmxtlr: night, dani x
*
The decision whether she’ll call Jamie the following night Dani has made long before they said good night to one another.
There’s just one thing that Dani’s a bit scared of: if Jamie doesn’t accept her call, that’s going to be it and Dani has to respect that.
In fear of being rejected she almost misses the minute she’s supposed to call. Now or never, Dani thinks, and she calls Jamie before she can talk herself out of it.
As the connection builds she can hear her heartbeat pulsating in her ears, and she chews on her thumbnail in anticipation, afraid she might get to the end of her finger by the time it starts to ring.
(--what if she doesn’t pick up, what if she wants to but her battery is dead again, or what if something happened and she can’t talk right now, what if she doesn’t want to pick up--)
“Hey”, comes her all-time favourite british voice from the other end of the line.
“Hey yourself”, Dani says with a smile, relaxing into the cushions of the couch at the sound of Jamie’s voice.
(--she picked up she picked up she picked up--)
“You called.”
“Yeah”, Dani replies, still smiling, “You picked up.”
“Yeah.”
“Hoped you would”, Jamie admits.
“Call?”
“Yeah.”
“Hoped you would”, Dani repeats.
“Pick up?”
“Yeah.”
A moment slips by and neither of them knows what to say.
Jamie’s the one to break the ice:
“Can I just say”, she begins, a teasing edge to her tone, “you sound even lovelier on the phone.”
Dani giggles at that, “Barely said two sentences, Jamie.”
“Don’t need to hear any more to know that.”
She feels heat rise to her cheeks, and has to ask, “Are you flirting with me?”
“Tryin’ to”, Jamie answers honestly, “Why, is it workin’?”
Dani twirls a strand of her hair around her finger, the blush spreading to her neck, “Most definitely, yeah.”
“And are you blushin’?”, Jamie asks, sounding all-too-cheeky.
“Maybe a bit.”
Jamie chuckles, “Cute.”
“That’s what you think I am?”, Dani asks, feeling bold all of a sudden. “Cute?”
“Amongst other things, yeah.”
“What”, Dani asks, tucking the strand behind her ear, “would those things be?”
Jamie hums thoughtfully, “Well, for starters: I think you’re fuckin’ beautiful.”
“Oh, yeah?”, comes Dani’s teasing comment as she makes her way to the fridge, “What else?”
“I think you’re a smart one, too.”
Dani frowns, her phone tucked between her shoulder and ear as she opens a bottle of wine, “How’d you know?”
“You never showed all of you”, Jamie explains, “On your selfies, I mean. Wouldn’t be a clever thing to send a stranger on the internet photos of you with face and all. I could be anyone.”
“True”, Dani says matter-of-factly, pouring herself a glass, “I wouldn’t want to end up killed or kidnapped.”
Jamie laughs and it’s as adorable as ever, “I wouldn’t-- do that to you, just that you know.”
She walks back to the living room, smirking, “Thanks, Jamie, I, uh, really appreciate that.”
“Gettin’ back to what I think of you.”
Dani takes a long drink as she settles again on the couch, “You’re also smokin’ hot. Like, dude.”
Dani sinks her teeth softly into her lip, feeling herself blush all over again, “You really mean that?”
“Mhm-mm.”
After a moment of silence Jamie clears her throat, “So, uh, what did your texts say--before you deleted them? Yesterday?”
Dani takes a deep breath.
(--take the risk take the risk take the risk--)
“I don’t remember it word-for-word but…”, she trails off, unsure how to finish the sentence.
Jamie doesn’t say anything and gives her space and time to think.
She has thought about what she’d like to say to Jamie, but now that she’s listening on the other side, and not just an idea in her head, she works over the words, trying to figure out the best way to say them.
(--no not like that no this sounds stupid no that’s even worse--)
At one point, she just decides to go for it. It won’t get any better, anyway, “I, uh. Talked about how I’d love to know--“, she winces, “what it would be like to taste you. For real, you know.”
Somehow this is so much harder than making the recording for Jamie.
This time she’s on the other end of the line, listening to her in real time, and Jamie’s reaction, whatever it’ll be, is going to be genuine.
Dani stops for a moment, waiting for Jamie to say something that tells her this is okay, that she can go on.
She needs that much.
It doesn’t take long, and:
“What else”, comes Jamie’s voice, a pitch lower than just seconds ago, “would you like to do to me?”
Dani intakes sharply at the sound of her words, “Jamie--"
“C’mon, tell me.”
Jamie’s tone is gentle, but challenging, and the combination of both is what does it.
(--to hell with careful to hell with maybe to hell with what if--)
“I’d love to swirl my tongue around each and every of your fingers”, Dani says, closing her eyes in concentration, “Feel how warm and slick they are from having been inside you moments ago.”
Jamie gasps softly at the words, “Fuck, Dani.”
The mix of ‘fuck’ and her name, said in a single breath by no one else than Jamie, is enough to make Dani wet. She tips her head back against the cushions, biting down hard on her lip.
“And then?”, comes Jamie’s next question, her voice thick with-- “Want to hear all of it, Dani, please.”
(This is so much better than listening to Jamie on Sounds of Pleasure, this is--)
(Just the two of them. No one else.)
When Dani’s brain finally catches up, the next words are already spilling from her lips, “I’d love to lick your delicious cum off them, suck your fingers into my mouth one by one, until there’s nothing left of it.”
“Dani--”, Jamie chokes out, and Dani’s can’t not touch herself when Jamie says her name like that. Seconds later, Dani’s hand finds its way inside her underwear. She can’t stop herself from doing it, has to--
“And once I’m done”, she husks, her fingers gliding through wet heat, and her voice softly breaks around the edges, “I’d love to straddle you, and sink myself down on your fingers while you hold them up for me, and you’d fill me spectacularly --"
“Fuck, Dani, are you…?”, Jamie cuts in, softly, when Dani’s breath changes enough for her to notice.
“Yeah, I’m -- would that be okay?”, Dani babbles, “I can stop, if it’s too much, if you don’t like--”
The end never comes, a low sound from the back of her throat escapes her instead before she can stop it from happening.
“God, don’t you fuckin’ dare, Dani”, Jamie husks, “Just—Jesus fuck, keep going. Please.”
Dani bites down hard on her lower arm to muffle her sounds as she moves her fingers, dripping in arousal, up to her clit. But all that comes is a desperate whine as her fingers tease a swollen bud.
Jamie groans, and it’s sexy in a way it shouldn’t be, “Fuck, let me hear you. Don’t--be quiet.”
Dani obeys.
“Tell me”, Jamie instructs on exhale. It seems to have an effect on her, too, “the rest of it.”
Dani sets for an easy rhythm, so that she can talk without having the feeling there’s not enough air in the room to breathe.
“I’d love to ride your fingers”, Dani chokes out, “slow at first, then with more purpose, then harder, then faster, until--"
Dani cuts herself off with a soft moan when her fingers find the right combination of pace and pressure, and she pushes her hips into her hand.
“Until what?”, Jamie asks, her voice so beautifully out of breath, that Dani knows for a fact that she joined her, “Want you to hear you say it.”
Dani smiles lazily, wanting to drag this out for a while, “Until I’m nearly there. Like, right there. Then I’d fuck your fingers slow, rock my hips down on them, gently, for as long as I can stand it. Until I have to go back to hard and fast, because anything less wouldn’t be enough.”
Down the line Jamie moans, and not exactly quietly, and Dani has got a feeling she won’t last long. Jamie’s sounds is pure, unadulterated pleasure, and Dani fucks herself harder.
“--until even that is too much”, it is more and more of a challenge to get the words out, “and we have to go back to hard and slow --"
Dani is so, so close, already, but she wants it to last, so she sinks the fingers into herself instead, strayed far away from where she needs them most, to get to where she wants to be.
“Until-- I’m on edge again”, she manages to get out between pants, “and we do it again, and again, until--”
She slides her fingers to her clit again, circles it soft enough to feel the pleasure coming back at full force, “--I want to come so badly, that I am one thrust, one curl of fingers away from --“
“--coming all over me”, Jamie finishes for her, because Dani can’t, and at the sound of it her orgasm washes through her like a tidal wave, and her walls are contracting around nothing, and Dani wants more.
“I come all over you”, Dani breathes, her fingers never slowing, “around you, because of you -- for you.”
“Oh God, Dani”, Jamie moans into her ear, and Dani thinks she could come again, on the spot if Jamie would just say her name like that once more, “Fuck, say that last part again.”
“Want to come for you so bad, Jamie.”
That’s it.
Jamie comes with a sound that’s down-right sinful and Dani comes too, for a second time, and intense, never-been-there pleasure takes over.
Once they both have come down from their highs Jamie’s voice cuts through the silence, “One day.”
“Hmm?”
In her mind Dani’s still somewhere else and it takes a long second to snap back to reality. But Jamie’s words help.
“One day, when we know each other better, we do this. For real.”
“Do what?”, Dani asks, still not fully there.
“Meet up somewhere, in a motel or somethin’, have a drink or two, and fuck.”
Dani’s eyes fly open, her jaw drops. She hadn’t expected this. Like, at all, “Wh- you serious?”
There’s not a single ounce of hesitation in Jamie’s tone, “I am.”
“Oh my--“, Dani says, caught off guard, “I would-- love that.”
Jamie chuckles lowly, “Me too.”
*
When it’s almost midnight they realize they’ve been talking for hours, about everything and nothing at the same time, sharing bits and pieces from their lives.
About all the little things that irritate them:
For Jamie: when people turn without signalling, when people stand too close, when people litter.
For Dani: when people are late, when people walk too slow, when people crack knuckles.
About the little things that make them happy:
For Jamie: fluffy socks, post-work-out feeling, fresh fruit.
For Dani: a bubble bath with extra bubbles, checking things off to-do-lists, black-and-white movies.
Other things they find out:
They both live in L.A. (what are the odds), they both love plants (Jamie is significantly better at keeping them alive) and they both love a good old ghost story.
“One thing doesn’t make sense though”, Jamie says when they get back to why Dani deleted the texts, “why did you think it was too much? It isn’t that it is a lot different from what you said in your recording.”
Dani thinks about the question for a moment, realizes she already knows the answer.
“The recording was about you, Jamie”, comes Dani’s explanation, “about making you feel good. The texts-- they were about what would make me feel good.”
“And it didn’t feel right, afterwards, sharing your wish in that way?”, Jamie asks, “As a text, I mean.”
“No, not really”, Dani says, “What is more: I thought you hated it and that’s why you didn’t text back for so long.”
“I don’t think there’s a thing you could say, or do, that I wouldn’t like”, the other woman says, “Those two days are enough proof, don’t you think?”
*
For this week’s episode Jamie has thought of something special. It’s surprising that after so many hours of Sounds of Pleasure there are always new things to try out.
On Thursday after work she makes a short trip to the nearest adult store on the Sunset Boulevard.
When she’s back in her truck with a paper bag, a couple of toys, lube and all the like, she finds she can’t wait any longer.
jmxtlr: got a little surprise for you x
Dani’s texts back seconds later:
dnxcltn: oh i hate surprises, jamie.
jmxtlr: you’ll love this one, trust me.
dnxcltn: will you please tell me what it is?
jmxtlr: that’s not how surprises work, dani
dnxcltn: :(
jmxtlr: you’ll have to find out yourself.
Jamie quickly sends her the address of the store she’s just been in minutes ago.
jmxtlr: ask for theo. tell her i sent you. she’ll know.
jmxtlr: make sure you get it before tomorrow evening.
Dani’s reaction is gold and Jamie can’t help the grin that breaks out on her face.
dnxcltn: what is going on, lol
And then:
dnxcltn: ohhhh. fuck.
*
The next morning when Jamie’s at work, Dani’s texts distract her so much, that she thinks she might need to hide away for a couple minutes and take care of herself.
dnxcltn: just picked up my surprise.
dnxcltn: not sure i can make it home before i need to know what it’s like.
jmxcltn: wait until tonight, love.
dnxcltn: there’s no way i can.
dnxcltn: i think... i need to make sure it works for me, first. you know?
jmxcltn: fuck, if you have to, please don’t do it in the parking lot, or i’ll have to come find you right now.
dnxcltn: then i’m absolutely doing it here.
But nothing beats the text she gets half an hour later:
dnxcltn: if i send you a review on the toy and rate it, should i add some pictures? or a video?
*
“This one”, Jamie talks into the mic, “I dedicate someone who -- walked into my life literal days ago and now she’s all I can think about.”
She smiles to herself, “Won’t tell you who she is, because there’s no need. She knows this is for her.”
Jamie pulls out the fluorescent pink toy she got the other day out of her bag and places it onto the chair, her chest bubbling with excitement.
“For this one you’ll need a suction cup dildo”, she explains, “The concept is easy: Attach it to any flat surface, add a generous amount of lube, and make yourself feel good.”
Jamie chuckles lowly, “Let me talk you through it.”
Later, when she rides the toy, wishing she would wear it in a harness instead, fucking Dani instead of herself, something happens, and she only realizes it when it’s too late.
“Fuck, Dani-- God, you feel so good lettin’ me take you like this.”
Jamie’s hand flies up to her mouth, stopping herself from saying anything else, and she can barely choke back a whimper when she thinks how Dani’d look, on all four, in her lap, underneath her body, taking up the toy in herself perfectly--
She almost says her name again.
In that moment, as if Dani knew, Jamie’s phone lights up with a notification from her.
Jamie tries to think of something else. Really really fucking tries to.
(--not working at all don’t think about fuck this feels so --)
“You feel so fuckin’ good”, Jamie whispers, because it’s true, it does. “Fuck, you’re going to make me come.”
(--need to know what it is need to open the message need to see--)
Jamie’s movements still, for a moment, and she reaches for her phone and unlocks it.
dnxcltn: i know you record right now, so i thought you’d like a little inspiration.
Then: a photo of Dani’s toy, glistening in low light.
Jamie feels herself tightening around the toy, a new wave of arousal taking her by surprise.
She texts back what she can, in this state, which isn’t much, but --
jmxcltn: fuck.
Dani can’t do that, for heaven’s sake. She can’t.
This. This calls for a change of plans.
Instead of letting things build and taking her time to do this, she wants to find out how fast she can get Dani there.
“Now show me”, Jamie instructs, “how fast you can come, love.”
Jamie moans softly as slides up and sinks herself down again on the toy, and at once she has a better idea.
“Actually”, she says, gently rocking her hips, “I’ll give you sixty seconds. Come within a minute, or stop althogether.”
She grins, her fingers circling a slick and swollen bud. It won’t be a challenge for her. “And that’d mean: no orgasms for you tonight. We wouldn’t want that, would we.”
Jamie adds some more lube as she goes, “I’ll count down from sixty to zero. Bonus points if you come with me on zero.”
She’s thinking about Dani the entire time.
“Sixty, fifty-nine, fifty-eight...”
*
Jamie’s phone rings on her desk later that night. It’s Dani.
“Oh, hi, you”, Jamie says, smirking, “To what do I owe the honor?”
Dani on the other end pants softly, and it takes Jamie all but two seconds to know what is going on, “Hi.”
Before Jamie can say anything else, Dani speaks, voice laced with arousal, “Want to, uh, listen to me, for those last sixty seconds?”
“God, yes”, Jamie should be embarrassed at how fast the answer comes, but she couldn’t care less, “I’d love to.”
“Thought you would”, Dani teases, a smile in her voice, “that’s why I called.”
Jamie thinks she might die when Dani says this:
“Actually, I’d want you to watch. Can we, uh... face time?”
*
Jamie knows a thing or two about stars.
(--that the average star is between one and ten billion years old; that large stars live longer compared to small stars because they burn through their fuel much faster; that stars have different colors depending on the temperature and that the hottest stars are blue--)
(-- that on a clear night you’d see a maximum of two-thousand-five-hundred stars; that the sun is the star that is the closest to the earth but it would still take four million light years or seventy-thousand years with the fastest spacecraft to reach it--)
However, Jamie doesn’t know nearly as much about planets.
Even less about Earth’s rotation.
Just that it spins on its axis, takes twenty-four hours to complete one cycle and three-hundred-sixty-five days to orbit the sun.
(--later Dani will tell her that viewed from the North Star Polaris the Earth spins counterclockwise; that the Earth zooms through its orbit at an average velocity of 18.5 miles a second; that the Earth orbits the sun every 365.25 days, which means an extra leap day every four years, and that it actually takes 23.934 hours for the Earth to make one full spin --)
(--later she will Dani that in about 5.5 billion years the sun will run out of hydrogen and will expand as it burns helium. It’ll turn from a yellow into a red giant, growing beyond the orbit of Mars and will vaporize the Earth, including all the atoms that make up you, me, us --)
(--later Dani will tell her that the Earth will never stop spinning, because the spin appears to be woven into the fabric of our universe. Even if one day the Earth’s oceans dry up and it becomes a seething ball of scorched rock, it will still spin--)
That brings us to Jamie’s question:
If all of this is scientifically proven, why the fuck does it feel like the world stops spinning whenever there’s Dani?
*
Jamie blinks, not sure she can follow.
“You--want me to…?”
“Look at me when I come, yes.”
Dani’s words, as if shot out of a cannon, have Jamie’s fingers clutch around her phone so tight that she’s worried she might shatter it.
“ Fuck .”
Dani gasps sharply, and Jamie swears she can hear way more than just that and Dani’s voice, “ God , that word coming from you.”
Jamie swallows, mouth bone-dry, “What--" she clears her throat, “What about it?”
“Turns me on.”
“ Dani .”
“That. That is even better,” Dani says in between controlled breaths, “You saying my name like that is--"
She cuts herself short with a truly unholy moan, and Jamie has never wanted anything more than to be the reason for it.
“Dani, please, ” Jamie whispers, not knowing what she’s even asking for.
“You thought of me, didn’t you?” Dani husks, sounding all-too-pleased, “Tonight? You said my name while you were--”
“The entire time,” Jamie cuts in, softly, “the entire fuckin’ time I thought of you.”
Dani moans in response, and it’s even better than the one before, sinful and reckless, and Jamie needs to lean against her desk to hold herself up. Fuck.
“Wanna know what I was thinkin’?
Dani makes a little noise of approval, and that’s enough for Jamie.
“Was imaginin’ you in all the ways I’d have you if I could,” come her next words, her hips giving a light jerk at the thought of it, "you ridin’ my face, you droolin’ onto my tongue,” Jamie closes her eyes, “you tied up onto by bed, you writhin’ benath me, you on your knees suckin’ me off.”
Jamie drives her tongue into a tooth, when she realizes she could just shove her hand into her sweats and come in under twenty seconds.
Dani on the other end whimpers.
(--she’ll be my cause of death, she’ll straight up kill me with her sounds, she’ll be the reason my fucking heart stops--)
“The thing that made me come in the end,” she mutters, holding onto the edge of the desk, white-knuckled, “was the idea of you--"
“ Jamie .”
Jamie swallows, “Yes?”
“Can we, please -- face time?” Dani asks, sounding needy and desperate, “I’m gonna come if you keep talking and -- please , I want nothing more than see you when I do.”
Jamie intakes sharply, clenching a fist, “Okay, okay. Yeah. Hold on. I’ll just--”
(--she makes a note: find out why time is such a complex concept; when there’s her, it never passes the way it is supposed to; either in speed of light, or in slow motion, never anything in between--)
“ Fuck, ” is the thing Jamie’s brain makes her say, when Dani’s face appears on Jamie’s screen, after seconds that feel like years, and they see each other for the first time.
Doesn’t say: ‘hi’ or ‘hello’ or ‘hey’. Not even ‘wassup’ or ‘a-yo’.
(--just kidding, she’d never say that, promise; all of this just fucks with her head the best way--)
If someone, anyone, would ask Jamie to describe the situation she finds herself in now, it’d be this:
Dani: cheeks pink, hair tousled, lip caught, eyes hazy.
Jamie: fucked.
Dani smiles, and this time it’s not just in a photo, or in her voice. To Jamie it’s the most beautiful thing and she’ll remember this moment forever.
“What?” Dani asks, amused.
Jamie opens her mouth, closes it. Tries again, “You look--"
(-- doesn’t dare to say it, doesn’t dare to think about it, doesn’t--)
“Like I am in desperate need of an orgasm?”
“Not what I meant,” Jamie shakes her head, pulling herself together, “But yes, you do look…” she flashes Dani a crooked smile, “frustrated."
Dani’s eyes slip closed, “Jamie, please . We can talk later, you can say all the things you want to me,” she sighs, “you can do all you want to me but now I just need--"
(--we would never see the end of it if I’d tell you all the things I want to say, all the things I want to do to you, all the I would want you to do to me --)
“Okay, yeah,” Jamie walks over to her bed, her knees weak with something she can’t quite understand, “Tell me what you need.”
“ You .”
Fuck. “To do what?”
“I--don’t know,” Dani sighs, desperate, “Thing is: I can’t listen to your episode, listen to you count down and face-time you at the same time.”
Jamie shakes her head, “You, uh, didn’t think that through,” she settles against the pillows, “did you?”
“Can’t think at all,” Dani moans softly, and Jamie doesn’t think she can do one more minute without knowing what it is that Dani is doing to herself, “if you’re there."
(--yes, sure, she has an idea; actually pretty obvious, she comes to think; she has listened to Jamie’s episode right before she called, but--)
(-- can’t think at all if you’re there --)
Jamie tries not to be too distracted by the way Dani’s head bobs softly, and why that is, “So, we, uh, need to find another way to do this,” she says, “Is that what you’re trying to say?”
Dani gives a loose nod, “We better think of something fast, because--”
“You really want to come?”
“ Yes. ”
Jamie chews on her lip and thinks about it for a moment. She has to look away, or they’ll still be here tomorrow.
“How about I -- set a timer?” she suggests, eyes back on Dani, “And I will tell you, now and again, how many more seconds until zero?”
“Okay, yeah.”
Jamie’s eyes flutter closed for a second when a quiet ‘please’ escapes Dani’ lips, “And in the meantime I could, uh,” she smiles, because she knows Dani will like it, “tell you some dirty stuff?”
Dani’s breath hitches and Jamie delights in it, “Could that, uh,” she stares at Dani’s slightly parted lips, for a second or two, before her gaze darts up to her eyes again, “work for you?”
Jamie swipes her tongue across her lip, slow and deliberate, for her to see, and Dani’s nostrils flare .
“Just what I thought,” Jamie teases, “You ready?”
“Hang on,” Dani says, making a face between pleasure and desperation, “Before we start, let me position my phone -- somewhere, where you can see me.”
“You don’t have to,” Jamie says quickly, watching Dani as she finds an ideal spot to place her phone, “show me all of you.”
“Wanted to do that first,” Dani mutters, “but then I figured it could work better like this,” she puts the phone down somewhere and takes a step back, “won’t have to hold it and my face doesn’t move so much while I--"
If someone, anyone, would ask Jamie to describe the situation she finds herself in now, it’d be this:
Dani: in an oversized and worn, white shirt; buttoned-up in the middle, ending halfway down her thighs.
Dani: in her bathroom, with her toy, the same Jamie has but in another color; attached to the edge of the tub.
Dani: all smooth skin and golden waves.
Jamie: dying .
The other woman chuckles, “Jamie, are you… okay?”
She shakes her head, Dani’s voice snapping her out of her thoughts, “Wait, what?”
“You were staring.”
“Sorry, you’re just so --”
“Talk about that later, okay,” Dani interrupts, winking at Jamie through the camera, “Just set the goddamn timer or I hang up and finish this alone.”
“You wouldn’t,” Jamie argues, “You want me to see this. That’s the whole reason we’re here.”
“Don’t--make me do it.”
Jamie still grins, fumbling at her watch, “Tell me when you’re ready.”
The sight of Dani squeezing a generous amount of lube into her palm and spreading it smoothly along the length of the toy is one thing.
The sight of Dani’s fingers curling around the base of it, guiding it in as she lowers herself on it, her head tipping backwards and her mouth parting to accommodate a silent gasp, is a whole other thing.
*
Never had Dani thought she’d be doing something like this, after talking to someone for four days. Never had Dani thought she’d do it for anyone, really.
It , being: calling the girl you’ve been thirsting over for literal weeks, asking if she’d like to watch you get off.
Given what the two of them been doing for the last couple days – they haven’t talked about what it that’s going on, because they don’t fucking know – it seemed like an okay idea to Dani to do this, too.
As it turns out, it was.
The lustful look on her face, the thickness in her already attractive voice, and fuck , the things she says, are more than enough confirmation that Jamie’s into this.
Nothing turns Dani on more.
“Does that feel good, baby?” comes Jamie’s question when Dani starts to move in a way that feels best for her. She sinks her teeth into her bottom lip, when she feels the pleasure building again, “Mhm-mm.”
“You certainly look like it does,” Jamie notes, tucking her hand and wrist underneath the back of her head, smiling, enjoying the view that’s just for her.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” Jamie answers, swallowing thickly, “I wish I could make you feel that good.”
Dani can’t help the sound that comes from the back of her throat when she pictures Jamie, and all the ways she’d make her feel good.
Jamie swears something beneath her breath as she checks the time on her watch, “Forty-five seconds, baby.”
Dani slips a hand below her shirt and it barely covers her fingers as she begins to rub her clit alongside the feeling inside her.
“You,” Dani breathes, focusing the pressure in all the right areas, “would feel so much better than this.”
“Yeah?”
“Mhm-mm.”
“I wish I could be there with you,” Jamie rasps, and Dani’s heart skips a beat in her chest, “and be the one to make you come.”
“ Jamie --”
The sound of Jamie’s voice is all it takes for Dani’s pelvis to rock faster into every thrust; all it takes for Dani’s fingers to pick up in pace.
“Thirty seconds, Dani.”
Dani nods loosely.
“ Christ, ” Jamie whispers, and the thickness in her voice has Dani’s walls cling tightly around the toy, her arousal coating her hand, “I want to make you come so bad. Have never wanted anythin’ the way I want you.”
“More,” comes Dani’s plea, her eyes fluttering closed, “More, Jamie-- please .”
Jamie sucks in a breath, and Dani’s half-convinced she hears a quiet ‘fuck me’ on the other end. If that were to be the case, she’s sure if she’d ask Jamie to run her place tonight, she would.
“Want to make me come wherever you like, whenever you want,” is what Jamie says next, and somehow it’s just what Dani was hoping for.
“Want to make you come as often as you like, have you in all the ways I like. God , I want to find out how fast I can get you there, how long I can make you last.”
Given that Dani has been on the edge of orgasm only moments before, it doesn’t take long at all to get there again. This time, however, it’s so intense that it’s nearly too much.
(--she’s there, she’s there, she’s there, and I’m a mess --)
The noises Dani makes as she rides the toy like she means it, echo from the dark bathroom tiles and it sounds criminal even to her ears, and she can’t even begin to imagine what it would do to her to witness Jamie do the same thing...
Dani drives her fingernails deep into the flesh of her thigh, but she can barely feel it, “Fuck, Jamie, I’m so-- "
“I know... I know,” Jamie whispers, “ Don’t-- come before the time’s up. Fifteen more seconds, yeah? You’ve been so good, so what’s a couple more?”
(--won’t last that long, won’t make it; not if you’re there, not if you tell me I’m --)
“Want to fuck you so hard--" Dani tries to hold off, really tries to, but she’s seconds away from falling off the cliff, “--you would still feel it tomorrow.”
Instead of slowing down like she should, she moves in quick, deep thrusts, tries to lessen the pressure of her fingers on her clit instead, but she can’t, too far gone to stop it from happening.
“Let me come,” Dani begs, desperate for release, “ Please .”
Jamie bites down on her lip, shakes her head, “Want you to think of me whenever you sit down, whenever you stand up, with every step you take--" Dani covers her mouth with her hand, muffling her moans that dare to grow louder by the second, “because you’re so fuckin’ sore because of me.”
Dani whines into her palm.
“Damn, you’re so gorgeous like this, Dani.” Jamie grinds out, “So fuckin’ gorgeous.”
“Let me count down the ultimate seconds for ya,” are Jamie’s final words, and there has never been a moment in her life where Dani was more relieved to be allowed to come, “three, two, one --”
(--fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck-- )
Dani crashes.
Dani crashes, and it’s all and everything at once, and the whole time she’s thinking about one thing only, the one thing that’s the reason for this beautiful madness: Jamie .
“ Dani--"
It’s only when it’s all over, that Dani’s aware of what it was that just happened, what it was that she just did.
Before she can say anything else, before she can do anything else, Jamie makes whatever feelings that dared to get in the way of this beautiful moment go away.
“I think I just came,” Jamie breathes, hiding her face behind her hand, “ God , I -- really did. I came, Dani, without--“ she lets out a shaky breath, “without having done anything to myself. From just--"
“--watching me?”
“Yeah.”
Dani thinks she might combust, “ Fuck ."
*
Jamie’s follower count grows larger by the day.
When Dani first started listening to her on Sounds of Pleasure, she had about fifty-four thousand fans. Now only a couple weeks later, it's almost six thousand more.
Among them are some really sweet followers it turns out: they support Jamie in all that she does, make sure she knows they got her back, and even thought of a name for themselves: the j-tays.
Dani thinks it’s awfully cute.
Among them there are some die-hard fans too, and they weren’t having it at all when Jamie dedicated the episode to someone. When they found out who the woman in question is as a result of Jamie’s slip-up, they completely lost their shit.
Dani’s has been cackling over the comments over half an hour now, when Jamie texts her.
jmxtlr : so my brother is having a house party tonight and i’m not nearly drunk enough to like ANY of this.
jmxtlr : i’d much rather do something else than this, but i promised michael to be here and now i regret it lol.
dnxcltn: ohh.
dnxcltn: i think i know how to cheer you up a little. hold on.
Dani grins, and screenshots the best of the ‘hate’ comments to show Jamie and throws in a bunch of the adorable ones for good measure.
She thinks it could be a fun idea to rate them on a scale from 1 to 10 and add her own silly remark to each.
Anything to make Jamie smile.
She crops each comment, censors the usernames and thinks of something funny to say. Once she’s satisfied with the result she hits send.
She gets all excited when she sees the blue ticks that indicate Jamie has opened the chat.
*
Jamie holds her breath when she sees a collection of pictures coming in.
A minute later they’re still loading, and Jamie hates it. Too many folks are using the wi-fi, it seems. She switches to her mobile data, but the reception in this part of the house is practically non-existent.
Outside, things are looking a bit better. She leans against the pine tree in the garden and waits for the pictures to finish buffering.
Jamie truly hopes it isn't nudes, because she’s still trying to get back on track from the thing Dani pulled off yesterday.
She needs a break from whatever this is or she’ll end up asking Dani if she can see her tonight because Jamie can’t take it any longer.
She sighs in relief when she reads what Dani’s text says.
dnxcltn : may i present to you: my top favorite comments on your latest post. drum roll, pls.
Jamie smiles, takes a swig from her beer and opens the first picture.
Oh Jamie sounds so happy in this one!
(9.5/10 – yes, you do. looks really good on you. would’ve loved to see it.)
WHO THE FUCK IS THIS DANI??
(-5/10 – minus points for the yelling, one plus point for the effort of writing in caps. still bad.)
omg please tell me what do i have to do for her to say my name like that.
(8/10 – step 1) text her ; step 2) ??? ; step 3) profit.
What does she have that I don’t? Can someone explain this to me??
(1/10 – everything and no.)
who does she think she is
(0/10 – the fact that the question mark is missing bothers me soooo much. hate it.)
i wanna be her, pls
(7/10 – i get it. i’d wanna be me too.)
i am once again asking for a gf like jamie taylor.
(12/10 – to whoever wrote this: me too, dude, me too.)
Is nobody going to talk about HOW Jamie said her name?? Fuck.
(100/10 – i deadass came when you did, that’s how much i liked it)
you guys need to chill, lol
(10/10 – that was me. i commented that. full marks for that one.)
Jamie exhales through her nose as she swipes through the pictures, each caption better than the last. At one point she even says ‘lol’ out loud.
(--five days; I have been talking to her for five days; and I talk like her; fuck --)
Since she has had quite a few drinks already typing out a reply seems like a challenge, so Jamie does the next best thing.
When Dani picks up, she gets straight to the point, “Can you please tell me how you can be beautiful, bright, hot and hilarious at the same time? Like, how the hell are you doin’ that?”
Dani laughs a little, “Are you sure you’re talking about me? No one is all four things,” she hums, “Well, except you, maybe. You are all of that.”
“Are you flirtin’ with me?” Jamie asks, an echo of what Dani said to her the other day, “You are, aren’t you.”
“No,” Dani says, but the edge in her tone tells Jamie something else, “would never. Just--being friendly, you know.”
Jamie brings the bottle to her lips and takes a long drink, grins, “Oh, so you’re makin’ memes for me at eleven at night because you’re friendly, that’s it?”
“Yup.”
“And you’re doin’ all of those things to me... for me... and with me,” Jamie says, “because you’re friendly.”
“Yup.”
“And not,” Jamie teases, her fingers tracing a heart someone carved into the bark of the tree, “because you’re attracted to me.”
Dani intakes sharply, and Jamie absolutely notices, “That’s-- right.”
“Ah.”
“That’s the reason why I submitted something to your Sounds of Pleasure account today,” Dani says, matter-of-factly, “because I think that’s what friends are for, you know.”
Jamie decides to play along, “Haven’t, uh, had a chance to do check that today. Should I do that now? Wouldn’t want to keep ya waitin’.”
“You should do that, yeah,” is what Dani says next, “I wonder, after all that happened thanks to your faux-pas, what your fans will have to say to my idea.”
Jamie frowns, “Your--wait, let me just--"
“Oh, take your time. I don’t have anywhere to be.”
Jamie minimizes the call and opens the app. She taps on the three vertical dots on the top right, scrolls down to Your Account. When she comes to Submissions, it takes a moment to find Dani’s.
Partly, because it’s quite a few suggestions her subscribers left her this week, partly, because the screen’s a little blurry.
When she gets to an unread message from dnxcltn and opens it, she has to adjust the angle of her phone so the letters appear somewhat sharper.
(-- let’s make the upcoming episode together. meet me at the kimpton everly hotel next friday at 8--)
When the words on the screen start to make sense, at least in a literal way, her phone all but slips from her hands and falls into the grass.
“What just happened?” comes Dani’s amused voice, when Jamie picks it up again and brings it back to her ear, “That sounded a lot like…”
Jamie reads the message another time to make sure the booze buzzing in her veins isn’t playing tricks on her. But the text hasn’t changed.
Jamie screws up her face, “I, uh, just -- dropped my phone. When I--” her voice breaks, and she feels the tips of her ear grow hot.
She’s one-hundred percent sure it’s not the alcohol.
“--read what my suggestion says?” Dani finishes for her, and Jamie presses her lips together, “Mhm-mm.”
Dani chuckles and it’s cute as hell, but Jamie doesn’t feel like laughing. Dumb-struck, she sits down underneath the tree, leans against it and empties the beer in one go, “ Fuck , Dani.”
“Will you consider it?” Dani asks, as if this is something Jamie needs to think about twice, “It doesn’t have to be Friday. Could also be Saturday or Sunday,” Dani teases, “In fact, I’m free the whole weekend.”
(--yes yes yes; what a question, we can also do it now if you’d like --)
Jamie wants to say that, but it’s like she forgot how words work.
“We--don’t have to, if you don’t want,” Dani speaks after a moment, “I, uh, just couldn’t stop thinking about it and that’s why -- but if it’s not something you want, I understand, or if it’s going to fast or--if it’s not what you want at all, then--”
The end never comes.
“You still there?” Dani asks, all kinds of emotions to her voice.
Jamie closes her eyes, “Uh, yeah. Sorry, I just--"
“Don’t want to see me.”
Dani sounds hurt, and it cuts neatly into Jamie’s heart.
“No, no, it’s not that,” Jamie says, trying to save what she can, “ God , I would love to -- see you. It’s just… you just completely throw me off my game, Dani.”
“I do?”
Jamie pulls out some blades of grass where she’s sitting on the lawn, in an attempt to calm her nerves, “Yeah...yeah, you do.”
Dani draws a steadying breath, “So, it’s a yes?”
*
“Let’s make an arrangement,” Dani says, shifting to lie on her stomach, the sun shining so bright she can barely see Jamie through the pixels of her phone.
“If we’re really doing this, we need--"
“--a game plan,” Jamie offers, when Dani can’t think of the right word to describe it.
“Yeah. A game plan.”
Jamie smiles, tilting her head in question, “What did you, uh, have in mind?”
Dani plays absently with the frays of the blanket, thinking about Jamie’s question, as if she hadn’t racked her brain over it the whole night.
Jamie, on the other side of the city sits in the shade of her truck, looking at Dani in a way that gives her butterflies- Dani can’t remember the last time someone made her feel like this.
For now, she pushes the thought into the deepest corner of her brain, hoping it stays there, and takes a deep breath.
She holds a finger up in counting, “One, we both get tested. Make sure we don’t have any STD’s.”
Jamie nods, and Dani stares into the distance, pulling her lip between her teeth, “I mean--I don’t know about you but--- I haven’t been with anyone in a while...”
She turns her eyes back to Jamie, “--still, it would be the right thing to do.”
“Absolutely,” Jamie agrees, and Dani is relieved to see they’re on the same page.
“Two,” Dani continues, adding a second finger, “no orgasms for the both of us until we see each other. No sex in any form. Not together, not alone, not with anyone else.”
Jamie’s eyebrows twitch up in surprise, and Dani grins, “Naked pictures and dirty texts, though, are allowed…. even highly encouraged.”
Jamie bites down on the tip of her thumb, clearly liking where this is going, “Okay.”
“And three--” Dani holds up a third and final finger, and this is the hardest part, “this is not a date or a hook-up. It will be whatever it turns out to be, and that’s perfectly all right.”
Jamie, judging by the sound of it, kicks stones with her foot, going over Dani’s ideas in her head.
As she’s doing so, Jamie does that thing with her tongue Dani loves so much, and in her mind Dani’s somewhere else.
(--anywhere, any place, any time that includes Jamie--)
Shortly after, Jamie’s soft voice snaps her out of her daydream, “I’m in.”
“Anything you’d like to add?” Dani asks when they both don’t know what else to say.
Jamie thinks about it a moment, says, “Let’s not--get our hopes up too high, yeah? Like that we won’t be disappointed if it’s not going the way we want it to.”
Dani nods, “Let’s take things as they come? Let’s--meet there, have a drink and see where that takes us. Let’s talk and…" she stops right there, unsure how to finish the sentence.
“See if we--hit it off?” Jamie asks, flashing Dani a wink, a smile gracing her lips.
“Yeah,” mutters Dani, her cheeks turning slightly pink. If Jamie notices, she’s kind enough not to mention it.
(--she could always blame it on the heat of the sun, or the lack of sunscreen on her skin, or be honest and tell Jamie about; no no no too soon--)
Jamie smirks, and it makes Dani want to kiss it off her face, “Can’t wait to find out.”
(--this wish, unbidden but not surprising at all, is everything Dani can think about for the rest of the day and the whole night--)
“Me too,” Dani says, barely biting down a smile at the idea of Jamie and her existing in the same space at the same time, “Looking forward to it.”
*
Other things they talk about:
About what you wear to an it’s-not-a-date-nor-a-hook-up-thing.
(“Wear whatever you’re feelin’ yourself in, Dani. I’m sure you’ll look great in anythin’,” Jamie assures her, “but I think I like the idea of you wearing nothin’ at all the most.”)
About where Dani should be waiting for Jamie.
(“Ask for my room number at the reception, yeah?” Dani suggests, a flirtatious quality to her tone, “I’ll make sure they know you’re with me.”)
About whether they should have a bite to eat before their meet-up or just order room service when they get hungry.
(“Let’s do both,” Jamie says, giving Dani a boyish grin, “Who knows for how long I’ll keep you up that night? We might need a snack.”
“And here I thought I was the snack.”
“You, Dani,” Jamie laughs around the words, “are a full course meal.”
“Flirt.”)
About why Dani insisted on doing this in a four-star hotel in the city instead of a shabby motel out of town.
(“We deserve to do it like we deserve, don’t you think?” comes Dani’s question, “Let’s not settle for any less than that, yeah?”)
About what the episode they’re going to make together will be about.
(“Forget ‘bout that part. I just wanna have a good time with ya,” is what Jamie says, “I got a few episodes in store if anythin’ should get in the way.”)
About which of them will pay the bill at the end of their stay.
(“I invited you, so it’s on me,” Dani points out, “I got promoted at the end of the school year, and I still meant to celebrate. Why not like this?”)
And most importantly: About what this is, about what they are, about what comes next.
(“Let’s figure it out together?”)
*
Dani has a plan.
Dani has a plan on how to make this week the hardest of Jamie’s life.
Dani has a plan and it’s going fuck her over just the same.
Dani knows this.
Dani is doing it anyway.
*
On Monday it’s this:
“You see, you look stunning in both. And I am sure she adores you no matter which one you’ll go for in the end.”
Dani looks at herself in the mirror, sighs. When she decided to go buy an outfit for the thing, she hadn’t anticipated it to be this frustrating.
“What do you think could be more her taste?”
She looks at her reflection, shrugs, “Oh, if I only knew.”
“First date?”
For the lack of better words, she just says, “Something like that, yeah.”
“Oh, lovely.”
Dani hums, running her fingers along the fabric, “I can’t ask her, can I?” she huffs, screwing her eyes shut, “No, no -- that’s stupid.”
“Not at all, actually.”
“You think?” Dani asks, turning around to check out what the piece looks like from the back, “And how would I do that in a way that’s cool?”
“You could, uh, send her a text? Tell her what you’re up to, and ask if she’d like to see?”
Dani thinks about it for a moment, and comes to think that letting Jamie be part of this is sort of hot.
“You know what? I’m doing it. She should be on her break now anyway.”
“Perfect. Call me if you need anything, Dani.”
She smiles gratefully, “I will, thank you.”
Dani sits down on the stool in the corner of the changing room and types out a message, wanting to take the plunge before she talks herself out of it again.
dnxcltn: currently at victoria’s secret, trying on some lingerie…
Thankfully, Jamie’s texts back fast.
jmxtlr: uhhh, for friday?
dnxcltn: maaaaybe
dnxcltn: wanna see?
jmxtlr: now?
dnxcltn: yeah.
It takes a moment longer for the next message to come in, and when she reads what is says she realizes Jamie won’t make the whole thing easy.
jmxtlr: hmm… i love a surprise. sorry, dani, but i’ll have to say no (;
Dani, however, is nothing if not determined. If she sets her mind to something, it takes a lot for her to even consider giving up.
dnxcltn: oh that’s a shame. i thought you might want to pick it out since this is for you...
dnxcltn: and i’m indecisive what of the two looks best on me, you know. i’m sure you could help me out…
jmxtlr: why don’t you take both? it’s on me.
dnxcltn: that’s sweet but i still wouldn’t know which you like more. the black one with the leather straps or the cream-colored lacy one.
dnxcltn: want to match it to your preferences in bed, you know.
jmxtlr: fuck. you know im at work rn.
dnxcltn: mhmm, i do know that. come on, babe. it won’t take long.
jmxtlr: you know it’s not about that
dnxcltn: it’s not? what is it about then?
jmxtlr: dani…
Dani enjoys pushing Jamie’s buttons more than she’d like to admit. She should probably stop, she comes to think, but can’t bring herself to. If anything, she’s about to step up the game.
dnxcltn: the more we waste time talking about this, the longer i stand here in the changing room half naked thinking about which one would turn you on more, if you could just tell me.
jmxtlr: …
dnxcltn: and if i promise you to just show you a peek of each? to give you an idea of what’s waiting for you?
jmxtlr: you know what? it’s up to you if you want to show me, won’t stop ya. just know that this will have consequences.
dnxcltn: serious ones?
jmxtlr: yeah.
dnxcltn: good.
Dani had taken a couple selfies already and goes ahead and chooses the best looking ones of each lingerie from her camera roll.
She thinks about giving Jamie just a taste, like she said she would, but in the end she changes her mind.
Having sent the pictures, she throws her phone back into her bag, dresses herself and makes her way to the checkout without having another look at it.
She places both articles on the counter, smiles politely, “I’ll take both.”
“Couldn’t she decide?”
Dani grins, “I showed her both, but didn’t bother waiting for her reply. Thought I’ll wear her favourite, you know, and the other one another time, if it goes well. And if not I have something nice to wear for myself.”
“That’s the spirit.”
Later, when Dani’s in the car, she checks her notifications. One is from Jamie.
It’s an audio message.
“I got a few things to say and I am not capable of textin’ right now,” comes Jamie’s familiar voice, and Dani’s blood pressure rises, “First of all: those are not peeks, for heaven’s sake,” she points out, “Secondly: who the hell gave you the right to look that good in literally anythin’? And lastly: fuck me .”
When Dani records her reply, her voice drops in a way even she can hear, “So, which one do you like better?”
*
On Tuesday it’s this:
dnxcltn: let’s play a game.
jmxtlr: oh, which one?
dnxcltn: would you rather, sex edition.
jmxtlr: love that. curious to find out what you like… can i start?
dnxcltn: sure x
jmxtlr: would you rather have me kiss your neck or the inside of your thighs?
dnxcltn: neck, but i wouldn’t say no to the other one. would you rather have me on my knees or between your legs?
jmxtlr: knees. i like the view. would you rather top or bottom?
dnxcltn: hmm. depends on my mood. would you rather wear the strap or have me wear it?
jmxtlr: i wear it. except if you want to then you absolutely can… would you rather have your hair pulled or your ass spanked?
dnxcltn: both. without a doubt. would you rather give or receive?
jmxtlr: give. anytime. would you rather have five orgasms in a row or be edged for an hour?
dnxcltn: ugh, can’t decide. would you rather fuck in a restroom or in an alley way?
jmxtlr: alley. would you rather have me bite you or scratch you during sex?
dnxcltn: bite. no scratch. okay, both. would you rather have dirty talk or not talk at all?
jmxtlr: i think you know the answer yourself.
jmxtlr: we need to stop this. it makes me horny :(
dnxcltn: oh no. i’m sorry lol. would some nudes help?
*
On Wednesday it’s this:
“What I’d do if you were here?”
(--much less talking, trust me --)
Jamie unbuckles her belt and pushes her cargo shorts down her legs, distantly thinking about whether she can wear them for another day.
“Mhm-mm.”
“I thought,” she muses, folding and placing them on the counter next to the sink for tomorrow, “we weren’t gonna do phone sex?”
(-- Jamie doesn’t know much about the unwritten rules of phone sex, but she’s certain talking about it the way they do, counts as such, even if they don’t do anything beyond that --)
“We aren’t,” Dani insists, her answer coming too fast for it to not sound defensive, and Jamie smirks, amused, “That--is something different.”
“Sorry to break it to you, love,” Jamie says, setting down her phone and putting Dani on speaker, “but, ‘what would you do if I was here’, is an invitation to do just that.”
(--and if it wasn’t for their arrangement, she would talk Dani out of her clothes in a just matter of time and let her fall apart even quicker--)
Dani remains quiet.
“But who am I to deny you anythin’?” comes Jamie’s question, taking pride in having made Dani tongue-tied, “Look, if we’re doin’ this, I talk and you listen. Nothin’ else. No touchin’ down there. Nothin’ that could provide relief.”
As Jamie waits for what Dani has to say to this, she pulls the shirt over her head and aims for the laundry basket on the other side of the bathroom, misses.
(--it’s the long day, it’s the exhaustion, it’s certainly not the fact that she’s sexually frustrated, or that she’s about to make sure Dani is too--)
The answer never comes, so Jamie asks, “Have I made myself clear, Dani?”
“Yes, Jamie,” comes a choked whisper from Dani’s end, and something tells Jamie, this is going to be as hard on her as it is on Dani, “You think you can do this?”
“I’m-- not sure,” Dani admits, “It’s so hard listening to you and not— fuck , but I want this so much.”
Jamie swallows, “If you want to stop just say the word, okay?”
“Same goes for you.”
“Sure.”
(--this is a bad idea, Jamie thinks, a really really bad idea; but if only she wasn’t into this so much; if she wouldn’t do anything for Dani’s pleasure--)
Jamie picks up her shirt and puts it where it belongs, “Oh, and you better try hard, Dani. To do this right, to not do anythin’ that isn’t allowed,” she says, “Or I’ll have to think of some sort of punishment for you. And trust me, you wouldn’t want that.”
A sharp gasp.
Jamie clenches a fist, “Now. If I told you all about what I'd do to you if you were here, we’d never see the end of it. So,” she says, “I’ll tell you about the one thing that I’ve been thinkin’ about for a while now.”
“ Please .”
“I think I’d like to shower with ya,” Jamie says, softly now, discarding the rest of her clothes, “It’s the one thing I’m looking forward to after a long day at work. With you it’d be so much better.”
“You think?”
Jamie hums, “Especially if it includes red spots on someone’s knees, traces of someone’s nails on flushed skin. Sore muscles the next day from the effort of standin’, from the effort of holdin’ onto somethin’ for dear life. And the intensity of fingers, tongues, teeth in places you need them most, that make you question if you will ever be the same.”
“ Jamie --"
She closes her eyes at the sound of her name, holding her breath. Shakes it off, pushes the shower curtain aside instead and turns on the shower.
“Dani?” she says, and grabs a towel.
“Yeah?”
Jamie tries to sound as laid-back as she can as she checks the temperature of the water, “Would you mind if I, uh, take a shower while we do this?” She doesn’t bother waiting for Dani’s answer, “I think if I set the water pressure on low, you should still be able to hear me.”
Dani sputters, “You’re--what, right now?”
Jamie loves this. “ Yes , I am naked. Not what you were askin’, but somethin’ you were thinkin’ about, ‘m sure,” she gathers her hair and ties it together in a messy bun as she watches her reflection in the mirror, “And yes , now.”
“Woah, okay,” Dani chuckles awkwardly, obviously taken by surprise, “Hadn’t expected it’s going to be that… realistic.”
Jamie smiles, placing her phone on the shelf next to the shower, where her sword fern sits. If she leaves the curtain open, it should work out even better.
“You can always come here,” she says, slow and deliberate, “and we make it super-realistic?”
“Don’t--tempt me,” Dani warns, her voice tight with arousal, “You know I would.”
Jamie steps inside, smiling some more, trying to ignore the warmth between her legs, “So, we’re doing this or what?”
*
On Thursday it’s this:
Dani is bored.
Dani is in a meeting with the summer camp counsellors and coordinators, and she is bored.
(--that’s what she tells herself: it’s the boredom--)
(--and certainly not the fact that she’s sexually deprived like she’s never been in her life, that it makes it hard to think about anything other than the craving of Jamie’s body on hers--)
Hannah is currently going through some of the administrative aspects of the job, policies and all that, and Dani scribbles down some notes, trying her hardest to stay focused.
It’s impossible, she finds, when the dull ache is too strong to ignore, the thoughts too loud to not think them, fingers that want nothing more than to take care of this, legs that tremble, even now, when she’s sitting.
Dani tries a few more minutes to follow what’s being said, to jot down a few things, to ask some questions to appear invested in the topic, when in fact, she couldn’t care less.
(--it’s not that she doesn’t care it’s just; she’s got other things on her mind that dare to consume her entirely, and she’s not even mad about it--)
At one point she gives up, hoping Hannah will email them the protocol afterwards like she did the times before, and if not, she can always ask a coworker if she can’t remember the details of a certain guideline.
The chatter turns into indistinct background noises, the surroundings blend together until it is a blur, and Jamie is, once again, the only thing Dani’s life seems to revolve around these days, the only thing her brain seems to be capable of thinking about.
Yesterday, the whole thing backfired. Terribly.
In the end Dani was a whimpering mess, turned on by Jamie’s words so much she was seconds away from caving in, to hell with all the consequences.
A part of her even wanted to see what would happen if.
(“You need to start to think before you act,” Jamie had said, way too smug for it to be allowed, “or you’ll end up in situations like these that don’t even have a happy endin’.”
“ Please,” Dani had begged,”I need it .”
Jamie wouldn’t drop it, “Another time, maybe. Another night, maybe. Tonight we’ll both go to bed, wanting , wishing we had never made this arrangement in the first place.”)
Dani texts Jamie, hoping that this time Jamie will be the one that admits defeat.
dnxcltn: hiii x i figured i still have some short clips of me reacting to your episodes that i meant to send you a while ago…
dnxcltn: would you like to see?
To Dani’s disappointment, Jamie is still at work, and it takes an excruciating long half hour for Dani’s phone to buzz in her pocket.
jmxtlr: i want to say yes, really do, but i don’t know. fuck. i don’t know if i can cope with anything sexual until i am allowed to get off again, you know…
dnxcltn: oh. what a shame. then i’ll just have to delete them, i guess.
jmxtlr: no, please. don’t.
jmxtlr: fuck. okay. how many have you got & how long are they?
Dani steals a glance around the room, to see if anyone sees what she’s doing, but nobody notices her typing away under the desk.
dnxcltn: about 10 i think? oh, and just a couple of seconds. one is a bit longer
jmxtlr: well. how bad can it possibly be?
dnxcltn: you tell me…
dnxcltn: pick a number between 1 and 10.
jmxtlr: 4
The whole thing with the numbers is nothing else than a tactical move.
Dani hasn’t assigned each video a number, nor does she select the fourth video. She sends the one that’s the most innocent in her opinion.
If it works out the way she wants to, Jamie will want to see another, and she’ll go from there.
(-- she’s a crafty fox when she wants to be; now it just needs to have the desired effect--)
jmxtlr: oh. my. god.
dncltn: want to see more?
jmxtlr: you really need to ask me that?
Dani, who almost gives herself away by not reacting accordingly to bus and underground timetables, is already sure she’s about to win this one.
Dani however, has to learn to think ahead and expect the unexpected, because Jamie is always a step ahead of her it seems.
jmxtlr: but ONLY, if i can send snippets of not yet published episodes of mine in turn.
jmxtlr: …two can play this game, love
Later, when Dani’s in the restroom, because she just couldn’t wait until she’s at home and listens to a short extract of an episode called ‘road trip’, she wishes she had, because it completely ruins her underwear.
*
On Friday it’s this:
Jamie jerks awake at three in the morning.
Jamie jerks awake, her heart almost beating out of her chest, her breath coming fast, her hips --
-- grinding .
Jamie’s movements still, momentarily, when it hits her, like a freight train at full speed.
Oh.
Jamie lies on her stomach, with a pillow between her legs, pressing against her, she’s--
Oh .
The next thing is this:
Eyes fly open, a hand flicks on the bed side lamp, and Jamie blinks, adjusting to the change of light. She notices another hand clinging onto the bedsheets, notices her body is covered in cold sweat, notices she’s seconds away from --
Not fully conscious yet, and it takes a moment for her to realize, she’s back to rubbing herself on the pillow between her legs, and she squeezes them together in an attempt to stop.
But: the angle is perfect, and it provides the perfect amount of friction, and she feels something warm, and slick coating her skin, and it smears onto the pillow, and Jamie whines into her hand.
It all comes back to her in a flash:
(--the dream; Dani; the hotel room door; legs, shaking; the carpet; Jamie; fingers, deep; the bathtub; limbs, tangled; names, moaned, cried, whispered--)
Jamie turns onto her back, throws the pillow off the bed, and kicks the sheets to the end of it, breathing heavily.
This. This is not going to work.
*
The morning of their not-a-date-not-a-hook-up-thing it’s this:
“Can I be honest with you?”
Jamie nods, her heart pounding hard in her chest, “Always.”
(--she doesn’t think she could take it if Dani said she can’t come tonight; she couldn’t and yet, it’d be okay; of course it would be--)
“I don’t think, I uh, I should come to our thing in this state,” Dani admits, nervously fiddling with her hair, “I won’t last ten seconds if-- if I don’t take care of myself before I see you--tonight.”
(--ah thank fuck it’s just that; and that , however, Jamie has expected, has seen it coming, somehow--)
“And I wouldn’t want to,” Dani continues, her voice dropping to a whisper, and she almost can’t say it, “ruin our evening.”
Jamie shakes her head, smiles reassuringly, “You wouldn’t, Dani. I can promise you that.”
The other woman purses her lips, nods, murmurs a quiet ‘okay’, but Jamie has a feeling it isn’t, and she just can’t have that.
“It’s all good, alright?” she says, and Jamie means it, “I have the same problem, if that helps. It’d be five seconds in my case. Less even.”
There’s a tiny smile on Dani’s lips, and it’s enough for now, “There we are.”
“Then I’ll just go and take care of myself now,” she says, and it sounds like a good-bye but Jamie wants to keep her a bit longer, “You can--do the same, of course.”
“Wait. Can I,” Jamie dares to ask, has to, wants to do this for her, “take care of you?”
Dani frowns, “How-- would you do that? You’re not here...”
“Remember how I told you not to open the small black box in your surprise bag under any circumstances?”
It takes a moment for Dani to catch up what Jamie means, then, from one moment to the next, she appears to be herself again, and Jamie’s about to find out why.
“Sure,” Dani teases, threading a hand through her hair, “Guess who did that anyway?”
Jamie closes her eyes, shakes her head, “Why,” she smirks, “did I know you would. You cannot be trusted. Like. At all.”
“Oh, and what happens now?” comes Dani’s rhetorical, challenging question, and it’s driving Jamie absolutely nuts.
(--under different circumstances, it wouldn’t; but things are different when the woman you desperately want to go to bed with, says things like that--)
“Now,” she instructs, giving Dani a don’t-fuck-with-me-look, “you go get it and I download the app for it. Then we’ll see what will happen.”
“Do you have one too?”
Jamie swallows when Dani’s face doesn’t give away a thing, “Yeah.”
“Then I want to control yours.”
“Why talk, if we could
not
?”
“It’s just-- I guess I just really
really
like it when you talk sex.”
Jamie raises an eyebrow, smirks. “Oh, do you now?”
“A lot,” Dani says with a teasing quality to her voice. ”It’s one of my favourite parts about--
This
. The
thing
-- We’re doing.”
Jamie nibbles gently on her lip and it makes Dani lose her train of thought. She has to tear her eyes away and fix them on a spot on the wall instead.
The notebook rests next to her on the bed, whirring softly. Dani’s on her side, an arm tucked underneath her head, attempting to recall what she wanted to say.
“But it’s not just that, though,” Dani finally says, “The talking, I mean. I really like the things that come with it too, you know.”
She turns her attention back to Jamie to see her reaction, only to find her smiling at Dani. “Makes us two.”
Dani returns the smile with one of her own.
“So, uh, wanna explain to me how this-- This... toy works?” Dani asks, taking the device out of the box, pretending she doesn’t know a thing about it, pretending to have forgotten what it’s called, too.
Dani tilts her head in question, and in the most deadpan voice she can manage, she says, “Hold on, what is it again?”
“For the third fuckin’ time, love,” Jamie's tone is gentle and without an ounce of annoyance, despite the choice of words, “it’s a remote controlled bullet vibrator.”
“Yeah. Yeah. That’s it… Wow, such a long word for a toy that small, don’t you think? Quite hard to remember,” comes Dani’s playful comment, to which she doesn’t even give Jamie the time to respond. “I’m sure I’d be much better in learning how to use it.”
“You don’t give up, do you?”
Dani shakes her head, “Never. Not if I truly want something.”
“You know, I could give you what you want, if you’d just let me,” Jamie points out, flashing her a crooked grin.
“You need to show me first,” Dani insists, continuing to try and get a rise out of Jamie. “I don’t want to run the risk of doing it wrong, you know.”
Jamie closes her eyes, inhales, and it’s a start. “Okay. Fine. If it means we finally get to it, I will. You yourself, not five minutes ago, said you had somethin’ like it once, but I guess we’ll ignore that?”
Dani shrugs again, a ghost of a smile on her lips. “Don’t know what you’re talking about. I never said--"
“
Dani
--"
“Jamie.”
Jamie sighs, pointing a finger at Dani accusingly, “That attitude of yours is going to have consequences if you keep it up.”
(--her tone is stern, Dani notices, but the look in her eyes reveals that she’s into this even if it maddens her to some extent--)
“What if I want that?” Dani challenges, thinking of all the ways Jamie could make her pay for it with just a tap of fingers on a screen. “What if that’s what I wanted all along?”
Jamie’s eyes turn dark when it sinks in, when she understands, at last, the true reason behind Dani’s relentless teasing.
Jamie’s throat bobs with a rough swallow, “What-- You mean now? Do you want me to...?”
“You can, yeah,” Dani whispers, entranced every time by the way Jamie looks when she’s turned on. “Now, or any other time you like.”
Jamie doesn’t say a word, so Dani jumps in to explain, “It’s just… The idea of you being in total control of my pleasure is--”
“What?”
“Few things make me so wet, Jamie.”
Jamie intakes sharply, her voice rough when she says, “Dani,
fuck
.”
“And that’s saying something. Given all the things we’ve done, without having touched once.”
Dani bites down on her lip, feeling slick warmth coat her skin. “
God
, I can’t wait for tonight.”
“Me neither,” Jamie husks, fingers threading through wild curls. “It’s all I can think about...
You
are all I can think about.”
The admission sends Dani’s pulse skittering through her veins, her breath hitching in a way Jamie must hear. But before she can say something, Jamie speaks again.
“You sure you want me to,” Jamie clears her throat, murmurs, “
punish
you now, or-- I mean I’d do that for you, if that’s what you’d like, but I’d want…” She trails off, back nibbling on her lip again.
Dani’s tone is soft, pleading. “Say it.”
Jamie closes her eyes, takes a steadying breath. “Christ, all I want is to see how fast I can make you come after a week of holding off, how little it takes for you to--”
Dani whimpers, her hips bucking against nothing at all, and it’s too much. “Please do.”
“Still, uh, want me to explain the toy?” comes Jamie’s question, and she sounds as impatient as Dani feels. “I could make it quick?”
Dani shakes her head, purses her lips. “Nuh-uh.”
(--because it was never about the functionality of the vibrator, was it?--)
Jamie's mouth quirks up, because she has known all along. Besides, subtlety isn’t really Dani’s strong point.
“Tell me when you’re ready,” Jamie says.
Shortly after, when Dani’s walls cling around something–not fingers, certainly not Jamie’s–for the first time in what feels like forever, even if it has only been days, she can’t help but moan.
Jamie’s lips are parted slightly and the way she looks at Dani makes her want to ask Jamie to come over and finish this herself.
“Good?”
Dani’s eyes flutter closed. “Mhm-mm.”
“Want me to turn it on?”
“Yes,” Dani hisses.
Seconds later, when a sudden mix of sensation dares to overwhelm with its intensity, Dani balls the bed sheets up in her hands and tips her chin up. “
Oh
, fuck.”
“Too much?” comes Jamie’s voice, thick with arousal in a way she has never heard it, and it turns Dani on even more.
(--must be the fact that Jamie’s the one deciding how they’re doing this, and that Dani is so willingly giving up control--)
Dani shakes her head, her breath coming fast, already now. “No, it’s--”
Good
, she wants to say, but it dies on her tongue.
Now that it’s happening she can’t focus on anything besides the way the toy stimulates her g-spot with ease in a way her fingers could never, how the soft hum is the only sound in the room, next to the quiet creaking of the bed, as Dani starts to roll her hips for more friction.
Dani considers slipping a hand past the band of her sleep shorts, easing herself along with her fingers, matching the teasing rhythm of the toy, but the light vibrations from the tip of the tail is somehow all she needs.
“That okay?” Jamie asks, looking at Dani as if she’s the only thing that’s ever mattered to her, and Dani doesn’t know what to do with that. “Or can you take more?”
“
Yes
, but I want-- You,” she manages to get out between pants, starting to feel the climax building already, “to choose. All of it.”
The other woman gasps for air, and Dani loves having that effect on her. “Fuck, okay. Anythin’ you want. But tell me in case you don’t like it, yeah?”
Dani nods, appreciating how Jamie is checking in every step of the way.
Jamie then synchronizes Dani’s toy to her Spotify and sets the pattern of the vibration to one of her favourite rock songs: Seven Nation Army from The White Stripes.
The instant the song begins to play, or more, its upbeat tempo is transformed into pulsating stimulations, Dani has a realization.
There’s no way she makes it to the point where the chorus of the song begins, and the beat, or the vibrations in this case, will inevitably change to something deeper.
There’s no way she makes it.
Not now, not today, not when she hasn’t come in so long.
Not when Jamie looks at her like this.
Not when Jamie whispers, “That’s so hot,
Jesus fuckin’ Christ
, Dani--”
There’s no way she makes it.
And Dani doesn’t.
*
The lobby of the hotel is a beautiful, well-lit space.
A glorious amount of plants–carefully arranged to match the modern design of white walls and wood panelled floors–adds to the way a wild mix of furniture can look great if done right.
The entrance hall features–next to the reception, of course–an impressive cocktail bar with all kinds of liquors lined up on shelves and tasteful drop lights hanging above the bar counter.
A pool table, made out of what appears to cherry tree wood, is positioned in front of a huge glass front that provides a stunning view across the city.
A collection of artworks from local artists, some are framed, others not, is aligned with style and purpose on a wall. It makes for a welcome contrast to the earth tone colors used in the rest of the hall.
Somehow, Jamie can picture Dani existing in this place:
Sitting cross-legged on one of the stools by the bar, wearing a beautiful dress and happily slurping a drink that came with one of those fancy glass straws.
Leaning against the pool table and looking out of the window, being stuck on how breathtaking the sight of Hollywood Hills is at night, and that there will never be a moment in time where it looks exactly like this.
Standing in front of the artwork, admiring the detail of each and every piece, wondering how they fit so perfectly together in this composition, even if they’re nothing alike.
Somehow, Jamie can picture Dani existing in this place, and she’s never been in the same room as her, her lungs have never breathed the same air, her hands have never touched her skin.
Somehow, still, Jamie can picture Dani here, with her.
Somehow.
It scares her a little, to say the least. But she refuses to read into the meaning of it, refuses to believe she is on her way to catching feelings.
Jamie checks the time on her watch. It’s almost eight.
With weak knees, shaky hands and a heart that dares to beat out of her chest, Jamie approaches the front desk to check in.
(--minutes later, she knows all she needs: second floor, suite 217, room service twenty-four hours a day, rooftop pool opened until midnight, live music in the lobby every night--)
Once that’s done, Jamie makes her way to the elevator. Inside, she takes a quick glance at her appearance in the mirror. She is happy with what she sees.
After an hour standing in front of the closet this afternoon, throwing half of its contents on her bed in search for the perfect outfit for a not-a-date-not-a-hook-up-thing she had finally made up her mind:
A pair of black ripped jeans to go with a short-sleeve button up shirt in bordeaux red, her favourite boots, a couple of rings on each of her hands and a fancy golden chain around her neck.
As for the hair, Jamie had gone for a flirty look that required minimal effort and will hopefully offer a maximum of super sexy results: a mix between styled and messy.
Having gone for an outfit she feels confident in definitely has its perks:
The anxiety that has been building throughout the day turns into something akin to excitement when Jamie looks at her reflection.
It’s what finally makes her press the button of the elevator.
*
It’s hard to not think of something, or someone, if everything, literally everything, reminds you of them.
It’s hard not to think of them when they’re the reason you’re here.
It’s hard to think about anything but.
Thing is: the more Dani thinks about it, the more she feels like she’s going out of her mind.
(--
what if, what if, what if?
--)
Dani tries to distract herself from thoughts that run a million miles an hour and show absolutely no sign of slowing down anytime soon.
Dani would, if she could, turn them off altogether.
If she’s not overthinking every last detail–her outfit, her make-up and her hair–she’ll find something in just about every object in this godforsaken hotel suite that reminds her of Jamie.
It’s almost as if all that is in this room triggers some kind of response in Dani’s brain, no matter how insignificant it is in the context.
For instance:
The ultramarine couch with the olive green and ivory colored cushions?
A memory of Dani’s first episode of Sounds of Pleasure and the picture of Jamie on her sofa wearing a buttoned shirt with almost nothing underneath.
The elegant black and white clawfoot tub in the bathroom?
A memory of Jamie reaching orgasm from just watching Dani make herself feel good without having touched herself once.
The view of the Los Angeles skyline and the Hollywood sign glowing in the Hollywood Hills?
A memory of when Dani made her thank-you recording for Jamie, where she pictured them having sex on the bed of Jamie’s truck on the one spot where you can see the whole city.
Oh, and the sheets on the king-sized bed? Fuck, the sheets.
A memory of this morning, when Dani completely ruined her bed-sheets to the point where she had no other choice than to change them.
She feels her ears growing hot, when she thinks about it. She’ll never, ever live it down. Not in a million years.
(--even if Jamie had insisted it was the sexiest thing; still, Dani couldn’t believe she’d done that--)
It’s one minute to eight now. It’s only a matter of time until Jamie will show up at the door, so she hurries to the bathroom one last time, to check, again, if she looks okay.
For tonight she’s picked a pastel pink flowy dress, an acid washed denim jacket and white sneakers. It’s a cute outfit that'll be perfect for the occasion.
Same for the hair: a high ponytail, but with a few strands left out at the front for an undone look.
And for the make-up: a light foundation, a few coats of mascara on her lashes and peach-colored lipstick. That’s it.
Oh, and not to forget: Jamie’s favoured lingerie.
Then, there’s a gentle knock at the door.
Dani had expected it, been waiting for it even, but it still startles her. She blames the heart that jumps in her throat on that, even though she knows it isn’t true, even though she knows the reason why.
With her hand on the knob, she acknowledges this: this is where things will change, and nothing will ever be the same.
*
“Oh, hello there,” Jamie greets with a smile, when the door opens.
Dani swallows, and the beauty of it almost takes her out. “Hi, you.”
“Sorry to disturb you at this late hour,” Jamie says, “but I’m lookin’ for my,” she puts the next word in air quotes, “
business partner
. Any idea where she might be?”
Dani bites her lip, thankful for Jamie breaking the ice. Like that, awkwardness hasn’t even got a chance.
“I think I might be able to help. Why don’t you come in and we can figure things out?”
Jamie smirks. “I’d love that, thank you.”
She steps inside and sets the duffle bag with her recording equipment down onto the luggage rack next to the door, noticing only now how her hands are sore from holding the handle too tight.
Jamie rubs circles into her palm to soothe it while she takes a moment to perceive her surroundings. It turns out to be quite a challenge. All she can focus on is Dani, and that this is really happening.
Jamie sways on her feet with her hands stuffed into her pockets, astonished with the sight in front of her. And by that, she doesn’t mean Los Angeles at night.
(--which, to be fair, is quite something too; but it’s nothing like it--)
Dani steals glances at her from where she’s busying herself with a bottle of Prosecco she got from the hotel bar earlier tonight, feeling herself blush from the way Jamie looks at her.
“Would you like a glass?” Dani asks, smiling shyly. She has to give her brain something to think about, or she’ll drop everything one moment and fling her arms round Jamie’s neck the next.
“As a rule, I don’t drink on the job. But for you, I’ll make an exception,” Jamie replies, sending a wink her way. Dani’s blush deepens, and her fingers flex around the bottle.
(--the effect of Jamie’s smile, wink, voice is much more intense, now that they’re here, together, in this room--)
“Now,” Dani says, pouring two glasses of sparkling wine and hoping she doesn’t spill any, which wouldn’t be a surprise, “what does this business partner of yours look like?”
Jamie hums, slowly bridging the gap between them but keeping the distance, still. “Pretty. A bit too pretty, if you ask me. Kinda like you.”
“Oh, really?”
“Really.”
“Life works in mysterious ways, huh?” Dani teases, picking up the glasses from the side table by the couch. She takes a step closer to Jamie, slowly, making sure the other woman’s okay with it.
Jamie nods, taking a step forward too, and it looks like it is. “It does.”
When they’re close enough for Jamie to accept the drink, their fingers touch, and the world stops spinning.
For real this time.
Neither of them moves, neither of them pulls away, neither of them dares to say anything.
They both stare down at their fingers, curled around the stem of the same glass. It takes a fraction of a second, and it sinks in, for both of them.
When Dani looks up she already finds Jamie with her jaw hanging slightly open and her eyes dark with an unspoken question. Jamie’s gaze drops to her lips, and Dani forgets how to breathe.
"I know we said we’d--” Jamie begins, almost too distracted to finish the sentence “but d'you wanna just...?"
Dani nods, understanding what Jamie is trying to say, but can’t get the words right either. "Yeah, please, let's--"
Jamie gently plucks the glasses out of Dani’s hands and sets them down next to her on the desk, holding her eyes. Explains why, even though no one has asked, and they both know.
“Can’t kiss you-- The way I want, with-- Something in between. Can I?”
“Guess not,” Dani says as she takes another, final step closer.
Jamie’s eyelids flutter when Dani’s hands come to rest on her arms. It’s so gentle, barely there at all, and still, it’s scathing.
Jamie swallows, trying to keep her voice from wavering. “What’s more, once I kiss you I’m not sure I can stop, and we would have to… With the glasses still in hand, you know.”
Jamie’s hands find a home on Dani’s waist, tugging her in softly. Dani sighs. “So it’s good-- That they’re gone.”
A nod. “Maybe we would even ruin that beautiful dress of yours, and… That’d be a shame. Maybe we’d even make a mess on the carpet, and then we’d have to--”
“You talk too much,” Dani finds, reaching up to brush a curl out of Jamie’s face, tucking it behind her ear. “You tend to do that, you know. When you’re nervous, you babble.”
Jamie blushes, hadn’t expected this. “Oh.”
Emboldened by the flustered state Dani has caused, she says, “and, given that I’ve never seen you interact with anyone, I assume it’s me who makes you nervous?”
Jamie remains silent, which only confirms what Dani’s been saying. “What,” there’s a smug smile playing on her lips as she curls her fingers into Jamie’s hair, “makes you nervous now?”
You, Jamie wants to say. You. You.
You
.
Dani knows that, though. Discovered it herself and wasn’t scared to let Jamie know. Dani’s question, however, is well founded.
If she already knows it’s her who makes Jamie nervous, there must be something Dani does, Dani says, Dani
is
, that makes her feel this way in the first place.
It’s many things, in all truth. One thing, however, stands out.
“I just," Jamie whispers once she finds a way to say it,, her gaze dropping to Dani’s lips once more, “really want to kiss you. It’s hard to think about anythin’ else.”
“What’s stopping you?” Dani whispers back, and it’s a wonder she can speak at all.
“Call me ol’ fashioned,” Jamie brushes the pad of her thumb across Dani’s lip, and this time Dani’s eyelids flutter as her mouth slightly parts, “but I wanted to ask you before I do.”
Jamie does it again, and the tip of Dani’s tongue darts out to flicks against Jamie’s finger, just for a fleeting moment. Jamie’s mouth goes dry.
“Can it-- Be the other way round too?” Dani asks, her voice thick with longing, and she’s seconds from caving in. “Can I ask too?”
Jamie swallows, nods.
Dani melts into the touch of Jamie’s hand on her cheek, sighing, enjoying the last moment of
before,
and she says, “kiss me, Jamie. Please. Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me
.
”
And Jamie does.
*
Never had Dani thought Jamie would kiss like this.
It’s so, so soft.
There’s no other way than to describe how Jamie brings another hand up to Dani’s face, her thumb caressing Dani’s cheek bone with adoration sparkling in her eyes.
There’s no other way than to describe how Jamie angles her head, slightly, leans in, whispering, “you’re so beautiful, you know that?” against Dani’s lips.
There’s no other way than to describe how Jamie’s lips are finally touching Dani’s after so long, and Dani wants to cry at the beauty of it.
And with that, everything clicks into place.
As if they’ve always done this, they both part their lips around the same time and curious tongues seek out the other, looking for something that makes up for all the times they should’ve kissed, but didn’t.
As if they’ve always done this, they stumble to the couch and Jamie nudges the tea table to the side with her foot and out of the way, and Dani lies down on the couch, tugging Jamie down by her collar.
As if they’ve always done this, Jamie follows, settling in between Dani’s legs. A hand slides underneath Dani’s thigh to bring her closer, and Dani’s fingers wind into Jamie’s hair, drawing her in for another passionate kiss.
And then it’s not so soft anymore.
*
They make out like this for a while.
To catch up on all the kisses they missed, all the touches that couldn’t be, all the sounds that were there but not quite like this.
That is, until Dani begins to gently rub herself against Jamie’s jean-clad thigh, moaning quietly into Jamie’s mouth, and Jamie can feel the damp cloth brushing on her skin through one of the rips.
Jamie intakes sharply. “Dani--"
“Is it okay?” Dani’s movements slow, to ask, but she can’t quite stop. “If I…do this?”
“God yes,” Jamie breathes, flexing the muscles of her thigh to grant Dani more friction, and Dani instantly grinds her hips again, harder this time.
The sensation of fabric against skin feels like so much more than it is, and Dani moans again. It’s not so soft like before, and burning desire rushes through Jamie at the sound of it.
It’s not only the noises Dani makes from such a small amount of friction, but also the fact that she’s so desperate for Jamie she can’t wait any longer.
"If you," Jamie clears her throat, suddenly feeling seventeen again, "wrap your legs around my waist, and hold me close I can, uh, do the thing you're doing to yourself to you," her voice only loud enough for Dani to hear when she adds, "If you want."
Dani bites Jamie’s lip, tugs gently. "I’d love that.”
Jamie hums into the kiss, and Dani crosses her ankles behind Jamie's back, bringing her closer. "Like that?"
Jamie nods, feeling high on Dani. "Like that."
"That okay for you?” comes Jamie’s question as she begins to thrust into Dani, slow and soft. Dani nods frantically, swearing something under her breath Jamie doesn't quite catch.
“Tell me," Jamie whispers against Dani’s lips, "if you want me to stop, or if you don't like it or if there's something wrong.”
Jamie wants to make sure Dani knows they can end things absolutely anytime, so she pulls back. “Promise me you’ll tell me."
Dani locks eyes with her, even though she can barely keep them open, so Jamie knows she means it. “I promise. Just-- Please, don’t stop. You feel so good like this--”
Jamie swallows, her own wetness smearing onto the inside of her underwear. “Fuck, okay.”
Dani looks at Jamie, her eyes pleading, hungry, and Jamie gives in to the strong desire to kiss her.
She can’t not, now that she knows what it’s like. Really, she can’t believe she missed out on this her entire life.
*
“Wanna move things to the bedroom?” comes Dani’s breathless question, after what seems like hours of kisses that could last a lifetime, of touches that are there just to tease but not to satisfy, of sounds that raise the question of whether or not there’s more to them.
Jamie makes a small noise of disagreement, a tongue skating up the column of Dani’s neck to nibble at the skin she finds there. “Want you here. Like this.”
Dani moans softly into Jamie’s ear, her nails digging into Jamie’s skin through her shirt. “Okay, yeah.”
“Want to make you come now and then take my time with you in bed, if that’s okay?” Jamie suggests, her mouth grazing the shell of Dani’s ear, sending a pleasant shiver down her spine.
“That’s--
Mh
, very much-- Okay,” Dani sighs when Jamie traces the dip of her collarbone with the tip of her tongue, and Jamie does it again.
Jamie shifts, so she can look at Dani when she says this. “You know… Somethin’ tells me… you won’t last long at all.” Jamie smirks as she slides a hand in between their bodies to ruck Dani’s dress further up. “Which doesn’t surprise me, really.”
Dani laughs a little, and to Jamie it’s the cutest thing. It’s hot, too.
“Thing is: I want you to. Later,” Jamie draws her fingertips slowly along the band of Dani’s underwear, leaving goosebumps in their wake, “so, I wanna make sure you do.”
“Makes perfect sense,” Dani whispers, lightly sinking her teeth into her lower lip and looking at Jamie through her lashes.
Jamie scans her face for any trace of uncertainty, just to make sure, but there’s none. She still asks, in case Dani changes her mind.
“Is it cool if I touch you now?” Jamie asks with a smile.
“Very cool,” Dani smiles back at her, placing a soft kiss on Jamie’s lips. Jamie melts into it and her heart does that goddamn thing again where it grows too big for her chest. “Good to hear.”
Jamie draws back, holding Dani’s eyes as she slips her fingertips inside Dani’s underwear, just an inch. “Still cool?”
Dani encircles Jamie’s wrist to shove her hand lower, to make Jamie understand that yes, she wants this, and yes, she wants it now. “Just fuck me, yeah?”
Jamie is somehow ridiculously turned on by Dani’s request, and she feels the ache between her legs grow stronger. “
God,
I love women who know what they want.”
“And women who know
who
they want?” comes Dani’s bold question, her hips pressing up when Jamie’s fingers travel nearer to where Dani most craves them. “How about them?”
“Depends,” Jamie says as she leans in to bite Dani’s lip, soothing it over with her tongue. “I love it if it’s you wantin’ me.”
“Thought so,” Dani whispers, before she tugs Jamie in to kiss her again.
It’s rougher this time, and Jamie needs to say it., “You,” she mumbles between kisses, feeling herself, “want me,” Jamie’s fingers are wandering closer, torturously slow, and it’s driving Dani insane, “don’t ya?”
Dani sighs, not giving a damn at how fast the answer comes, “I do,
fuck
, I do. I want you so much,” Dani laughs a little, shakes her head, “Thought I made that clear by asking you to fuck me. What else do you want--”
Dani never finishes that sentence.
In its place there’s a heavy moan that escapes both of them when Jamie touches Dani once and for all.
Jamie, because she hadn’t expected Dani to feel so good, and Dani, because it’s all she ever wanted.
And now it’s happening.
“
Christ,
Dani,” Jamie rasps, feeling Dani’s hot arousal coat her fingers as she explores warm, silky skin, “that all for me?”
Dani inhales, her eyelids fluttering. “Mhm-mm.”
“Want to see,” Jamie draws loose circles into her now, feeling how Dani’s clit twitches under the attention, “how soaked my fingers are… From just… This?”
Dani quickly shakes her head, can’t have it taken from her again, not now that she finally has it. “Please, don’t--"
“It won’t take long, promise,” Jamie interrupts softly, fingers straying far from where Dani needs them, so Dani can think, “I just-- Reckon you have no idea how hot you are. I’d show you, if you want.”
Dani wants to say no and ask Jamie to touch her again, but then the curiosity gets the better of her. “Okay, yeah.”
Jamie flashes her a crooked grin, slowly removing her hand from in between Dani’s legs. Dani immediately misses Jamie’s touch, and she regrets having agreed to it.
That is, however, only until she sees the lustful expression on Jamie’s face, when she stares at Dani’s fingers with her lip caught between teeth. “
Fuck
. The state of you.”
Dani almost chokes on air when her gaze inevitably drops to Jamie’s fingers, too.
Oh.
“That’s what my hand looked like when you made your recording for me,” Jamie looks up, eyes dark with want, and at the sight a new wave of liquid heat pools low in Dani’s stomach.
“Only I barely touched you, didn’t I?”
Jamie smirks and brings her fingers to her mouth, slowly, without leaving Dani’s eyes once. Dani’s throat is so dry, it makes it hard to swallow.
It gets worse when Jamie swirls her tongue around one of them, catching a drop that drips down, moaning lowly as she licks the remains of Dani’s arousal off her lips. “Delicious.”
Dani’s huffs. “God, that’s sexy.”
Jamie sends her a small wink, grins. “You are.”
A blush spreads across Dani’s cheeks again, and this time she hides her face in the crook of Jamie’s neck. Jamie can totally feel Dani’s smile against her skin, so there’s no need to keep it a secret, really.
That’s when Jamie’s hand goes back to where it was, to where it belongs. Only this time, Jamie doesn’t tease, and Jamie doesn’t stop.
In fact, she touches Dani like she means it, touches Dani as if her pleasure is Jamie’s, too.
And it is.
Jamie listens to each and every one of Dani’s noises, and it shows, because it doesn’t take long and Jamie’s fingers find the perfect combination of pressure and pace.
“
Jamie
--”
“Does that feel good?”
Dani’s voice sounds beautifully tight, and it does all kinds of things to Jamie. “Oh yeah.”
“You know, I’ve been wanting to be the one who makes you feel that way all this time,” Jamie ducks in to trail soft, open-mouthed kisses down the length of Dani’s throat, and Dani can’t think anymore.
“While I love watching you make yourself good or listen to you make yourself come… Nothing,” Dani feels the tension building, whispers Jamie’s name, “compares to this.”
Delighted how everything she does has some kind of effect on Dani, Jamie hums against her skin, curious what will happen.
It’s this: the vibrations of it send jolts of pleasure straight to Dani’s core, and Jamie can feel another rush of liquid warmth underneath her fingers.
Jamie squeezes her eyes shut, huffs, “good lord.”
In search of some semblance of relief, she rocks softly against Dani’s thigh. She realizes that she does it only when it’s already happening.
Jamie’s fingers slow down, and she draws back, just enough to see Dani’s face.
“Keep doing that,” Dani whispers before Jamie can ask if it’s okay. “I like it when you’re turned on because of me.”
Dani reaches for Jamie’s hand that’s next to her head and tangles their fingers together, brushing over Jamie’s knuckles with her thumb.
The words leave Jamie’s mouth before she can stop them.
“I like
you
.”
Jamie holds her breath when she realizes what she just said. Shit.
Just as Dani wants to say she likes her too, Jamie fingers pick up in pace, wiping Dani’s mind clear of any thought.
“Just know,” Jamie goes back to what she isn’t scared to say, “I wanted this. I wanted you. All this time. Wanted to find out for myself what you like, what really turns you on.”
Dani moans loudly, the knot winding tighter and tighter. “Jamie--"
It’s a challenge now, to form any words beyond that, but Jamie doesn’t seem to mind. In fact, Jamie might be a little addicted to the way her name sounds when Dani says it.
Jamie bites the corner of her lip as she slides her fingers through wet folds, teasing Dani’s entrance. Dani instantly chases the ghost of the friction like it’s all she’s ever wished for.
Jamie, though, has other plans. She shakes her head, smiles, and moves her fingers up again, to massage Dani’s clit in a way she likes, and Dani paints the air with the loveliest of sounds.
“I want you… To come like this,” Jamie gently bites Dani’s jaw, and Dani’s fingers tighten around Jamie’s hand. “Can’t let you have all you want already. That’d only be half the fun.”
“As long as,” Dani whispers in between pants, “you promise me that you’ll make it up to me, then--”
“Promise.”
Happy with the answer, Dani touches Jamie’s fingers through the soaked fabric of her underwear, smiling lazily. “So, make me come. It won’t take much…”
Jamie leans in to kiss Dani again, and Dani can’t wait for Jamie to make it all the way down to her, meets her halfway. “Would love nothin’ more than that.”
It’s over pretty soon after that.
Dani comes, and it’s the most wonderful thing Jamie has ever witnessed. Dani comes, with a sound that is nothing short of erotic, and it shouldn’t be from just this. Dani comes, and she looks angelic, and for a moment Jamie’s sure heaven exists.
Making this happen, Jamie discovers this:
She needs to get Dani out of her clothes, now, and take her to bed, so she can do this again, this time giving Dani all she asks for.
“Come, let me take you to bed,” she husks once Dani’s breathing has returned to the way it was, her heart rate too, and Jamie makes a move to get up from the couch. “Want more of you.”
Dani, still in her post-orgasm daze, curls her fingers around Jamie’s outstretched hand, and lets Jamie get her back to her feet.
“Don’t think-- I can stand right now or walk,” Dani sighs as she wraps her arms around Jamie’s middle, holding her close, and Jamie places a kiss on top of Dani’s head.
Jamie wants to ask if she should carry her there, and in fact she’d love to, because why else does she go to the gym four times a week? Jamie opens her mouth to say just that, but Dani beats her to it.
“But I can kneel.”
Jamie frowns, blinks, “What--”
Before Jamie can say anything else Dani takes a step back, unbuckles Jamie’s belt, and slides her jeans down her thighs to her ankles, and it clicks.
“You had your way with me,” come Dani’s next words as she looks up, hooking her fingers into Jamie’s underwear, “now I have mine with you.”
Jamie swallows, doesn’t know what to say.
“I take it that’s a yes?” Dani asks, tilting her head in question. Dani licks at her lips and looks at Jamie with expectant eyes, and Jamie can all but nod.
Next thing is this:
Jamie’s leaning against the sliding door that separates the living room area from the bedroom, jeans and underwear, socks and boots, are on the floor somewhere.
“You really thought you could have me again, huh?” Dani asks, but it isn’t really a question. She nudges Jamie’s legs further apart, meeting her gaze.
Dani kneeling in front of her is a sight Jamie knows she’ll never forget, not until the end of her days.
“I mean,” Dani scrapes her nails along the inside of Jamie’s thigh, and Jamie sucks in a breath, “you absolutely can, all the ways you want. Just… not now. ‘Cause, now I call the shots.”
Jamie swallows.
Dani unties her hair, and runs a hand through it, and Jamie forgets herself for a moment. “You might want to hold onto it.”
Jamie nods again, and her hands find their way into Dani’s hair, and Dani wraps her arms around Jamie’s thighs.
Without a warning, Dani drags the tip of her tongue up the length of Jamie’s folds, making Jamie moan at the unexpected sensation. “
Christ
.”
Dani hums in pleasure, whispering a hushed, “god, you’re so wet,” and does it again, and again.
“It’s all you,” Jamie husks, careful not to move against Dani’s mouth already. “You did this to me.”
Dani smiles, looks up. “I did, didn’t I?”
“Mhm-mm.”
Dani has dreamed about this more than once.
Not just at night, but in daydreams too, she’s imagined what it would be like to taste Jamie, wondered what Jamie would feel like on her tongue, around her fingers.
But this. This is so much better than in her dreams, and Dani is in complete awe.
Jamie bites down on her lip to keep it down when Dani swirls her tongue around Jamie’s clit a couple of times.
A low sound echoes from the back of Jamie’s throat when Dani starts to lick into her like she was made for it, and Jamie can’t help the sounds that escape her. “Oh my God, Dani--”
Shaky hands flex in Dani’s blonde waves, and Dani looks up long enough to say, “do whatever feels good, yeah? Don’t hold back, please. In any way.”
Jamie swallows, brushing a loose strand away from Dani’s face so she can see her eyes. “Really?”
“Otherwise I wouldn’t say it.”
“Just making sure.”
Dani smiles shyly, placing a soft kiss atop Jamie’s mound of Venus, and the sudden tenderness makes Jamie emotional. “I appreciate that, thank you.”
“Now,” Dani carries on with a tone that can only be described as seductive, and Jamie asks herself how the hell Dani can go from sweet to sexy in a matter of seconds, “let me do this for you.”
Just before Dani dives back in, she has a request:
“Oh, one last thing: don’t tell me when you come, okay? Show me.”
Jamie nods without thinking about it twice.
Whatever thought she has next is gone before Jamie has a chance to think it, and that’s okay, because Dani’s tongue, lips and teeth are doing wonders again.
Dani swirls her tongue around Jamie’s clit, sucking on it at the same time, and Jamie murmurs a “fucking fuck” as her hips begin to jerk softly into Dani’s mouth.
Jamie’s hands tighten more and more in Dani’s hair.
Dani looks up as Jamie looks down and
fuck
, Jamie is breathing heavily above her, her lips parted slightly and her pupils blown wide.
It’s a vision.
Dani wonders what else she can do to Jamie, and she has to ask, can’t wait any longer. “Can I finger you?”
Jamie has been waiting for this, nodding loosely. “Please.”
Jamie feels a hand fall away from her thighs one moment, and feels fingers slide into her the next, welcoming them eagerly, and she can’t keep her eyes open anymore.
And when Dani’s fingers curl inside her, Jamie’s head cants back against the glass wall, and Dani has to steady her when Jamie’s knees dare to give out.
It’s beautiful to see Jamie like this, Dani thinks.
Tousled hair, skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat, face painted over with pleasure, riding Dani’s hand like she’s dreamed of it,too, all this time.
Dani closes her eyes, diving into this sensation that Jamie is, so that she can feel everything.
From the way Jamie’s clit pulsates with arousal, to her walls that twitch rhythmically around fingers, to her legs that shake from the effort of standing.
From the way Jamie’s hands make sure Dani stays where she is, to Dani’s scalp that burns when Jamie holds on a bit too tight, to Dani’s knees that hurt just a little.
From the way Jamie’s breathy moans make Dani want to go again, to the filthy sounds Dani’s fingers make as they slide in and out of Jamie, to the hums Dani just can’t keep in.
“
Dani--
”
Jamie’s voice is thick with lust, low and rough, and to Dani it’s one of the most sensual sounds in existence.
Jamie says Dani’s name over and over again while she fucks herself on Dani’s fingers faster, so fast Dani almost can’t keep up.
It isn’t long and Jamie’s on the edge, inches away at best, and she slows down her thrusts, enough to ask for one last thing:
“Please, look at me, Dani.”
From the moment Dani looks up and sees the pure pleasure on Jamie’s face, it’s only a matter of seconds, and Jamie comes, and Jamie comes hard.
All the way, Jamie watches her, and it makes it much more intense, much more intimate, and Jamie wonders if Dani feels it too.
Jamie rides her orgasm out on Dani’s fingers, and Dani eases her back down, slowly, as the aftershocks subside, before gently sliding her fingers out of Jamie.
It leaves Jamie empty and wanting for more.
Dani discreetly wipes her fingers on her thigh, and her mouth with the back of her hand, and rises back to her feet.
She curls her fingers around Jamie’s waist, kisses the freckle right below her ear, and murmurs, “now, you can take me to bed.”
In the end it’s Dani who takes Jamie to bed.
Jamie, who is somewhere else when Dani curls her fingers around her waist, kisses the freckle under her ear, and murmurs, “now you can take me to bed.”
Jamie, who is still not there when Dani picks up her underwear from the floor, makes Jamie step inside and drags them up. “So you aren’t uncomfortable, while I still got most of my clothes on.”
Jamie, who is slowly coming back to herself when Dani tangles their fingers together, squeezes her hand affectionately as she leads her into the bedroom.
Jamie, who feels her soul fully return into her body when Dani stands in front of her, her gaze heavy with desire, and she never looked so beautiful.
“Did you want to take it off?” comes Dani’s soft spoken question.
Jamie swallows thickly, her voice barely a whisper, “My shirt? Or your dress?”
“Both.”
“
Yeah
.”
Dani’s eyes drop to her lips, and Jamie would notice if she wouldn’t do the same.
“Dress first,” Dani decides.
Jamie’s fingers travel, slowly but confident, from Dani’s waist, lower, to her hips, lower, to her thighs, lower still, until they reach the end of the dress. “You sure?”
Dani nods, and Jamie’s heart thuds against her ribcage so hard she’s sure the other woman hears. “Never been surer about anything ever before.”
Jamie mutters a quiet “okay” as she clutches the fabric between her fingers. Dani puts her arms up as Jamie slowly takes off her dress, making sure Dani’s hair doesn’t get caught in it.
The dress all but slips out of Jamie’s grasp, silently falling to the floor next to the bed when she’s met with the sight in front of her.
Jamie’s eyes widen in surprise and her mouth parts slightly when she sees what Dani is wearing, “God, you look,” she lets out a low whistle, “really good.”
(Dani looks truly breath-taking in her lingerie, and Jamie can’t believe she got it for her.
Even though Jamie adores both pieces Dani had shown her – the black one with the leather straps and the cream-colored lacy one – she thought the second one would be more suitable for their...
thing
.
It’s innocent and sweet but still sexy, which is perfect to kick things off. The other one, Jamie thinks, is a whole new level of erotic and worth saving for next time. Jamie really hopes there is one.)
Dani glances down and back up again. “You picked it out,” she points out, giggling, “so I sure hope you think so.”
“But, dude,” Jamie replies, taking a step back for a better view. “I didn’t think it would look that good on you? I mean it already looked great in the photo. But this. This is--"
Dani frowns. “Wait -- Jamie, did you just
dude
me? You sure know how to talk to a woman, huh?”
“Oh yes, fuck. Sorry,” Jamie apologizes, when she realizes that she did in fact do that. She presses her eyes shut for a moment. “Didn’t mean to be weird. Jesus, I -- ”
Dani shakes her head as she bridges the distance between them again, and Jamie instantly closes her mouth. Dani smiles softly, her hand touching right where Jamie’s heart is. “I’m just messing with you, idiot.”
Jamie heaves a sigh of relief and smiles awkwardly. “Okay, good. I thought I was scarin’ you off.”
“Never,” Dani promises, softly kissing her lips, and Jamie relaxes under the touch. “You’re stuck with me now, whether you like it or not.”
Jamie laughs a little, suddenly feeling warm all over. “Okay.”
“And it was not weird at all,” Dani assures her as she begins to unbutton Jamie’s shirt, unable to wait any longer to get Jamie out of her clothes. “I think it’s adorable.”
Jamie catches a lip between her teeth when she looks at Dani’s fingers and sees what they’re doing. Her voice drops, “What is?”
“That you’re so nervous,” Dani pushes another button through a hole, and Jamie watches her, “you call me dude. You did that on the phone a few days ago, too…”
“I’m not … nervous.” Jamie can’t even look at Dani’s fingers without wishing they were inside her again, and she has to avert her eyes. “Have been, but, uh, I’m not-- I’m not anymore.” Jamie winces, it sounds unconvincing even to her. “I’m not, okay?”
“If you say so.”
“You don’t believe me, do ya?”
“Nah.”
Dani continues to undo Jamie’s buttons, taking her time with each, and Jamie’s breaths come quicker the closer the other woman gets to the bottom.
“What else,” comes her question, when Jamie sucks in a breath as Dani’s nails lightly scrape down her stomach, “would you call this then?”
Jamie swallows at Dani’s words. “What?”
“Your body reacts to me,” Dani says, matter-of-factly. “To the things I do to you, to the things I tell you.”
Jamie purses her lips. “Well, yeah.”
And before they both know it, Dani repeats the action from before.
This time a bit harder, a bit surer. A desperate, erotic noise echoes from low in Jamie’s throat, taking both of them by surprise.
At the sound of it Dani lets out a pleased little hum, and opens her mouth like she wants to say something, something important.
In the end all that comes out of her mouth is a quiet, drawn-out, “Oh My God.”
It takes absolutely everything in Jamie not to ask Dani to just rip her goddamn shirt. Thankfully, Dani shifts her attention back on opening the last couple buttons.
All the way, Jamie watches her.
“Thank fuck,” Jamie mutters under her breath, when it’s finally done. Dani, stuck on how attractive Jamie is in not much more than a shirt, doesn’t hear that.
She dances her fingers on Jamie’s skin, from her stomach to the valley of her breasts, to her sternum and her neck, trying to commit every detail to memory.
They don’t say anything for a while, happy to just be in this moment. Even now Dani knows she’ll never forget this picture.
“If you’re not nervous like you say. What,” Dani dares to ask, looking up to find Jamie’s eyes dark with want, but soft all the same, “are you then?”
“What am I--” Jamie releases a shaky breath. She shakes her head, chuckles. It’s croaky and insanely attractive. “
Fuck
, Dani. Are you really askin’ me that?”
“Maybe you’re excited?” Dani challenges, ignoring Jamie’s question. “Eager? Wound-up?” Dani raises an eyebrow. “Turned on?”
“Dani,” Jamie rasps, looking at Dani as if she could devour her. “You know exactly what you do to me. It’s-- Jesus Fuckin’ Christ, can we please just-- ”
The gravel in Jamie’s voice makes Dani’s knees go weak, and suddenly she is overcome with the strong desire to kiss, touch and make love to Jamie.
And then their lips are crashing.
*
It’s not long and Jamie is sitting on the edge of the bed and Dani softly rocks into her, kissing her hungrily, all lips, teeth and tongue, and Jamie kisses her back just the same.
It’s not long and Jamie’s hands hold onto Dani’s hips tightly, encouraging her to go harder, quicker, because anything less just won’t do.
It’s not long and Dani’s moaning lowly, Jamie’s breathing heavily, and Dani slows down a little and matches the kiss to the pace of her hips.
When Dani breaks the kiss, she whispers breathlessly against Jamie’s lips, “If we keep going I’ll come, and I don’t want to. Not like that. Not if we could--”
Jamie smirks, understands what Dani is trying to say. “Let’s get rid of our clothes then.”
“I’d love that,” Dani says, still moving ever-so-gently against her, and Jamie kisses her deeply once more, wanting to feel close to her in every way possible.
Jamie wants to get one more thing out there. “I said it before and I will say it again. You look really
really
good in your lingerie.”
“Really?”
A hand comes up to lightly squeeze one of Dani’s breasts, and Jamie brushes over a taut nipple with her thumb, causing the other woman to bite down on her lip. “Yes. As if it was made for you.”
Dani blushes a little, and Jamie wonders if she’ll ever stop being so enamoured with Dani, or if this is just the beginning. “You mean it?”
“I do,” Jamie promises, and Dani smiles shyly, mumbling a quiet “you’re sweet”, as she skids her hands underneath Jamie’s shirt.
“I’d never lie about somethin’ like that,'' Jamie says, and means it. “Wouldn’t lie to you about anythin’, really.”
Dani pushes the shirt over Jamie’s shoulders, and down her arms. “Wouldn’t lie to you either. Not ever,” she says, as she lets the shirt drop next to the bed, and Jamie believes her.
“It’s almost a shame,” Jamie whispers, dragging a strap of Dani’s bra down her shoulder, just enough to tease Dani a little. “It’ll be on the floor for the rest of the night. Don’t ya' think?”
“Yeah,” Dani whispers back, swiftly and smoothly taking off the bra, and adding it to the heap of clothes. “Such a shame.”
“How high are the chances I get to see you in one of those again sometime?” comes Jamie’s keening question as she strips off her own. It would only be fair.
Dani pretends to think, but already knows the answer. “Hm, if tonight is going well, then I’d say things are looking good for you.”
“Things are already goin’ well, aren’t they?” Jamie smirks, her hands reaching around to the small of Dani’s back to bring her in, so that they’re flush together.
Dani all but arches into the touch. “They are.”
“Hm.”
“You know, at first,” Dani kisses Jamie’s lips sensually, humming at the feeling of Jamie’s skin warm against her own, “I wanted to dance for you a little … if that’s something you’re into. You know, so you don’t forget about our night together, but--”
“I could
never
,” Jamie husks against Dani’s lips, as she hooks her fingers onto Dani’s underwear, tugging her impossibly closer, “forget about any of this.”
Dani moans softly, when she feels Jamie’s warmth against her own, and she knows Jamie must feel it too. “Promise me... Promise me you won’t.”
Jamie doesn’t hesitate at all, murmurs, “I promise,” and seals it with a kiss. Dani thinks she might be a little in love.
“You were sayin’?”
Dani, who had just made a discovery, she doesn’t know the meaning of yet, takes a long moment to figure out what Jamie talks about.
“I was saying,” Dani says, shoving her thoughts concerning her emotions to the back of her brain. “I wanted to dance for you, really, I would’ve loved that, but,” Dani curls her fingers into Jamie’s hair, suddenly very feeling cheeky, “I like your idea much better.”
“That so?”
“Mhm-mm.”
Jamie pulls back a little, when Dani slips her tongue past Jamie’s lips, craving another kiss. ”You know, you could, uh, always dance for me later? Why not both?”
“Both?” Dani asks, knowing better than to chase the kiss Jamie won’t let her have. Instead she quickly flicks the tip of her tongue up against Jamie’s lips, and Jamie’s breath catches, “A next time
and
a little dance?”
Jamie nods loosely, her voice thicker every time she talks. “ ‘Cause
I am
into that last part. Wouldn’t want to miss it.”
“Well,” Dani grins, drawing back too, when it’s Jamie who tries to kiss her. “I guess we know what we’ll do later.”
*
“I’ve dreamed of this,” Jamie husks against the shell of Dani’s ear, and a breathy puff escapes the other woman’s lips.
“Of kissin’ you
here
,” Jamie kisses Dani’s neck in a way that has both aching for more, “and
there
,” and kisses her right below her collar bone, too.
“Of bitin’ you
here
,” Jamie lets her teeth graze a hardened nipple, and Dani hisses softly, “and
there
,” she whispers, nibbling at the swell of Dani’s hips light enough to make her buck.
“Of tastin’ you
here
,” Jamie runs her tongue up the insides of Dani’s thighs that shiver a little in anticipation. Dani spreads her legs willingly, when she’s asked to, and Jamie whispers, “and
there
,” giving Dani’s clit a tiny lick.
Dani swears at the sensation of this first touch, a soft, “fuck,” tumbling from her lips.
Jamie’s tongue is gone as soon as it was there, and even if Dani longs for more, she can still feel the tiny jolt of pleasure coursing through her for seconds to come.
“I’ve dreamed of you.”
Jamie looks up, finding Dani’s eyes heavy-lidded and dark, much like her own, and when Dani begs for it, Jamie licks into her again, and again, and again, without looking away.
Dani moans, and it’s beautiful and Jamie wants to hear it every day for the rest of her life. Dani arches into Jamie’s mouth, her eye-lids fluttering as she fights to keep them open.
“I dreamed of me.”
A small whine escapes Dani as she slumps back onto the bed, when Jamie stops what she’s doing, and Jamie feels just a little sorry.
(“Can I ask you somethin’?” Jamie asks, a playful smile dancing on her lips. She’s certainly enjoying this way more than she should.
Dani’s answer comes right away. “Yes.”
“If I remember correctly you said you like being told that you’re good.”
Jamie doesn’t miss the way Dani’s hips jut upwards as she says it.
“Do you wanna be a good girl for me,” Jamie husks, placing a kiss on Dani’s clit, and it twitches under the attention, “so I can tell you that you are?”
Something tells her that Dani has to fight hard to not push Jamie’s head back to where it was, and make her shut up the best possible way.
Any other time Jamie would love that.
Tonight, she has other plans.
“Yep. Yeah. I can do that,” Dani answers, her legs quivering so intensely she has to press her heels into the mattress. “I’d love to be good for you.”
Jamie caresses Dani’s thighs and smiles at her, “I promise to make it worth your while.”)
“I dreamed of us.”
Jamie dives in once more, collects some of Dani’s arousal with her tongue and licks all the way from there up her body until she reaches her lips, and lets Dani have a taste.
(Later Dani will tell her it’s hands down the most erotic thing that has ever been done to her, and she couldn’t remember a time she was so turned on.
Up to that moment, at least.)
Jamie draws back to gauge her reaction, and Dani stares at her in a way that has Jamie’s whole body burning with desire for her.
All she wants is to give in.
“Jesus--fuck. You’re makin’ this hard.”
Dani’s lips twitch and she flashes Jamie an incredulous look. “Me?”
“Yeah, you. Lookin’ at me like that--"
“
Jamie
. Why do you think that is?”
A hand travels down between Dani’s legs, wetness smearing onto a fingertip as she dips it inside Dani, quickly, before doing the same with her finger as she did with her tongue seconds before.
“Because you like it when I have my way with you?” comes Jamie’s teasing question, when Dani eagerly sucks Jamie’s finger into her mouth, releasing a satisfied hum.
“God, I do,” Dani admits, when Jamie eases her finger back out. “And I like you. Meant to say it back to you earlier, but you didn’t give me a chance.”
“Sorry ‘bout that… I like you too.” Jamie beams, her heart doing a happy dance.
Dani flushes heavily, and she hides her face in the pillow. “I know,” she mumbles into it, and it’s one of the cutest things Jamie has ever seen.
“Now,” Jamie speaks after a moment, her fingers caressing Dani’s skin, “do you mind if I carry on? I’d really like to make you come sometime tonight. And if you keep distractin’ me, then--”
Dani, all pink cheeks and stupidly appealing lips, turns to look at her and giggles. “I’d like to say I’m sorry but I’m not. It’s as much your fault as it is mine, that we aren’t getting anywhere.”
“Don’t you want to come?”
Dani’s look falters, when she realizes her mistake. “I do.”
Jamie takes a deep breath, hoping her emotions do not betray her voice. “Thing is. Only good girls get to come, and right now you aren’t. So, what should we do about it?”
Dani's throat bobs with a rough swallow. “Fuck, I--"
“So, I dreamed about you, yeah?” Jamie begins anew, smiling, deciding to let Dani get away with it, like she always does. “You, you,
you
.”
Dani feels a sensation of relief washing through her. She really has to learn to think before she speaks. “What--What did you dream about?”
Jamie nibbles on her lip, her fingers slowly going back to where they were.
“A lot of things. Things like ... You, underneath me. So turned-on, so desperate, that just this,” Jamie captures Dani’s clit between two digits, “is makin’ you cry out in pleasure,” and slowly strokes them up and down.
And of course, Dani can’t stop the sound that escapes her at the feeling of it.
Just like Jamie had said.
Jamie withdraws her fingers once again, and Dani has to bite down on her tongue to keep herself from saying something stupid. Jamie just gives her a ‘that’s what I meant-look’ and licks them clean.
It isn’t long and Jamie settles in between Dani’s legs, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along the length of Dani’s thighs, teasing her a bit more.
She softly bites every bit of skin she can find, and leaves love marks, here and there, too. It’s exhilarating as much as it is tormenting.
Dani wants nothing more than to come (at some point tonight) so she keeps her mouth shut.
As if Jamie could read Dani’s mind, she says, “
You
, wanting to beg me to finally touch you, for real this time, but you won’t because I told you to be good. And you are, Dani. So, so good. ”
Nothing could have prepared for the effect a praise from Jamie would have on her, and she has to ask. “Say that again.
Please
.”
Jamie hums with delight, and says it again like she couldn’t deny Dani a thing in the world. “You’re so, so good.”
Dani moans softly, balling up the sheets in her fists, when Jamie’s swirls her tongue around a swollen, pulsating clit, offering some relief but at the same time making it much worse. “So, so good.”
Jamie looks up just to say this,
“
You
, on top of me, ridin’ me in whatever way you want, like you dreamed your whole life about it."
but clearly hadn’t expected Dani’s reaction to it.
Before both of them know, Dani turns to her side and on her knees with Jamie still between her legs.
Now her knees are bracketing Jamie’s head and her heat aligns perfectly with Jamie’s mouth.
“Like that, you mean?”
Jamie’s eyes widen a little, and she swallows hard. “Jesus Christ, that was smooth. How--"
“Just doing what you asked me to,” Dani answers with a shy smile. “That’s how you want me, right?”
A strong wave of arousal washes through Jamie’s body at Dani’s choice of words. “Yeah.”
Jamie’s arms come up and wrap around Dani’s thighs to steady her, because she’s got nothing else to hold on, and this works just as well.
“Please,” Dani whispers, with the same smile that’ll kill Jamie one day, “carry on.”
Jamie clears her throat, pinching her brow in concentration. “Right, okay.”
She laughs a little, when she can’t – as much as she tries – remember what she wanted to say. “How dare you make me forget the things I wanna say? Hm?”
Dani’s grins proudly at this. “Sorry, not sorry.”
“Anyway,” Jamie tilts her head to the side, grins back at her, “Let’s get straight to the point. Be a good girl for me and ride my face? Think you can do that?”
“Fuck," is all Dani can say.
Jamie licks her lips unconsciously, as she gives Dani the time to decide if she wants this, because Dani could say no anytime, and it’d be okay.
(Oh, Dani wants.
She just wants to enjoy the vision of Jamie below her like that for a moment, because this is the last chance.
As soon as they do this, it’ll be tough to hold Jamie’s eyes.
Once she stored this picture in her brain to keep it there forever, Dani slowly lowers herself on Jamie’s mouth.)
“I dreamed of you, too, you know,” come Dani’s words, and Jamie’s eyes snap up to her, away from the sight in front of her, that has her dizzy with want.
“You did?”
“
Yes
,” Dani breathes, a hand finding home on one of Jamie’s on her thigh, and she brushes her fingers over them. “Want me to tell you … What my dreams were about? They’re
quite
a bit like yours.”
“If you, uh, can. Talk, I mean. While I--While you--" Jamie stammers, an image of Dani having sexual dreams about her is flashing behind her eyes, and she loses her train of thought. “I mean, yeah. If you, uh, can?”
“I’ll give my best,” Dani says with a small chuckle. “I want to, you know. Tell you what I dreamed.” Jamie looks at her, trying to collect herself, but it’s hard. “Because I want to do this with you, together. If that’s okay. So if you could, put your mouth on me … That’d be great.”
God help her, all Jamie can do is nod.
Jamie wastes no more time and captures Dani’s swollen bud with her lips for good. She swirls her tongue around it, sucking gently at the same time, delighting in Dani’s taste.
Dani tips her head back, and moans deliciously at the feeling that now isn’t just a fleeting thing anymore. “Oh, that feels good, holy shit
.
”
For a long moment, Dani’s completely lost in the sensation.
An astonishing sensation that is only heightened by the things Jamie did to her and didn’t. Dani hadn’t expected the aftermath of Jamie’s teasing to be this intense, this consuming.
“Whatever you do,
don’t
--stop, please.”
(Never, Jamie thinks. Not if you sound like this. Not if you look like this.)
Dani takes a steadying breath, deciding she’ll do this in the same fashion as Jamie did.
Though, maybe in not as many words, given how much of a challenge it is to talk in this state. Let alone form anything beyond simple sentences.
“In my dreams,” Dani begins, as she clutches Jamie’s fingers tighter for balance, “there’s you, me, us.”
Dani starts to move against Jamie’s mouth, and there’s a pleased hum coming from Jamie, and Dani has never felt so sexy up to this very moment.
There’s something unbelievably arousing about Jamie being genuinely into pleasuring Dani and knowing it does things to her, too.
“
You
,” says Dani, glancing down, and Jamie’s look says more than words ever could, “having me in all the ways you please--"
Dani can’t for the life of her keep her eyes open, and cuts herself off with a long, frenzied moan. She’s never been more grateful for the soundproof walls.
“Me,” says Dani, and a hand falls away from one of Jamie’s, and it smooths down her lover’s stomach, finding itself again where she longs for it the most, “making sure you know,” Jamie hums into Dani’s skin, when nimble fingers begin to tease her clit, “just how, good you feel, oh fuck--"
Jamie sucks on the other woman’s clit a bit harder, unintentionally, when she draws tight circles into her, but Dani doesn’t mind at all. “
Jamie
-- just like that, oh my--God."
It gets more difficult to talk by the second, it’s strangled and hoarse, but Dani won’t stop now, not for anything in the world.
“Us,” says Dani, and matches the rhythm of her hips with the one of her fingers, “making each other feel good,” and the intensity of her pleasure builds, “like we got all the time in the world.”
“There’s just you,” Dani leans back far enough to sink two fingers into Jamie, and Jamie hums in pleasure at the stretch it creates, her walls twitching hungrily around them,“and me.”
Dani’s fingers curl as her palm drives up into Jamie’s clit, teasing it at the same time, just how Jamie likes it, “nothing else really matters.”
“Oh, Jamie --
right there
,” Dani moans - it’s down-right sinful, even to her ears - when Jamie stimulates her clit in a way that’s just perfect, and she's hurtling towards the edge. “I’m so--
fuck.”
Dani continues to thrust her fingers steadily between Jamie’s legs, a bit harder than she wants to, but the other woman meets every pump with a movement of her own eagerly.
The air is painted with filthy sounds coming from both of them: from wet noises to soft hums to high-pitched whines to fingers twisting and curling and,
oh
.
Dani can never finish that thought because she’s--
“Jamie,
I’m gonna come. Fuck, I want you to come with me."
Jamie nods below her, her hips bucking hard into Dani’s palm. Sensing her lover’s silent plea for more friction, Dani eases them out, and enters Jamie again just a second later with three.
Jamie can’t help but moan into Dani’s skin, her nails leaving deep red marks in her flesh when it happens. “Dani,
fuck
.”
Dani would lie if she said she didn’t take pride in making Jamie an absolute mess, with just knowing how to work her fingers.
And, well.
It’s over pretty soon after that.
Dani’s legs begin to stutter, a tell-tale sign of a nearing orgasm, next to shortness of breath and a racing pulse, and a new gush of warmth flooding her core.
Dani’s orgasm washes through her like a tidal wave, with Jamie’s name on her lips like a prayer. To feel Dani unravel on her tongue, ultimately pushes Jamie over the edge too.
“Are you satisfied, or would you like to go again?” Dani asks with a cocky smile, when she coaxed the last drop of pleasure out Jamie.
“Yeah, of course I want to. What a question,” says Jamie, her eyes crinkling around the edges, “if someone’s got stamina, it’s me.”
“Love that,” says Dani, flashing Jamie a wink, “because we’re far from done here.”
A couple minutes into the next round, and Dani craves more. She wants to feel Jamie inside her, deep, and she doesn’t think she can go without.
Not for much longer, anyway.
What’s more, her thighs tremble from the effort of being in this position, and the odd angle makes her wrist burn, so why the hell not change things up.
She slows down the rocking of her hips, but still crooks her fingers carefully and thrusts gently. She’s come to love the feeling of Jamie, warm and soft, around her fingers, and she doesn’t want it to stop.
Dani’s voice is barely there, when she says Jamie’s name. However, it’s loud enough for Jamie to hear, and she looks up, finding Dani’s eyes. “Hey, everythin’ okay?”
Jamie’s so beautifully out of breath, her hair is sex-rumpled and perfect and it almost knocks Dani out in its loveliness.
Dani’s not sure if Jamie’s aware of the fact that she’s still a bit riding her hand, even though her fingers aren’t moving inside Jamie anymore, and it makes the moment all the more wonderful.
“Yes, it’s just--" Dani worries her lip between her teeth, and Jamie looks at her, gentle and patient-as-ever, even now, while she tries to work out a way to phrase this.
After all they’ve done, Dani wonders why she’d even hold back if she could just say it. It’s not like they have rules to follow around here.
“I want to feel you inside me,” she finally says. “I need more,” a tongue darts out to swipe at her lips, and she softly caresses Jamie’s fingers, “and I think you can give me that.”
Jamie swallows thickly, her eyes clouded with desire, and Dani could drown in them. “Anythin’ you want, Dani.”
“
Please
, I can’t think of anything else. Can we--Now? Now, now?”
Jamie nods, clears her throat. “Yeah, absolutely. What do you want me to do?”
“I’ll show you.”
Dani slowly slides her fingers out, and smiles apologetically. “Sorry, ‘bout that. Just a moment, yeah?”
“No problem,” Jamie says, even though she feels hollow without them, and her walls hunt the echo.
She shifts to half-lie on Jamie, leaving just about enough room for two hands to work alongside, and eases her fingers back in, all three at once. Jamie screws her eyes shut, “Christ.”
Dani takes one of Jamie’s hands, and shows her the way between her legs. There, she puts a hand on Jamie’s, and slightly pushes the fingertips in. “Please."
Jamie nods, and sinks two fingers in, as deep as she can, and she feels the tension leaving Dani’s body as she relaxes. “Oh, my God, Jamie."
Dani’s tight, and warm, and wet, and soft, and Jamie gets how the other woman didn’t want to miss out on this. “That better?”
“Oh, yeah.”
“How does this feel?” Jamie asks, sliding her fingers out to the first knuckle, watching how Dani chases the touch, before easing them back in.
Dani makes a small noise, a sort of hum. “I like that.”
“And how about this?” comes Jamie’s next question as she tries to find out what Dani likes, and curls her fingers inside her. It’s soft but not too soft, and she hopes to have found the perfect spot.
Dani releases a breathy moan that sounds so beautiful in its unexpectedness, Jamie thinks she might faint. “Oh, this is --
fuck
.”
Jamie swallows, and so turned on she’s basically dripping on Dani’s hand, “Okay, you’re going to kill me if you keep this up.”
Dani shushes her. “Less talking, more of …
this
”, and her fingers pick up where they left off moments before, and Jamie can’t think anymore, “yeah?”
“Yeah. Yeah. That sounds--"
It’s a challenge to find out what works for both, but they make it. In the end this way of doing things is very enjoyable too, it turns out.
(While Dani loved riding Jamie, feeling soft hums reverberating through her veins, and the sting of nails digging into her skin, Jamie’s moans spilled into her mouth as they kiss, is much, much,
much
better.
While Jamie loved having Dani like this, warm and salt-slick on her tongue, and each drive of hips hungrier than the last, nothing compares to Dani’s body flush against her own, like she can’t get enough.)
There’s nothing between them except fingers; buried deep inside the other, pressing up as they slide out, before pumping back in; or the same fingers, stroking, soundly, at just the perfect pace.
This time, when Jamie comes, and Dani follows suit, no one says a thing.
Some things don’t need words to describe them. Some things go without saying. Some things are perfect on their own.
Sometimes, most times, words that truly matter, take time.
Happy and sated, they lie on the bed, facing each other, smiling like love-struck teenagers, and they haven’t said a thing in a long time.
“Hi,” Dani whispers, breaking the silence.
Jamie’s glad someone did, and whispers back, “Hi.”
“It’s you.” Dani shakes her head slightly, looking as if she had just made a life-changing discovery. “It’s really you.”
Jamie thinks about Dani’s words a moment, her voice quiet when she speaks, “Yeah.”
Dani heaves a sigh, tucking a curl behind Jamie’s ear. “God, I can’t believe I found you. I never thought I would.”
“You were--looking for me?” is what Jamie says next, her eyes widening in surprise, and her heart speeds up in her chest.
“No, I wasn’t,” Dani answers in all honesty. “It’s like the thing with four-leaf clovers. You’re not supposed to search for them. You’d give up long before you found one. Instead you--"
“Spot them, right where you are,” Jamie fills in.
“Yeah,” Dani agrees.
They go silent again for a moment, and Jamie can’t bear it.
There’s so much to say, so many things to talk about.
No one really knows where to begin.
Then, Jamie has an inspiration. Maybe they just need a bite to eat and take things from there. “Hey, you hungry?”
“Hungry?” Dani asks, incredulity tinging her voice, and she giggles. “I’m
starving
.”
Jamie turns to her back and reaches for the phone on the nightstand, grinning. “Thought so. Well, good thing room service is available all ‘round the clock, right?”
*
“So, for your episode, I’ve thought of something that I’m sure your fans will love,” Dani begins, picking a strawberry from the plate and dipping it into the melted chocolate. “Given I’m one of them,” she brings the fruit to Jamie’s lips, smiles, “I must know.”
Jamie takes a bite, and Dani pops the other half into her mouth. “Oh, really?” Jamie teases, once she swallowed. “Tell me more.”
“Well, I’d want to spice things up a little.” Dani leans over and swipes a bit of chocolate from the corner of Jamie’s lips, and licks it off her finger.
“You give up control, you know, just for this episode,” Dani goes for a banana this time, dunks it, and Jamie opens her mouth, “and someone else will tell you what to do.”
Jamie likes where this goes, grins. “Okay.”
Dani takes a sip of her champagne, trying to hide a grin behind the glass. Will you,” Jamie raises her eyebrows, “be that someone?”
Dani shakes her head, “No, sorry,” and sets down her glass on the nightstand. “I asked the cute girl at the bar, if she wanted to join us later tonight, to make your episode and all that, and she said yes.”
Jamie decides to play along. “Oh, well, I cannot say I’m mad about it,” she says, remembering the attractive barista from the hotel lobby. Viola. That’s what was written on her name tag.
“All I had to do is promise her I’d let her have you for half an hour or so, and she’d do all I want her to,” Dani carries on, taking another bite. “I’d be here to watch, obviously. Might even join you two, if I’m up for it.”
Jamie cackles, reaching for a piece of peach. “You know, if I didn’t know you’re jokin’, I would’ve believed ya’.” She dips half of the fruit into the thick liquid, grinning, “that we are ‘bout to get some company.”
“Who says I’m joking?” Dani shoots back, and Jamie’s fruit all but drops into the chocolate. Her eyes flick up, meeting Dani’s. “What?”
“Yeah, I texted her when you were in the bathroom, earlier.” Dani checks the time on her phone. It’s almost midnight. “She should be here any minute now, actually.”
Jamie frowns, searching for the piece of fruit with a wooden skewer that came with the chocolate fondue. “Hold up, are you serious?”
Dani leans in closer, plucking the chocolate-covered fruit from Jamie’s skewer with her teeth once she has fished it out. “Come on, as if I’d share you.”
“Then why would you--"
“Stupid question, stupid answer. Of course I’d be that
someone
.” A moment slips by. “Unless,” Dani says, sharing the last strawberry with Jamie, “you’d rather do this with Viola.”
Jamie shakes her head, smiling softly. “I just want you.”
Dani returns the smile, and Jamie’s soul floods with sunshine, and she doesn’t know what to do with that.
Dani gets up from the bed and puts the now empty plate and chocolate fondue back onto the dining car.
“Look,” Dani says, suddenly sounding a bit nervous. “I’ve never done this, not like this, but I’ve always wanted to,” she pads over to the nightstand, to fetch their glasses. “So if you’re okay with that, I’d like to find out what it’s like?”
Jamie sits up on the bed, watching the other woman intently. The attraction she feels towards her is off the charts. “What’d be ‘this’ exactly?”
Dani finishes her drink, setting both glasses down next to the dishes and the bottle cooler. “I’m not an expert when it comes to gay slang,
but
I’d really like to top? If that’s okay with you. If not that’s--"
Dani trails off and Jamie joins her, slinging her arms around Dani’s middle. She presses a soft kiss on her shoulder, another one between her shoulder blades, and Dani moans softly.
“You can,” Jamie whispers into Dani’s skin, delighting in how she reacts to such a simple action, “top me, any time, any day. Never shy away, when it comes to something you want, yeah?”
Dani nods, melting into the comforting touch. “Okay.”
“Let me just get my equipment ready,” Jamie says, slowly letting go of Dani, and she misses her already. “I’ll be back in no time.”
Dani smiles happily, feeling more like herself again. “You better.”
Dani, who always has some sort of plan, walks into the bathroom once Jamie drops out of sight, and starts to run a bath. She unscrews the cap of a bath oil she bought along and adds some to the water.
“Do you already know where you’d like to do this?” Jamie calls from the living room area, reappearing a moment later with a couple mics, some cables, her notebook and a few other things.
When Jamie spots Dani leaning onto the edge of the tub, instead of by the bed where she left her, sending Jamie a playful look, she can’t help the grin that breaks out on her face.
“Bathtub, it is.”
*
“Okay, we’re good to go,” Jamie says, once she prepared all that’s needed for the recording of the episode. She holds up a little device, smirks. “All we need to do is to press play.”
Dani hops down from the countertop, where she’s been sitting cross-legged while she waited for Jamie to set everything up. “Well, then,” she says. “What are we waiting for?”
She takes off her lover’s button-up shirt, which she's been wearing since their snacks arrived about an hour ago. While Dani loved wearing it, she’s happy it’s gone again.
It’s a cliché, yes, but it really does look better on the floor.
“So, uh, what’s the … plan here?” comes Jamie’s question, visibly caught off guard by the sight of Dani suddenly naked in front of her. “Anything I need to know, or … "
The way Jamie looks at her, all wanting and lovely, isn’t something she’ll get used to anytime soon. Dani nibbles lightly on her lip. “You’ll see.”
She steps into the bathtub, finding that the water has just the perfect temperature. It smells faintly of the fruity fragrance of the bath oil she added earlier.
Once she sits, she bends her legs at the knees, spreading them for Jamie to sit in between. “Come here, baby.”
And without another word, Jamie does.
“This is just about you,” Dani whispers into her ear, when Jamie has made herself comfortable in Dani’s embrace. “Don’t think about those who’ll listen to this, yeah?”
Dani runs her slick fingers up and down Jamie’s arms, leaving goosebumps in their wake despite the warmth of the water surrounding them.
Jamie’s voice is quiet and needy when she says, “What should I be thinking about instead?”
“Think about me,” Dani whispers, “in whichever way you want. Every thought, every picture, every feeling is allowed.”
Jamie swallows. “Okay.”
“You can start the recording whenever you’re ready.” Dani nods to the little device in Jamie’s hand. She kisses her right below her ear, her lips barely touching her skin.
“Oh, one more thing.” Dani kisses her there again, and again, “if you shouldn’t be comfortable uploading this episode for whatever reason, don’t worry. I won’t be mad or anything, promise.”
Jamie nods. It’s all she can do right now, it turns out.
Once she pressed play, she goes to to set the remote down onto the stool, where her notebook is, but nearly sends it flying to the floor.
Somehow, she catches it at the last moment.
(Dani giggles a little. She whispers so only Jamie can hear what she says, “Nervous, are we?”
Jamie won’t deny it a third time, that Dani’s really out there making her feel this way by just being
Dani
. “A bit.”
“There’s no need to be,” she says. “It’s just me, remember?”
“Yeah, that’s kinda the point.” Jamie tangles their fingers together under water and squeezes them lovingly. “It’s
you
. That’s why I am. Nervous.”
Dani squeezes back, and Jamie might be a little in love. “How about we turn that emotion into something else?”)
Once she made sure on the screen of Jamie’s notebook that the recording has started, Dani says, “Hi, and welcome to a new episode of Sounds of Pleasure by J. Taylor.”
Across from the bathtub there’s a giant mirror with a fancy golden frame hanging on the wall. Jamie can barely bite back a grin for some reason. Dani has to try hard to keep her voice steady.
“My name is Dani,” she catches Jamie’s eyes in the mirror and gives her a serious look, “And tonight things will play out a little differently.”
Jamie doesn’t care.
Okay, then.
“Some of you already might be familiar with my name, as it has,” she puts the next words in air quotes, even though only Jamie can see, “
come up
in the last episode.”
Jamie huffs, and there’s still that goofy expression on her face. “Dani..."
Dani ignores it. “Jamie had said it without thinking, while she was … you know. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about. It wasn’t hard to miss.”
“Dani,” Jamie warns again, blushing a little at the memory. “That’s okay though,” Dani squeezes Jamie’s hand another time, “because I said hers too. More often than I can count.”
A moment slips by, and they look at each other in the mirror. Jamie still grins, teeth and all. Dani isn’t having it.
“If you ask me,” Dani speaks after a little while. “There’s only one thing better than someone touching themselves to the thought of you. It’s them, saying your name while they do it.”
Jamie’s look falters, and she bites down on her lip.
“That’s just about the hottest thing, don’t you think?” comes Dani’s question, and it’s clear it’s directed at no one else than Jamie.
“I didn’t want her to just imagine,” Dani squeezes Jamie’s hand one more time, and lets go, “so I booked a hotel suite, and invited her over, and she came.”
Dani laughs a little, when she realizes how that sounded. “To see me and, well, also the other thing… A couple of times.”
Dani spots how one of Jamie’s travels dangerously close to ‘forbidden’ territory, so she encircles Jamie’s wrists, places her hands on the side of the tub. She whispers quietly into Jamie’s ear, smiling, “Hands where I can see them.”
Jamie swallows, holding on tight. “Okay.”
“Anyway, I asked her a little while ago if she wanted to make an episode together and she said yes. So that’s what we’re doing. We got a bit … distracted,” Dani looks Jamie over in the mirror, liking this way more than she thought, “but hey, we’re here now.”
Dani’s fingers draw figures into Jamie’s skin as she speaks.
“Tonight I call the shots. If that’s not something you can enjoy, you can always come back next time. For the others, and
Jamie
,” she winks at her, causing Jamie to blush some more, “thank you for coming along on the ride.”
Dani smiles into Jamie’s hair, feeling more excited now than anything else. “Are you ready?”
“Don’t know what for,” Jamie clears her throat. “But you can do all you want to me. Really, I’m up for anythin’.”
Dani hums, softly biting Jamie’s shoulder. “I just want to make you come … That’s all.”
Jamie’s fingers tighten, and she presses her legs together in search for some semblance of relief. “Oh God.”
This doesn’t go unnoticed by Dani, and a hand smooths down Jamie’s front and underwater, nudging her legs apart again. “Uh-uh, you can’t do that.”
“Please,” Jamie begs, and Dani just shakes her head.
She caresses the insides of Jamie’s thighs to soothe the ache, but the water flows a little against Jamie’s clit, and it makes her squirm.
Dani giggles, placing a kiss on the same spot where she left a faint bite mark. “God, I had no idea how much you want me.”
Jamie laughs a little, doesn’t know what else to do. “C’mon, you had to know. It’s not that I’m trying to hide it or anything.”
Dani hums again, her fingers wandering closer to where Jamie’s wanted to go, but she withdraws them just an inch or so before they reach the destination. “Maybe I had an idea.”
Jamie exhales shakily, her hips chasing the touch that Dani denied her. “Well, you sure know now.”
Dani’s hands are all over Jamie’s body then, memorizing each and every detail.
From the swell of her breasts, and the nipples that harden under her touch. To the dips of her hips that Dani finds so attractive. To the soft skin of her stomach, and the muscles there that contract when Dani’s hands travel over it.
Dani skates her tongue up Jamie’s throat, and husks. “I love how you feel against me.”
“Yeah?” Jamie asks, a little out of breath.
Dani’s a little out of breath too. “Yeah.”
Their eyes meet in the mirror. Jamie’s face is painted over with arousal, and Dani hasn’t seen her like that before. “Oh, my God, the way you look at me when you’re turned on.”
Jamie whines a little.
“Oh, and don’t get me started on the tiny noises you make when I say something that does it for you. Do you have any idea how wet that makes
me
?”
Jamie swallows, her chest heaving from the effort of holding back. “Please, Dani, touch me already.”
“Just because it’s you,” Dani says, deciding that Jamie has waited long enough, and she lets her fingers travel lower, and lower. “And I like you so much.”
Jamie can’t help the dirty sounds that slip past her lips, when Dani’s fingers finally touch her where she needs it the most. The water ripples softly, as Dani begins to rub Jamie’s clit in an easy rhythm.
“Oh, you sound so sexy right now,” Dani breathes against the shell of her lover’s ear, her fingers working a little faster. “I could listen to you all day.”
“
Fuck
,” Jamie pants, her hips bucking into Dani’s hand like she can’t get enough, “keep doing that.”
Dani nibbles on Jamie’s earlobe, trying to speak slowly, calmly, even though it’s very hard. “Doing what?”
“Talking to me,” Jamie grinds out, her knuckles bone-white from holding on so tight. “
God
, I love it when you talk like that.”
Dani’s eyes meet Jamie’s in the mirror. They’re dark with lust, they must be, she can see it from here. “Like what?”
“Like you want to make me come with your words.”
“
Jamie
--"
It doesn’t take much more, and Jamie’s almost there.
Dani can tell in the way Jamie drops her head on her shoulder. And in the way her eyes slip closed, unable to hold Dani’s gaze anymore.
Jamie moans are shorter now, and they come quicker, and Jamie’s hands let go of the side of the tub. One threads into Dani’s hair, pulling a little, and the other finds Dani’s and clasps them together.
“Are you going to come for me?” comes Dani’s question, brushing her thumb over Jamie’s knuckles, and Jamie nods loosely. “Yeah.”
It’s not long and Jamie forgets to breathe for a moment. Fingers tighten in Dani’s hair, and Jamie’s legs are all shaky, and Dani knows that’s it. “Fuck, baby, ‘m about to--
fuck
."
“I know.” Dani smiles into Jamie’s skin, feeling just a little proud of herself. “I know.”
Dani’s fingers speed up, just a little, and she gives all she got, wanting to make sure Jamie has a satisfying orgasm.
“Please, say it,” Jamie says, her voice high-pitched and needy. “Can you--please.”
To Dani it’s obvious what Jamie wants, even though she can’t voice it right now. Dani whispers it into her ear, so the words are only Jamie’s.
“Come for me, Jamie.”
*
They’re wrapped in fluffy bath robes, cuddling on the bed when Jamie realizes she hasn’t got a chance to give Dani her present. “I got you a little something, by the way.”
“Oh, you shouldn’t have,” Dani replies, her cheeks growing warm, and she’s glad Jamie can’t see it in the dimly lit room.
“I wanted to.” Jamie clears her throat, shifting awkwardly so she can look at Dani. “Flowers seemed a bit inappropriate for the occasion, so, uh. I got you a cactus. Yeah. A bunny-ear cactus, to be exact.”
“Really?”
Jamie makes a tiny noise of agreement. “It’s in my bag,” she presses a tender kiss to Dani’s forehead, and Dani melts like ice-cream in the sun. “Let me get it for ya.”
Jamie rises from the bed and returns just a moment later with a little cactus in hand, with a cute pot and all. Dani sits up against the headboard and flicks on the bedside lamp, so she can see it better.
“Aww, I can see why it’s called a bunny-ear cactus,” Dani beams, accepting the plant when Jamie hands it to her with a cute smile. She looks at it, and touches it tentatively, surprised it’s not as stingy as she thought.
The bed dips when Jamie sits down next to her. “You like it?”
Dani nods, admiring the grey and blue striped pot as she runs her fingers across it. It’s made out of clay. “I do. I love it, actually.”
Jamie tilts her head, picking up on Dani’s sceptical tone of voice. “But?”
It’s just,” Dani closes her eyes for a moment, and lets out a sigh, “I’m so, so, so bad with plants.
Bunny
here will die a painful death, and I’ll have to live with the blood of an innocent cactus on my hands. Forever.”
“You won’t kill it.”
“You don’t know that.”
Jamie chuckles softly, plucking the cactus from Dani’s hand. “Look, it’s pretty easy to take care of this little guy.”
“Even for a plant murderer like me?”
Jamie nods. “You only water Bunny if about the top one inch of the soil is dry.” She presses a finger into the soil, and it comes back up slightly covered in dirt. “This one’s pretty happy right now.”
“In case Bunny is thirsty,” Jamie carries on, and Dani hangs onto every word she says, “completely submerge it in water. You’ll see little bubbles comin’ up. Wait until all the bubbles are gone and allow the water to drain out of the pot. Then, remove any excess from the planter.”
“Got it,” Dani says while thinking, that she’ll definitely have to write this down. Or she’ll kill Bunny before she knows it, and she couldn’t live with the pain.
“During autumn and winter, you only water Bunny lightly every three to four weeks, ‘ight?” Dani nods, but doesn’t say how it’ll be a wonder if Bunny even lives to see the winter, let alone survive it.
“It doesn’t need much more than that, and a bit of love.” Jamie smiles, and gives it back to Dani.
“Can I ask you for help,” comes Dani’s question, as she places Bunny on the nightstand, in total awe with her new friend, “in case there’s a Bunny-emergency in the future?”
(Jamie’s heart does a somersault in her chest, and she thinks that there’s no way she’ll be the same after tonight.)
“Absolutely,” Jamie says.
“I also got you a little something,” Dani says.
“Really?” Jamie asks, a curious lilt to her voice. “What is it?”
Dani takes a steadying breath. Looks like she’s really about to do this. “It’s a … a poem that I wrote. Most of my work never sees the light of day, and that’s good, trust me.”
Jamie opens her mouth to argue, but then thinks better of it. “Anyway,” Dani says next. “I’m pretty fond of this one, and I thought maybe you’d want to have it. It’s in there.”
Dani points to the purse on the armrest beside the bed, and Jamie fetches it without another word and hands it to her.
“It’s … It’s not about you,” Dani lies, as she takes out an envelope with a wax seal that has the letter J in the middle of it. Okay. Who is she trying to fool?
“Well, maybe, a bit. Okay, yeah, it is.”
“You wrote a poem about me?”, comes Jamie’s question, as she accepts the envelope, tracing the seal with her fingertips. “Nobody has ever…”
“Yeah, I guess.” Dani swallows thickly. There’s no chickening out now. “It was one of those things that write themselves … You can have it now, but you’ll have to promise me to wait until you’re home.”
Jamie feels all kinds of things at the same time, but mostly adoration. “Okay.”
“I’d like to have a lovely time with you, which we can’t have,” Dani covers her eyes. “if I’m, uh, under the bed, hiding in embarrassment.”
Jamie places the envelope down next to Bunny and gently pulls Dani’s hands away from her face. “I’m sure it’s perfect, but I respect your wish.”
Dani nibbles on her lip, her cheeks flush and pink. “Thank you.”
“I’ll read it tomorrow, and let you know what I think,” Jamie whispers, bringing the back of Dani’s hand to her lips, and kisses her knuckles.
“Tomorrow?” Dani asks, a teasing edge in her tone as she rises from the bed. “Who says I’m going to let you go anytime soon?”
Dani takes off her bathrobe, and it pools around her feet.
She tugs on the belt of Jamie’s robe next, just a bit, and Jamie stands up. Dani then tugs on it some more, until it falls open. She slides the robe over Jamie’s shoulders, and it silently falls to the floor.
“I mean, I booked our suite for three nights,” Dani climbs back on the bed, kicks the pillows out of the way and kneels there facing the wall, with her hands flat against the headboard, “didn’t I?”
Jamie grins, having an idea of where this goes. “You did.”
She steals a glance at Jamie over her shoulder, and sends her a daring look, “I’d be a shame if we didn’t stay, and have a little more …
fun
.”
There’s no way to interpret this as anything else than what it is, and Jamie takes a moment to drink it all in, so she’ll never forget about it.
There’s Dani, asking for sex the best imaginable way, not with words but with actions, and even showing Jamie how she wants to be taken.
There’s Dani, humming pleased and relaxed, when Jamie presses her bare body against Dani’s back, and her hips rock back, into Jamie.
There’s Dani, moaning lowly, when strong hands snake to her front, one softly squeezing a breast, one finding silky warmth between spread legs.
There’s Dani, with her head thumping against the wall in front of her, when pleasure takes root in her core, and she can’t possibly keep it up herself.
There’s Dani, coming hard and fast on Jamie’s hand, with lips pressed to her neck, teeth grazing soft skin and arousal trickling down her thighs.
There’s Dani, who’s turned Jamie’s world upside down in nothing but days, and Jamie has never in her life been happier.
There’s Dani, making Jamie realize she could without a doubt help her become a better version of who she is now, someone she could be proud of.
All Jamie has to do is to give Dani what she wants.
Jamie can do that.
*
“Stay in line, please, kids!” Dani calls out, as they queue up for the next ride, the Roaring Rapids. “Do not even think about jumping over the rails. We wait in line, just like everybody else!”
“But it’s taking so fucking long,” one of the boys complains, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “And it’s so damn hot.”
Dani raises a finger, giving him a warning look. “Language, Miles. Or you’ll have to wait here -- with me -- while everyone else is having fun. Do you want that?”
Miles shakes his head, not daring to say anything else. He turns around to go back to talking to his friends, and Dani blows out a breath.
“Oh, this troublemaker is going to love this ride, then,” a voice comes from next to Dani. In a crowd with hundreds of voices, she’d know who this one belongs to in a fraction of a second. Dani swirls around and spots Jamie on the other side of the rail.
It looks like The Roaring Rapids is the ride Jamie operates today. She’s wearing a blue shirt with its name embroidered on it, and she’s having her eyes settled on the folks that are boarding the … tire-like boat things.
A smile spreads across Dani’s face, and for a moment she forgets the children that have been wrecking her nerves all day long and will continue to do so until they get back to camp in the evening.
Just seeing Jamie makes it all worth it.
“You see, the wild currents of the river are completely unpredictable,” Jamie leans against the rail, speaking slowly, and only for Dani to hear. “The water is comin’ from all directions, and you never know when. If the little bloke is lucky, he’s completely drenched by the time the ride is over. Nobody gets out of there dry.”
Dani chuckles softly, leaning in too, whispering into Jamie’s ear, “Well, if that is the case, you are not the only thing that can make me wet .”
That’s when Jamie turns to look at Dani, wide-eyed and just a little bit shocked. Once she sees the self-satisfied grin on Dani’s lips, she can’t help but laugh.
“You,” Jamie says, gesturing at the summer camp-goers, “didn’t tell me you were going to be here.”
Dani shrugs, and they move forward in the line. It won’t be long and Rebecca, who leads the group today, will board with the first group of children. Then it’s Hannah’s turn, then Peter’s, and finally Dani’s.
“I knew you were working today, and I remember you said you operate family rides this week, and we are here with children, so--"
“You thought you’d find me, sooner or later,” Jamie finishes for her, and Dani nods.
“Yeah. I was looking for you, actually.”
Jamie blushes a little and ducks her head to hide it. She clears her throat awkwardly, and points to her co-workers helping passengers board and deboard the ride. “I should probably get back to work."
Dani hums, nibbling on her lip. “Oh, yes. Definitely.”
Jamie looks like she wants to kiss her, and God , Dani wants nothing more than that. But they haven’t talked about what they are yet.
(What’s more, they’re both at work and it’d be highly unprofessional.)
“Bye, cutie,” Jamie smiles as she walks backwards to the entrance of the ride, waves, and turns to jog the rest of the way. It’s Dani’s turn to blush. She can’t wait to see her again when they get on the ride.
In the meantime, she shifts her focus back on the kids. “Who wants to play a game while we wait?”
When Dani reaches the end of the line, Peter steps into the ride before them and they’re taking off.
Jamie is giving the children a hand, as they board the ride. “Everyone put on your seatbelts, please. It’s forbidden to stand up or unbuckle the belt. Hold onto the ring in the middle of the boat and put your feet onto the smaller ring, if you want to avoid wet shoes.”
“Any other safety rules we need to follow, Jamie?” Dani asks as she sits down on the damp seat next to a girl named Flora. “Those kids," she winks at Miles, then looks back at Jamie, "need strict rules or they’ll act out.”
Jamie scratches her forehead, checking the time on her watch. “I could, uh, come with you. If you want?” Looks at the kids, looks back at Dani. “Make sure they don’t," she grins, "misbehave?”
“You’re at work.”
“I’m on break now, anyway, and there,” she gestures to the seat beside Miles, on the opposite side where Dani is sitting, “is a vacant spot.”
Dani thinks for a moment, but already knows the answer. “Come on, then. Join us. You could tell us a few things about the ride.” She turns to the children, “Wouldn’t that be fun? A special tour. Just for us!”
They all nod enthusiastically, and Jamie beams. “Well, then, it’s settled.”
“Do you want to sit next to the nice lady, Miss Clayton?” Flora asks, already unbuckling her belt. “You seem like perfectly splendid friends. Friends sit next to each other, don't they?”
“Flora, you don’t have to--"
But the girl has already squeezed past the others to her brother, Miles. Despite being a troublemaker, as Jamie called him, he cares deeply about his sister. “Don’t forget your seatbelt, Flora.”
Jamie makes everyone lift their arms to see if the belts are closed correctly. Then she presses the start button that slowly sets the conveyor in motion and jumps into the boat.
“Everyone ready for the Roaring Rapids?”
The kids cheer, clapping their hands excitedly. By the time the boat is set loose in the raging downstream, not twenty seconds later, the kids are already in love with her.
And all it took was:
“I am Captain Jamie and I am a river pirate! Who wants to join my crew?”
The kids laugh as the boat bumps into rocks as they are swooshing down the river, tossing them around, swirling them wildly. Laugh even more as the water splashes them, floods the floor of the boat, as they fall down little rapids.
Dani feels butterflies fluttering in her stomach, as she watches Jamie interact with the kids.
“Take care, pirates. A storm is comin’ up!”
“We’re about to hit a particularly strong current. Brace yourselves!”
When the ride is over and the boat is being pulled up by the conveyor, the kids babble excitedly. About how lit that was, and about how they'd wish to go again. They point out things they liked best, too, and Dani could’ve sworn Flora said Jamie’s name.
“When will I see you again?” Jamie asks, as the kids rush over to pick up their rucksacks by the exit, where Peter waits for them.
Smiling, Dani says, “Tonight, Captain. If you want?”
“Yeah, I’d love… That.”
Dani squeezes the water out of her shirt and makes a knot at the front. She runs her fingers through her wet hair and puts it up in a messy bun.
Jamie watches her, licking at her lips.
( What were you daydreaming about ? Dani texts her later.
Nothing much, Jamie replies, just about what you'll look like when I make you come tonight .)
“Only,” Dani says with a chuckle, “if you stop looking at me like that. Any other time, yes. Now, it does things to me, I’d rather not have to deal with the rest of the day.”
Jamie shakes her head, tucking a damp strand of hair behind Dani’s ear, “Sorry, you’re just so--"
“ Wet ? Yeah. Absolutely.”
*
Whenever Dani isn’t with her to listen and watch when Jamie records her weekly episodes for Sounds of Pleasure, she makes sure to send nudes, a quick sext, or a short video.
Sometimes before, sometimes after, sometimes while she’s at it.
Never the same thing twice and always with thought behind it.
“To keep things exciting,” Dani says one night on the phone. “So you don’t forget about me when you make sexual content for your fans.”
“I might be doing that, yes,” Jamie says, “but the only one I am thinking of is you.”
She can hear Dani smiling. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. With or without your pictures, texts, and all that. I think about you all the time.” Jamie didn’t think she’d ever say something like that to anyone. And now, look at her. “Dani. If I had a flower for every time I think of you I could walk through my garden forever.”
There’s silence on the other end.
Jamie slams her eyes shut, scared that she said something Dani didn’t want to hear. That she’s ruined it by sharing her feelings in a wrong way or --
Dani’s half-sobbing, half-laughing. “You mean that? You wouldn’t just say it so I…”
“Yes, yes. I do,” Jamie nods even though Dani can’t see. “I mean every word. I could never lie to you, remember?”
Dani sniffles wetly, and Jamie just wants to hold her tight and make the pain go away. Just when she wants to ask Dani if she wants to talk about whatever is making her feel that way, Dani says:
“You still want those nudes, right?”
Jamie’s taken aback. Scratches her forehead, laughing a little when her brain caught up, “Yes, Dani. I would, uh, very much love that.”
*
Dani gets out of Jamie’s truck and shuts the door behind her. She looks around and sees nothing but dirt, shriveled bushes, and old, lifeless trees.
This really is The Middle of Nowhere.
“That’s where you did it?”
“Yeah.”
The sunset blossoms in the colors of summer fruit upon the horizon, its hues basking the clouds near in a soft glimmer. The gentle breeze of wind cools Dani’s skin, but a blaze within her warms her.
“Why,” she says, more to herself than Jamie, “is that turning me on so much? That you’ve been here, listening to me, and--"
Jamie walks around the car, joining her. “Touched myself to the thought of you?” she finishes for her when the end never comes.
“Mm-hmm.”
“There are a couple of things I can think of,” Jamie says, a teasing quality to her tone, “that could be the reason why.”
“Oh yeah?” Dani glances over to Jamie, her face aglow with the last rays of sunshine, and it’s so beautiful it takes her breath away. “What,” she asks at last, “would that be then?”
Jamie turns to face her, her eyes darkening as she speaks. “Maybe, you liked the idea that I could listen to your recording anytime, in any place, and think of you.”
Dani’s mouth goes dry.
“Maybe,” Jamie continues, “you liked that I did it outside. Some people get a kick out of that, you know. And you were, in fact, talkin’ about having sex on the bed of my truck.”
“Maybe,” and nowJamie is pinning Dani against the side of the car now, kissing her neck, “it’s because you made me so desperate all day long, that I couldn’t take it any longer. Couldn’t even drive five more miles.”
Jamie rucks up Dani’s skirt, her hand disappearing underneath it. “Is that,” Jamie’s fingertips skim up her thighs, finding what she’s looking for, “what’s doin’ it for you?”
Dani moans at the feeling of Jamie’s fingers warm and slick on her skin, as she moves them smoothly around a swollen bud before she travels lower and eases them in. “Is that,” Jamie whispers against the shell of Dani’s ear, “what gets you goin’?”
Dani opens her mouth to say something, but she can’t think when Jamie crooks her fingers like that, talks to her like that. At once she’s overcome with the sudden desire to feel Jamie around her fingers, too. She unbuckles Jamie’s belt, like they’re running out of time, shoves her pants and underwear down, so she can --
Out of breath, and already on the edge of orgasm, Dani asks, “Is this okay?”
The answer to it comes right away:
A strong hand on her hips, pinning her roughly against the car, and fingers between her legs, fucking her harder. Jamie bites down on her lip, the noise that she makes should be bottled. “God. Yes .”
Without a warning Dani slides her fingers in, and she almost chokes on nothing as she feels Jamie around her, silky and soft, and more than ready. “Fuck, you feel good.”
“This is,” Jamie says with a voice that makes Dani’s walls twitch with a hunger that almost scares her, “nothin’ like listening to you.”
Dani holds tight onto Jamie’s arm, trying to hold off a little longer. “What was it like? Listening to me. A stranger having such dirty thoughts about you?”
“I please people with my voice for a living, don’t I?” Jamie circles Dani’s clit with her thumb, and Dani’s head falls onto Jamie’s shoulder. “Fuck.”
“I want them to imagine, want them to think about me.” Jamie’s voice is nothing more than a strangle in her throat. “But someone, you, making a recording for me, where you touch yourself. For me. Because of me. Fuck, that’s so--”
The end of it gets lost on her tongue because Jamie comes with a moan so beautiful, so divine, Dani could die happy. But the universe has other plans, and Dani--
“It was exciting to feel so wanted by a stranger,” Jamie catches her breath, her wrist pumping steadily between Dani’s legs. “But now, you’re not anymore. A stranger. And that’s the best fuckin’ thing that happened to me.”
Dani bites into Jamie’s skin, as she comes, her teeth digging so deep she nearly draws blood, and Jamie growls , as she did not see that coming. A surprise, but a welcome one.
“Did we,” Dani asks once she can think again, with her fingers still buried deep in Jamie, and Jamie’s in hers, “just find out, that we like it, you know?”
“A little rough?”
“Yeah.”
Jamie smiles softly, her eyes sparkling in the golden hues of the setting sun, and her fingers start anew, curling gently. “I think we did, yeah.”
*
“You’re goin’ to make it really hard for me to stay where I am.”
Jamie sits in a dark wooden chair by the end of the bed, leaned forward with her elbows resting on her knees. The handcuffs she plays with reflect the light of the morning sun that shines through the window.
Dani, on the sheets with her legs spread wide and her fingers twitching by her side as she waits, wears nothing but a black thong. Jamie can see the ruined, soaked fabric from here.
“Already now I want to get up and crawl all the way up to you, tear your underwear off, and work you up so much you beg for me to let you come.”
Dani’s hips jut and she squeezes her eyes shut. She says something under her breath Jamie doesn’t quite catch, but it sounds an awful lot like, “Please do, Jamie. Please .”
Jamie chuckles a little. “Later. Maybe. If I feel like it. Now, I have other plans with you. You remember our safe word, yeah?”
Moonpie .
Dani exhales shakily, her chest heaving with the effort of not doing the one thing she desperately wants to. “Mm-hmm.”
“If you’re ready, Dani,” Jamie says, checking one last time on her notebook if the recording works, “and the listeners out there are too, nothin’ stands in the way of doing this.”
Jamie winks at her and mouths love you , and Dani shakes her head, hiding her smile behind her hands. When she looks at Jamie again, who looks at her with pure adoration, Dani mouths love you too .
Jamie sets the handcuffs aside, for now, thinking about maybe using them on Dani when they’re done here. For now Dani will need her hands because it’s all she’ll get.
“Just a little reminder,” Jamie catches Dani’s pleading eyes, “if you don’t do as you’re told, I might not let you come in the end, and that would be a shame for all of us.”
Dani’s throat bobs with a rough swallow. “Just tell me what to do, and I will.”
Jamie’s gaze drops to parted lips, and she’d die to kiss them right now. She’d want to lick into Dani’s mouth, brush her tongue against Dani’s. Make her sigh. Moan. “That’s what I wanted to hear. Such a good girl.”
Dani balls the sheets up in her hands and bites down on her lip. But it does little to muffle the moan that she can’t hold back.
“Fuck, you really want it. Don’t you?” Jamie asks.
The way Dani squirms on the bed, the way her breathing stops for a moment, whenever Jamie talks dirty screams yes.
Jamie leans back in her chair, puts a foot on the seat, and wraps her arm around her knee, “What do good girls say if they want somethin’?”
Dani stays quiet.
“Right,” Jamie smiles, having the time of her life. “They say please. And if they don’t,” she slides a hand inside her underwear to soothe the ache that’s been building, “Well, then I can’t help.”
Jamie’s fingers travel lower, wetness smearing on her fingertips as she lets them explore, and she flashes Dani a cocky grin. “This feels way too good to do it alone. I’d love for you to join me.”
Dani’s hips buck when she sees how Jamie pleasures herself. “All you have to do is,” Jamie moans softly, her eyes never leaving Dani’s, “to say--”
“ Please .”
“Ah, there we are,” Jamie teases, “Was that so hard?”
Dani chuckles, her hand going there where Jamie’s is, “You know what?” Dani hums as she begins to circle her clit, “Fuck you, Jamie.”
Jamie shrugs, picking up in pace. Just a bit. “I am.”
“If you won’t touch me, can you at least,” Dani pats weakly onto the sheets beside her, laughing a little, “come here? I miss you.”
Jamie’s heart grows big in her chest.
They are making this episode and watching each other come, for thousands of people to hear, and Dani somehow still makes this experience wholly and truthfully theirs .
What else can Jamie do but give Dani what she wants if she makes even the smallest things perfect. “Okay, yeah. I think we can do that.”
The bed dips as Jamie lies down next to her. She turns to her side, asks, “That better?”
Dani’s voice is hardly a whisper, and she stares at Jamie’s lips. “Much.”
“Good,” Jamie whispers back.
Jamie watches the form of Dani’s fingers, listens to the sounds they make as they move in circles underneath the fabric of her thong.
“Now, I want you to go slow,” Jamie husks, wanting to make this last. “Slower, Dani. Slower. Yeah. Just like that.”
Dani’s fingers couldn’t rub her clit any slower, and by the look of it, it’s killing her.
Jamie couldn’t love this more. She’s a mess, and Jamie made her that.
“You want more, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Then go for it.”
Dani’s heated gaze is still lingering on Jamie’s lips, and Jamie’s seconds away from breaking the one rule they haven’t yet. “You sure?”
“Yeah, make yourself feel good,” she says, ignoring the drumming between her legs. “Go on. Do it the way you like it most.”
Dani makes the most wonderful sounds as her fingers apply more pressure on her clit and move a little quicker, working herself up and up .
Jamie could watch her doing this all day.
Fingers slide around a swollen bud, slide inside with ease, curl there where she likes it, and another hand finds its way between shaky legs, circling while the other thrusts.
Beads of sweat are trickling down Dani’s neck, and her muscles tense beautifully as she nears herself the orgasm Jamie has denied her for so long. It would be too easy, though, to let her have all this. Just like that, without there being ‘consequences’.
Dani is almost there, is about to come. Jamie can almost taste the ecstasy coursing through Dani’s veins on her tongue. Can almost feel Dani beginning to fall apart--
“ Stop .”
Dani holds her breath.
Closes her eyes.
Bites down on her lip and her fingers still.
“Such a good girl, Dani,” Jamie praises. “Now, I want you to edge yourself for as long as you can take it.”
Dani lets out a breath, her fingers struggling a little to stay where they are. “Oh God, Jamie.”
“Rub your clit until you’re nearly there,” Jamie requests softly, “and then: stop. Wait, until you’ve calmed down and your breathing has evened out. Then, start over.”
Dani’s throat bobs.
“Think you can do that for me?”
“Anything,” Dani’s voice is rough and thick with arousal, and the sound Dani’s fingers make as her hips jut upwards in search of friction is about the sexiest thing Jamie has ever heard. “I’d do anything for you.”
The next thing is this:
Dani’s fingers crook inside of her, circle around her clit.
Dani’s breaths come quicker.
Dani’s skin flushes.
Thirty seconds, and Dani’s there .
Dani bites down on her lip--
Stops.
Takes deep breaths.
Calms down.
Then, again .
Fingers crook, and fingers circle.
Breaths come quicker.
Legs quiver.
Lips tremble.
Twenty seconds, and--
There .
Bites down harder on her lip.
Stops.
(Almost can’t. )
Deep breaths.
Calms down.
Then, again .
It’s not long and twenty seconds become fifteen. Become ten. Five. Quick and hard turns into quick and soft, turns into slow and light.
Then, only one hand; only two fingers; soft and barely-there.
Dani’s ever-growing moans are drawn out by the smallest of touch, and only when she truly can’t take it anymore, she begs for release, “ Jamie , I need to come.”
“Yeah, do you?” Jamie asks softly, her fingers caressing Dani’s sex-flushed cheeks, “Do you need to come, Dani?”
Dani nods weakly, “Yes. I need to come. Let me come, please . Jamie. I’d do anything if you let me come.”
“Anything?”
“Anything.”
Jamie brushes away sweat-damp hair from her lover’s forehead, whispers, “One more, then.”
*
The moment Jamie eases the strap-on in, with great care and a lot of love, filling Dani up and making her cling tightly around the toy, as Jamie slides it in deeper and deeper until the tip gently hits her cervix, is life-changing . There’s no other word for it.
Never had Dani thought it could feel so good to have someone else inside of her like this. Not fingers, not a tongue, but a black, silicone toy that Jamie wears and works so well, that makes Dani never want anything else.
Jamie’s tucked behind Dani on the bed, flushed together in a way that makes the lines where she ends and her lover begins, blurry. At some point she’s not sure the lines are there, or if they ever were.
Jamie’s skin feels warm and like home against her back as she nibbles on Dani’s neck, kissing softly. The sweet nothings Jamie whispers in her ear, as she thrusts, like they have all the time in the world, make Dani want to lose her mind.
“Fuck me harder, Jamie, please. ”
An incredibly attractive groan comes from Jamie as she fulfills her wish, “I fuckin’ love when you talk like that, baby. Talk to me like that, and you will get anything you want.”
Dani can barely speak a sentence at this point, but she has to know, “What else -- oh God you feel so good, fuck.” She threads her fingers in Jamie’s curls to have something to hold onto, “What else,” she says, tightening in time with the next thrust, “do you love?”
Dani throws her leg behind Jamie’s, takes her hand from where it is curled around her hip, and tugs it between her thighs. “Tell me,” Dani’s voice is high-pitched and needy, “what you love about me, and,” Jamie’s fingers are already where Dani craves them most, drawing circles into her as she takes her from behind, “make me fucking come.”
The hushed, desperate whispers in her ear, as Jamie fucks her with all she’s got, like she loves this, builds the pleasure with an intensity, a ferocity, that Dani doesn’t know of herself.
Things like:
“I love how instantly wet you get when you hear your favorite song because I went down on you to it one time.”
Or: “I love how you fuck yourself stupid on my fingers while I hold your throat and call you baby.”
And: “I love how you grab any part of me you can reach, when you come surprisingly hard, to make sure I stay and fuck you through it.”
The one thing that pushed Dani over the edge, though, made her muscles twitch violently and her juices trickle all over her thighs and onto the sheets, was this:
“You know what I love most? You.”
*
Jamie comes to a bunch of texts on her phone. Ignores them all, for now, because she only really cares if they’re from her girlfriend.
More so, if it’s in the morning.
Nothing ruins your day more than emails from your boss, drunk messages from your ex, or even worse, bills.
Not five minutes ago Dani texted.
good morning, sweetie
hope you had some sweet dreams x
Then:
you up to some phone sex before work?
Jamie’s still tired, isn’t even out of bed, might even be a little late already, but who the fuck cares? She’d be stupid to say no to something like that.
“Hi, you,” Jamie mumbles, voice rough with sleep, when Dani, beautiful as ever with blushed cheeks and sleep tousled hair, appears on the screen.
“Hi, back,” Dani whispers, and something about the way she says it, the way she bites her lip, gives her away.
Jamie’s suddenly wide awake, “Oh,” is all she can think of to say. She’s surprised but a bit turned on, too, “You started without me.”
“Sorry,” Dani glances away, looking sheepish, “ I, uh, just... couldn’t help myself. I was dreaming of you, and when I woke up I was so--"
Jamie tilts her head, grinning. “Horny?”
“Yeah.”
Dani turns to the side, and the picture of her naked in the soft light is something Jamie wouldn’t mind seeing every morning until the rest of her days.
Loves it so much, actually -- the curve of Dani’s breasts, the dip of her hip, the soft skin of her stomach -- that she can’t help herself either.
Jamie slips a hand inside her shorts, and without meaning to, moans a little at the sensation of the first touch. Dani’s lips part, and there’s an expression on her face Jamie knows all too well.
And so she asks, “How ‘bout we do somethin’ ‘bout it, while you tell me what your dream was?”
("So you're saying," Dani whispers with the last bit of self-control,"that no one will come look for you? I don't want you to get in trouble..."
Jamie leads Dani into the changing cubicle. "I don't think so. Now, turn around and put your hands flat on the mirror.”
Dani does as she's told.
"And even if someone should come, we just pretend not to be here," Jamie's eyes sparkle dangerously in the dim light of the locker room, "while I continue to fuck you slowly."
"Oh my God, yes," Dani whispers, watching how Jamie takes her sweet time sliding down her skirt, along with her tights and undies. " 'Cause you like that, don't ya?"
She makes a quiet noise, some sort of hum, when Jamie kisses her legs, making her forget about the question. "You know. Bein’ bad. Gettin’ in trouble. Doin’ things you shouldn’t. "
Dani squeezes her thighs together in search of something, anything, that takes the edge off.
If this is how it begins, how will it end?
Jamie chuckles dryly and nudges her legs apart again. "Nuh-uh, we don't do that. As much as we want it, we don't do things without asking."
Dani blows out a breath, fogging the mirror. “Oh, fuck.”
There's a look on Jamie's face that Dani hasn’t seen before and it's doing all kinds of things to her.
“And from here on out, it’s Master to you.” )
*
As much as Jamie’s listeners didn’t like Dani when she was first ‘mentioned’ in one of her episodes a few months back, and were skeptical, still, when she made one with Jamie in that hotel, she’s become quite popular these days.
In fact, she’s now co-creator on Jamie’s channel. Dani works with her on some episodes; whenever she is especially into ideas Jamie’s come up with, and even makes content for Jamie’s and now her fans.
They seem to like it quite a lot.
Dani would never say it aloud. She might, if she were drunk enough, but after a thorough analysis of the comments on the episodes, the tweets online, and the amount of direct messages she gets every day, she’d say the subscribers love her just a teeny tiny more than Jamie.
i mean i love jamie but i’d chose dani over her any day. god, she’s hot
should they ever break up or stop working together or whatever i’m more than happy to take jamie’s place. dani if you read this, hmu. pls.
jamie’s episodes were always good, but now that dani is here they’re even better
As much as Dani loves to read the sweet comments and loves to chat with fans, the only true reason she does this is Jamie. She enjoys being with her and thinking of new ideas, planning them. Enjoys ‘working’ with her even more.
It’s a real pleasure.
But if Jamie weren’t doing this with her, she wouldn’t at all. And if Jamie ever stops, she would too. There’s no sense, really, in doing something by yourself if you only ever want to do it with your favourite person.
It’s really that simple.
*
Dani enjoys the deluxe package of special privileges as Jamie’s girlfriend and co-creator on Sounds of Pleasure.
Whenever Jamie has wrapped up recording an episode she uploads it on the cloud for Dani to listen to. Even before she’s edited it and cut out the parts where she stumbles terribly over her own words and laughs about it, Dani gets a notification.
Dani will then ‘check it out’ and by that, she means determining if it’s any good (which it always is), but Jamie insists on having her approval and relies on her feedback.
And Jamie must admit, Dani is highly professional when it comes to that.
She listens to it as a co-creator, not as a fan, tells Jamie what struck her most, and points out aspects that are capable of improvement.
She listens to it as a girlfriend. Tells Jamie what kind of things she’d love to see in the bedroom and asks if Jamie thought of her while recording when she said this and did that.
She listens as a fan. Rambles in the comments of her episodes to boost her confidence, make her feel appreciated, and tell her how much she looks forward to the next.
If Dani finds the episode especially sexy she’ll send a picture as proof of how much.
If that isn’t enough to describe how into it she is, Jamie will get a video.
Jamie has just come out of a much-needed shower after an incredibly intense session she wishes Dani would’ve shared with her, as she sees the new notification on her phone.
Drops of water from Jamie’s wet hair drips down her body and on the tiles as she stops mid-dry to open the message.
The caption underneath the one minute forty-two seconds video reads:
without a doubt one of my favorites, ever. i think you can hear that.
Jamie has no other choice than to sit down on the edge of the tub as soon as the video starts playing because it makes her absolutely weak in the knees.
She knows at that moment that she’ll need another shower after that.
And a nap.
*
It’s 2 am, Michael’s house party shows no signs of ending anytime soon, and Dani is on her knees, bringing date-night to a pleasurable end.
Earlier that night Jamie had totally forgotten about her brother’s plans, when they came back a few hours ago, and suggested they drive to Dani’s place and spend the night there.
“Let’s stay,” Dani had said, tipsy as hell from the drinks she had, “I want to dance with you, make out with you, and do all the cool things people do at parties.”
Jamie raised a brow. “All the cool things, huh?”
Dani smiled. “Yes, please.”
So they stayed.
Jamie dragged her to the make-shift dance floor when Dani’s favorite song played. She fought it first, as she can never listen to the song again without having dirty thoughts, but when Jamie’s hands found home on her hips and ground into her sensually, Dani was already done for.
Dani, on the lookout for some drinks, showed how much Jamie means to her by inventing a cocktail, and reviving her old bartender days. She mixed it like not a night passed where she didn’t. Jamie then shared it with her, even though it was so good she’d want it all for herself, but that’s what you do when you love.
Jamie rolled them a joint from the leftover weed she found under her bed and then snuck away together to smoke it behind the house. They made out in the garden against the pine tree not much later, kissing like they’ve never kissed her before, and Dani drips from just that.
And well, that’s exactly what leads them to this:
“I love how bold you are when you’re high,” says Jamie, when Dani fucks her into the bedroom door with the party going on outside, music blasting loudly from the speakers. “God, that’s so hot.”
“You know what I love?” Dani feels like she’s floating, and it’s not just the weed. “The wet sounds my fingers make when I fuck you.”
“Dani, fuck-- ”
“Makes me want to drop to my knees and find out if you taste just as sweet.”
Jamie’s gaze drops to Dani’s lips as she’d imagine where they could be, “What’s stopping you?” she challenges, eyes darting back up, “Not me.”
Dani shakes her head, smiling at her, “Oh, you.”
Dani, having done this before, had an idea what would happen when she knelt in front of Jamie. Yanked her jeans down, stuck her tongue out and stroked soundly through her folds.
That Jamie’s eyes would turn even darker when she sees Dani like that. That Jamie's breathing would come quicker when Dani takes care of her jeans. That Jamie would let out a small, quiet moan and throw her head back when Dani would lick into her the first time.
What Dani didn’t see coming, however, was how strongly Jamie’s libido would react to the marijuana they consumed.
Jamie, salt-slick and warm, fucking melts when Dani tastes her. Can barely stand when Dani brings up her fingers and eases them in. Reaches for something to hold onto, finds Dani’s waves.
Jamie chokes out a litany of swears that are sinful in the best way, and Dani’s walls flutter more with every passing second. With every time Jamie praises her, with every word dying on her tongue, and in its place a moan she just can’t keep in, it gets harder and harder not to soothe the ache between legs.
Problem is, Dani has to hold Jamie up with her other hand or Jamie’s legs will most likely give out. And Dani really wants to make her come like this.
“I think I’m gonna cry,” Jamie's hands tighten in Dani's hair, pushing her closer, “This feels so fuckin' good, Dani. You’re so good at this. Fuck --”
Outside, Dani thinks, there are some twenty-odd people partying -- some might be standing not two feet from here on the other side of this door -- and having no clue what's going on behind it. Someone could come in any time, too, if Jamie wasn't being fucked against the door, because Dani chose to not lock it.
Outside the window blue and red light flash by. Dani would hear the siren, too, if the music wouldn't be so loud, and Jamie's moans wouldn't be absolutely maddening in their beauty.
"Jesus Fuckin' Christ, Dani," Jamie breathes raggedly, fucking herself rough on Dani's tongue and fingers as she gets closer, "I wanna fuckin’ come for you."
Dani moans in response, as she swirls, sucks and licks, just how Jamie likes it. She sticks her fingers up so Jamie can use them in whichever way she wants. She’s so into this, so high on love, that Dani loses any sense of her surroundings as she fucks Jamie to orgasm.
She’s so gone, so lost in Jamie, that she doesn’t realize that the music stops from one second to the next.
Everything goes quiet for a moment.
Then, there’s a loud, gravelly voice cutting through the silence. Saying something about neighbors and a noise complaint.
It’s only then when Dani puts one and one together:
The lights, the siren, the music.
Oh, fuck.
And that’s not a ‘the-cops-are-here-fuck’, but more of a ‘anyone-could-hear-them-fuck.’
Which isn’t a bad thing.
Not at all, actually.
Because, if there’s no more music playing and the party's over, it means that anyone out there could catch them going at it --
And if that isn’t a major turn-on, Dani doesn’t know what is.
Jamie doesn’t seem to have caught up on what's going on, so with fingers still inside her, Dani quickly stands up. Jamie’s eyes fly open, and before she can say anything, Dani presses a finger to her lips.
Jamie looks so cute when she’s confused. “What’s going on, Dani? Why’d you stop? I was so--”
And then it clicks.
“Is that?”
“Yes.”
“If I,” Dani whispers, kissing Jamie’s parted lips, “go back on my knees,” curling her fingers softly, “can you try,” and brushing her thumb over Jamie’s clit, “to stay quiet?”
Jamie nods loosely, her thighs shaking with the need to come.
It’s 2am, and Michael’s house party is over. The cops inform him about the fine he could face if this happens again. Ask him, if he understands. Michael says yes, and apologizes for the inconvenience.
It’s 2am, and the cops are out there in the living room and so are twenty-odd people standing around in uncomfortable silence, and Dani’s on her knees making sure Jamie gets the orgasm she deserves.
It’s 2am, and Jamie comes quietly with a hand over her mouth, and when her head falls back to the door with a loud thunk, as she can't stop coming, Dani quickly turns the key.
(Just in case.)
The cops are leaving shortly after and so do Micheael’s friends.
Jamie is sliding down the door, as her legs can't take it anymore, and Dani moves to sit next to her, her knees red and raw, but she can't feel anything but her heart that's so full that she's scared it might burst.
Jamie, once back among the living, says:
“I know it’s probably pillow talk, but, uh, would you want to move in together?”
*
It’s date-night and Jamie has made them a little fort on the bed of the truck with a mattress, lots of blankets and pillows.
“What do you say?” Jamie asks, scratching her forehead. ”Think it needs more cushions?”
Dani climbs onto the truck, snuggling into the huge pile of blankets. “I think it’s perfect. Well, almost. One thing is missing.”
“What?” Jamie tilts her head, thinking. “Ah, yes. The wine.”
Dani giggles, watching as Jamie scrambles for the bottle in the backpack through the rear window of the truck. “I meant you, but okay.”
“I just want it to be perfect perfect ,” Jamie joins Dani, puts the bottle and the glasses down beside them. “‘Cause I wanna look at the stars with you. Kiss you, cuddle with you. Red wine seems to go well with that, don’t you think?”
Dani makes herself at home in Jamie’s arms, kissing her gently on the cheek. “Can we, maybe, do a bit more than just kissing?”
Jamie laughs softly into Dani’s hair, inhaling the scent of her cherry-flower shampoo. “That,” she whispers back, “is not why we came here today.”
“Tell me again,” Dani fingers brush up and down Jamie’s side, as she curls into her, a leg hooked over her middle, “why we did? To look at star constellations and…?”
Jamie does her best to not think about the feeling of Dani’s leg, “To learn something about Greek Mythology.”
“Ah, yes,” Dani says, as if Jamie hadn’t talked about it all the way up here. “Please Professor, begin with your lesson.”
“I’d love to, really. There’s only one problem we’ll have to take care of first.”
Dani’s nibbles on her lip and Jamie almost lets herself get distracted. Dani’s voice is rougher when she speaks this time. “What?”
“You’d have to look up,” Jamie shrugs, “to see the stars. You won’t see what I am talking about if you look at me.”
Dani giggles, shifting to lie on her back. “I’d choose looking at you over the stars anyday, but I guess you’re right.”
Jamie drops a kiss on Dani's head. “You’ll love this, trust me.”
The stars are lighting up the dark night sky as tiny spots of fire that are long dead but so much alive, and Jamie has loved them as long as she can remember.
“One of the most famous star-constellations,” Jamie begins, “are The Big Bear and The Little Bear. You can see them all year around at every hour of the night.”
Dani shivers a bit and Jamie drags up the blanket so Dani’s fully wrapped in it, and brings her closer in.
“Let’s find the Big Bear first: Look up to the sky above you and let your eyes wander slowly, in circles, toward the horizon. It consists of seven bright stars.”
Dani’s brow pinches in concentration as she looks for the Big Bear. “And looks a bit like a pot with a handle, right?”
“Yeah. That’s why it’s also called The Big Dipper.”
It doesn’t take long for Dani to find it. She points when she does.
“Now,” Jamie says, “from the two stars on the right side of The Big Bear, let your eyes travel upwards in that exact line until you find the Pole Star.”
“Which is also part of The Little Bear aka The Little Dipper.”
“Mm-hmm.” Jamie squeezes Dani’s shoulder affectionately. “They are in my top ten list of star constellations. Not necessarily because I think they’re pretty, but because I love the Ancient Greek’s interpretation of how they were placed in the sky.”
Dani kisses Jamie’s fingers. “Tell me more?”
“Zeus, God of the sky and thunder and ruler of the Gods had many human girlfriends. His favorite was Callisto, a beautiful nymph. Hera, his wife, knew he wasn’t faithful. She was terribly jealous. Wanted to get revenge against the women he had affairs with.
One day, as Zeus was walking through the forest with Callisto, he saw his wife Hera coming. Unable to hide Callisto in time, he turned her into a big brown bear. When Hera arrived, she saw only Zeus walking by himself through the forest.
She looked around, searching for someone with Zeus, but saw only a brown bear. She still did not trust Zeus and insisted that he returns to Mount Olympus with her. Zeus did not want to go, wanted to change Callisto back into her human form before leaving, but Hera insisted.
So Zeus went with Hera, leaving Callisto as a brown bear. Unknown to Zeus, Arcas, Callisto’s son, who was a great hunter, was out in the woods hunting that day.
As chance would have it, he saw a great brown bear in the forest. He put an arrow to his bow, took careful aim, and shot that great bear through the heart.
Right before his startled eyes, Arcas watched the bear as it died, changing back into the form of his mother Callisto. Arcas began to cry loudly for his mother and what he had done to her.
When he realized that it was Zeus that had changed her into the bear, he grew angry. Zeus, fearing that Hera might hear the cries, went down to earth to try to appease Arcas.
In order to hide what he had done, Zeus changed Callisto back into a bear and placed her form, as a constellation, into the northern sky as the Big Bear. He then changed Arcas into a small bear and put him in the sky as well. There, Arcas turned to look at his mother Callisto.”
“That is why,” Jamie turns to look at Dani, who has watery eyes, “the Little Bear is curved toward the Big Bear, so that Arcas can watch over his mother Callisto for all eternity.”
Dani sniffles, wiping away tears with her sleeve. “That’s so, so beautiful, Jamie. Not just the myth, but also the way you told it.”
“I got more where that comes from,” Jamie whispers, kissing Dani’s lips that taste a bit like salt, “Cassiopeia, the queen of the night-sky or Orion, the great hunter?”
“Don’t care,” Dani whispers back, “but I think I need to kiss you first. I have so much love for you right now and I think I will die if I don’t.”
Jamie beams. “We wouldn’t want that, would we?”
*
Dani, who always gets what she wants, is naked and half-covered in a fluffy quilt on the bed, coming with a soft-spoken “love you, love you, love you” on Jamie’s fingers.
Jamie smiles happily into her skin, kissing every inch she can reach, and holds her close as Dani enjoys her afterglow.
It’s only then when Jamie realizes:
“You wanted to do more than kissin’,” Jamie shakes her head as she can’t quite believe it, “and you got it.”
Dani laughs a little, hiding her face in Jamie's neck and Jamie, as happy as she can be, holds her like she never wants to let go.
“You can never really say no to me, can you?”
“Not in a million years.”
*
|
“Sorry, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Tommy lied, quickly pulling his sleeve back up over his wrist. “Anyways, go on-“
“Tommy, what did Siren point out just now?” Philza asked, turning his focus towards the blonde. “Nothing, sorry.” Tommy apologized, trying to get out of this situation.
Again, this job wasn't a good idea. Or maybe Tommy choosing to be a vigilante wasn't a good idea. Tommy didn’t know which decision was the cause of this.
“God, you’re such a bad liar.” Siren scoffed, grabbing Tommy’s arm. Siren pulled down Tommy’s sleeve, revealing the injury.
“Explain this then, if it’s just ‘nothing’.” Siren quoted. “You’re lying through your teeth.” The hero spat. “How did you get this?” Siren questioned, sounding more like a demand.
“I fell. Down the stairs, actually.” Tommy answered quietly.
“Bullshit. Why would you lie about it instead of telling the truth if it was just you falling?” Siren asked, pissed off. Tommy knew he was screwed. “I didn’t want you to worry about me, that’s all.” Tommy lied, again. Well- it was true that he didn’t want them to worry about him, but the falling thing was a lie.
Siren tried to state another claim, but Philza cut him off before he could. “I’ll go get some ice,” “No, no it’s fine, really, doesn’t even hurt that bad. I’ll be fine. 100%.” Tommy assured.
It actually hurt really bad, he just didn’t want to cause any trouble.
“You sure?” The hero asked, concerned. “No, yeah, I’ll be fine. Thanks, though.” Tommy replied. “No more writing though.” Philza ordered. “Would typing it out hurt less, maybe?” The hero asked Tommy. “Yeah- we can try that.”
Ok, problem solved,
Tommy thought.
He thought.
—————
Turns out, doing anything that needed him to use his right hand or wrist hurt. Terribly. Maybe he should’ve let Philza get that ice for his wrist.
“Ow, fuck!” Tommy winced as he tried un-opening the cap to a water bottle he bought from a vending machine.
Great,
Tommy thought.
Tommy finally got the cap off, but he had to use his teeth. Not the best thing ever, but at least he wouldn’t have to dehydrate because of an injury.
As Tommy was drinking, he realized something. How is he supposed to patrol if he had an injury like
this?
Whatever. He’d push through. Right?
Tommy let that thought sit in the back of his head as he walked back over to the elevator, and pressed the button to the floor where Philza's office was located.
—————
“Phil, I think he’s lying.” Siren stated.
“Hm?” The winged hero replied, looking up from papers he was working on. “Tommy. I think he’s lying about his injuries.” Siren explained. “Why?” Philza asked, picking his pen back up.
It was afternoon, and the sun shined brightly through the windows in Philza’s office, lighting up the room.
“I mean, is it really possible to hurt your wrist
that badly
by falling?” Siren reasoned. The room stayed quiet for a second. “Well, you have to realize he fell down a flight of stairs.” Philza argued.
“Yeah, but he’s also gotten 2 injuries in the past week. I don’t think that’s normal.” Siren defended. “Maybe he’s just injury prone, or has bad luck. You can't just assume he’s lying over two occasions.” Philza explained to the other hero. “Listen, I don’t know what you think the truth is, but you’re probably wrong.” The hero stated. “Fine. But if he gets another injury soon I'm calling BS.” Siren asserted.
Siren's attention shifted as he heard a click from the door, and someone stepped in the room.
“Hey, Tommy!” Philza greeted, and Tommy took a seat. “Can you organize these papers?” The hero asked, handing Tommy a pile of paperwork. “Yeah, sure.” He replied.
“Hey, Tommy,” Siren started. “Yeah?” Tommy asked, separating the papers into piles. “How have you been getting so many injuries? Are you injury prone or something?” Siren asked. Tommy looked over to Philza, and saw him glaring at the other hero.
“Yeah, I guess you could say that?” Tommy raised his eyebrow, and then turned his attention back to the papers.
Stop,
Philza mouthed to Siren. Siren rolled his eyes in return.
Siren would occasionally try to make conversation with Tommy, but the boy gave a response and then stopped talking.
“Phillll, I’m bored. Can I leave-“ Siren started, before realizing what he’d done. He just revealed Philza’s name.
Oh shit
, Siren thought.
“Phil?” Tommy questioned.
Siren knew he fucked up.
“Sorry- that was weird- uhm- I meant Philza. Don’t know why I said Phil.” Siren stuttered, trying to cover up what he had done.
“Is that your actual name?” Tommy asked, looking at the hero in front of him.
“
God damn it Wil,”
Philza muttered to himself, making sure the two couldn’t hear him. “Yes. It is.” Phil sighed.
“So you seriously just added ‘-za’ to the end of your name and your hero name? Really?” Tommy spat out. “Sorry, that came off bad,” Tommy quickly apologized.
The room was awkwardly silent for a few minutes.
“Here, I finished organizing these, Philza.” Tommy said, handing each individual pile to him. “Just call me Phil, it’s fine.” The hero insisted. “Oh- uh, ok.” Tommy replied quietly.
“Can I leave now?” Siren asked again. “Yeah, yeah, go.” Phil shooed. “You’re free to leave too, Tommy.” Phil added. “Thanks,” Tommy said, getting up to head out the door, following Siren.
“Why are you following me?” Siren scoffed as the two walked down the hallway. “I’m not following you, I’m going to the elevator, prick.” Tommy spat. “Whatever,” Siren sighed, pressing the down button near the elevator.
They both went into the elevator, and both picked their designated floors. Tommy pulled out his phone while he waited.
“Tommy, are you lying?” Siren asked. “What?” Tommy questioned, eyes now on the hero instead of his phone.
“Are you lying about your injuries?”
“I-“
The elevator reached Tommy’s floor. “I gotta go. Bye, Siren.” Tommy said with a tone.
The elevator doors closed, and Siren's question was left unanswered.
He’s definitely lying,
the brunette thought.
Siren reached his floor, and walked down the hall and made a left, reaching one of the meeting rooms.
Great,
Siren thought. He hated meetings.
Siren knocked on the door, and walked in. He took a seat, and the meeting started. Some meeting about a group of criminals on the rise in some other small country that sat next to L’manburg. Siren couldn’t care less.
The meeting felt like forever, but it finally ended. Siren returned to the elevator, and pressed floor 73.
—————
“Hey, Wil.” A monotone voice greeted as Siren walked into the kitchen. “Hey.” Siren replied back, getting a glass from one of the cabinets.
“Listen, I’m patrolling Area 13 tonight. Phil told me to tell you that you have to go with me.” Blood God notified, getting out of his seat to get something from the fridge.
“I have to do what?” Siren thought he heard him incorrectly.
“You have to patrol Area 13 with me tonight. That’s an order.” Blood God demanded. “I don’t want to hear you complain.” The hero stated.
“But- Area 13? You know what happened to me there, right?” Siren asked Bloodgod. “Yes, I know, but that doesn’t mean it will happen again. That was years ago, and he’s long gone now.” Blood God assured. “Fuck you, Tech. I almost died. I’m lucky I didn’t.” Siren spat, filling his glass with water, and leaving the kitchen.
“I’ll go, but if anything happens, I blame you.” Siren stated. “Yeah okay.” The other responded, sighing.
—————
It was cold out tonight, and Tommy’s thin-beat-up-hoodie wasn’t doing it for him. He could feel the icy air through his hoodie.
Tommy was on the same rooftop as last time, sitting on the corner of the roof, eyes out for anything. But this time, a pig wouldn’t interrupt his focus.
Tommy’s roommate, Ranboo, insisted he didn’t go on patrol because of his wrist. But a measly wrist injury wasn’t going to hold him back. He can function just fine. It’s just a matter of if using his magic was going to hurt him or not. Hopefully it won’t, because otherwise he’s screwed. He can’t do much with his wings.
Oh right, he could use his wings to warm himself up. The avian realized this, and wrapped his wings around himself. It’s much nicer than his thin hoodie he has on.
But what isn’t nice is what happened next.
Footsteps.
Oh, you’re kidding me,
Tommy thought as he stood up and turned around, rolling his eyes under his goggles.
Wait.
That isn’t Blood God. At least he didn’t think it was
“Who are you?” A voice asked. It was a figure, but Tommy couldn’t make out any features in the dark.
The vigilante didn’t reply.
“Uh- hello? Are you deaf?”
Tommy shook his head. He had to get out of this.
The figure stepped into the moonlight.
Is that…? Oh fuck.
Tommy opened his wings. which looked pale white directly in the moonlight. He started to fly up, but noticed Siren's eyes turning red.
This is it,
Tommy thought.
This is the part where I get arrested.
“
Get back here,”
A haunting voice said.
Don’t give in,
Tommy thought to himself while closing his eyes,
Don’t. Ever.
Tommy opened his eyes, and found himself still in the same place. Wait…did he just?
The hero looked confused. “Uh- I said,
Get back here
.” Siren tried again. “What the hell?” The hero said to himself.
The vigilante smirked under his mask. Siren couldn’t tell what he signed, but he saw the vigilante stretch his wings further and fly off, giving the hero the middle finger as he left.
The hero was stunned.
How did they just?
Siren heard someone walking up to him, but Siren's eyes were still locked on the vigilante, who was now barely in sight.
“Wil, you good?” A voice said behind the hero.
“I- no,” Siren said, confused. “That person- they just?” Siren stopped. “They just what?” Blood God asked. “My mind control- they just- refused? Like, it didn’t work on them. What the hell?” Siren was in shock.
It stayed silent for a moment.
“What? But it always works.”
“No, Tech, you don’t understand- It’s just like last time. How they didn’t listen to my mind control, it’s just like him.” Siren realized.
“I need to go find that person.”
|
“Come on, come on, come on, come on.” Jess was jumping back and forth from foot to foot, standing in the doorway of Karen’s bedroom, looking every bit the impatient child.
“Give me a second. I’m just finishing my makeup.” Karen glanced over her shoulder from her seat in front of the vanity, raising a brow.
“Oh my god.” Groaning, Jess took two steps into the room and flopped backward onto Karen’s bed dramatically. A stack of papers crumpled under the weight of her body, but she didn’t seem to care. “I wore a dress for this, Karen. I never wear dresses. So if you don’t hurry up I’m going to bail on your ass.”
“Jesus, Jess. It’s my birthday. A little grace would be nice!” Karen gestured with the mascara wand in her hand, chuckling. “You are such a child sometimes.”
Proving Karen's point entirely, Jess rolled her eyes and pounded her fists against the comforter.
“Hey Karen! I love the roses on your windowsill—where’d you get them from?” Trish’s voice carried from the living room, and Karen almost dropped her mascara.
“Uh—I got them myself! From the little flower shop round the corner!” Karen lied. She didn’t know why—there was a part of her that wanted to keep her contact with Frank a secret. Felt like it was a precious treasure to hoard away.
“Well they’re gorgeous! Who knew you had a green thumb?” Appearing at Karen’s door in a flurry of chiffon and Chanel No 5, Trish looked a bit like a 1950s starlet in her little red cocktail dress.
“Thanks—just trying my best not to kill everything I touch,” Karen joked, shrugging. She, too, was incredibly surprised that the roses were still alive—not only the ones she’d found on her doorstep a month ago, but the flowers from two years ago, as well. The ones she’d received the day Frank had disappeared. She’d never been one for gardening—couldn’t even keep a cactus alive in her dorm room in college—but as soon as she’d brought that initial pot of flowers inside, she’d Googled “How to Keep Roses Alive Forever” and bought her first bag of Miracle-Grow. It had been a bit of a learning curve, but now she took better care of those flowers than she did herself.
Swiping on some blood red lipstick, Karen paused to glance at herself in the mirror. Not a hair out of place.
“Okay. Now I’m ready.” She stood, slipping into her five inch heels—the black velvet ones with the floral embroidery on the heel. They took her from being a relatively tall woman to a fucking Amazon, and she loved it.
“Finally!” Jess grumbled, sliding from the bed onto the floor in imitation of a human puddle, before righting herself. “Both of you take ages getting ready! I could’ve given birth and raised a child in the time it took you to get dressed.”
“God, but we’re glad you didn’t.” Karen snorted.
“You know, some of us actually take pride in our appearances, Jessica Jones.” Trish said primly, tossing her hair over her shoulder.
“I take pride in my appearance!” Crying out in protest, Jess swept her arm down her body.
“Uh huh, sure.” Trish raised a brow. “Is that why there’s some kind of ketchup stain on the sleeve of your dress?”
“What? There isn’t—” Holding up her arm, Jess twisted to examine her cuff. “Oh, that.” She frowned. “Pretty sure that’s BBQ sauce, actually.”
“Either way, my point has been made.” Trish turned to Karen, who was stifling laughter. “You ready to go, birthday girl?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Karen held out her arms. “Do your worst.”
Karen wasn’t one to celebrate her birthday; even as a kid, she’d never been into the big parties with streamers and decorative plates. Not that her mother was ever in much of a state to throw them, and her father sure as shit wouldn’t be caught dead baking her a cake. So she’d never grown up as a “blow out the candles and make a wish” kind of kid, and that didn’t change as she got older.
In fact, she wasn’t really the type of person to go out to bars or clubs or concerts on normal, non-birthday nights. It was the crowds that she didn’t enjoy—the loud noises and the swirling colors and people jostling into her. It reminded her too much of her day job, elbowing her way through rowdy fans at various stadiums, Foggy trailing helplessly behind her. She spent all day wading in a sea of bodies, so she wasn’t too keen on spending her free time doing the same thing.
But Trish had been bothering her for years—ever since their days rooming together in undergrad—about celebrating her birthday the “right way.” Trying to get her to agree to a night on the town, just once, to ring in a new year of existence. And Karen had resisted, mightily, and with great force, until this year. She couldn’t explain why, but she felt like it was time. It had been a rough year (a rough few years, if she were being completely honest) and the fact that she even had people like Trish and Jess in her life was so momentous—so beautiful and wonderful and sweet—that she felt like celebrating for once. Allowing herself to revel in the people who were there, rather than getting mired down in the memories of those who weren’t.
“Okay, so first on the agenda, we’re hitting up Cielo—do a little dancing. Let our hair down.”
“Hair’s already down, Trish.” Jess reached up to yank at her locks.
“Proverbial hair, Jess. Don’t be nitpicky.”
“Just saying.”
“Well shush.” Trish swatted Jess on the arm as they left the apartment, Karen locking up and sliding her key into her clutch.
“Are you two going to argue all night or what?” She breezed past them on the way to the stairs.
“We’ll be good, I promise.” Trish held up her hands in acquiescence.
“She promises. I don’t.” Jess muttered, grinning. “But I’ll try.”
And she did—try, that is. All through the early evening, as they danced their way around Cielo like a trio of unhinged dandelions. Karen was actually impressed with how willing Jess was to let go and have some actual fun, for once; she even danced with a nervous-looking guy in a Slayer t-shirt, who had obviously been working up the nerve to ask her for at least an hour. It probably helped that drinks were flowing, men (and women) of all kinds buying them shots and fancy cocktails. According to Trish, this was something that happened to her whenever she went out—one of the perks of being “the hot one from CBS NY.” Everybody had their little news anchor fantasy, apparently, which meant they were more than willing to keep her liquored up, along with whoever she’d brought with her.
They stayed at Cielo for two hours, dancing to house music nobody knew the words to, pulling out ridiculous moves like the sprinkler and the electric slide. Anything to make each other laugh. It was the kind of dancing you did when you really didn’t care what you looked like—when the act of moving your body was solely for yourself. And Karen loved it.
They were sweaty and exhausted by the time midnight rolled around, and Jess began complaining that she was hungry. Luckily, Trish had planned for exactly this in her itinerary, and they beat a hasty exit to find a cheap pizza place that wasn’t packed with other refugees from the club-going crowd.
Once they had refueled, Trish caught them a cab to their next destination—a little bar in Hell’s Kitchen called Josie’s, which apparently had the best shots in all of New York City.
The bar was a little run down—a little grimy—in that way all truly marvelous bars are. A hole-in-the-wall with more personality than every place they had passed on their way there. Dark and smoky, almost like a relic from the pre-Giuliani days; Karen felt like she was stepping into the last shadowy, private corner of New York when she crossed the threshold.
“Oh my god.” Jess looked around with an open mouth. “I love it here. Someone could get shanked in that back corner and you’d never even know.” She pointed to a particularly dimly-lit section of the bar.
“It is so weird that you find that appealing.” Trish sighed, shaking her head. “You two grab us some seats—I’m going to go get shots.”
As Karen followed Jess to a back booth, she couldn’t shake a strange and familiar feeling. The sensation of being watched. It ran up her spine, settling in the base of her skull. Not in an uncomfortable way, but almost reassuring; it was how she remembered feeling when she would go out onto the big kid’s playground and Kevin would keep an eye on her, making sure nobody stole her toys. Taking a seat, she cast her gaze about the bar, but everything was covered in so thick a later of shadow, she couldn’t make out any faces.
“So, how we doing so far? For your birthday? Scale of 1 to 10?” Jess suppressed a yawn, reaching out to play with the salt and pepper shakers on the table.
“I’d say you’re hitting it out of the park.” Karen pretended to think about it deeply. “A solid 10.”
“Good. Because if I dragged my ass out of the house, put on a fucking dress, and went dancing, it’s for nothing less than a solid ten.”
Karen laughed, rolling her eyes. And then her phone beeped. As it had been all evening—birthday wishes flooding in from people she barely knew. Pulling it out of her clutch, she glanced at the screen, then tensed. It was her father.
“What? Who’s that?” Jess, noticing Karen’s sudden stiffness, leaned over the get a glimpse of her phone.
“Uh, nobody.” Karen shook her head, forcing a reassuring grin. She paused, debating, before swiping the message open.
Happy birthday, Karen. I didn’t forget. Her grin slipped.
“It doesn’t seem like nobody from the way you’re frowning.” Jess pursed her lips.
“What’s Karen frowning about?” Trish asked, sliding into the booth next to Jess, depositing a round of bright red shots on the table. “There’s no frowning on your birthday.”
“Nothing.”
“Her phone.”
Jess and Karen spoke at the same time. Trish looked between the two of them, eyes narrowed.
“Okaaaay.” She drew the word out to multiple syllables. Then, before Karen could react, she was reaching out to swipe the phone from her hands. Glancing down at the screen, Trish grimaced. “Oh, honey.” Her voice gentled, taking on a sympathetic little edge. “Don’t start thinking about him now; it’ll just upset you.”
“What? What’s going on?” Jess was beginning the get frustrated—she didn’t like not knowing things.
“Uh,” Karen raised a shoulder in a half-shrug, aiming for nonchalant. “It’s my dad.”
“Oh.” Jess said, then frowned. “Is that…a bad thing?”
“It’s a complicated thing.” Karen ran a hand through her hair. “My dad and I…we have some shit between us. Or, I guess…I have some shit with him. Don’t really know what his stance is on me. Haven’t spoken to him in a while.”
“Ah. So he’s an asshole?” Jess resumed playing with the salt shaker, twirling it in her fingers.
“I don’t know.” Biting her lip, Karen heaved a sigh. “Yeah, kind of.”
“Definitely.” Trish threw in, nodding. “Of the most significant kind.”
“Wasn’t always that way, though.”
“No, he was. You just didn’t realize it.” Trish corrected.
“Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Reaching for a shot, Karen shook her head as though it could clear her mind. “Anyway,” she took a deep breath. “I don’t really want to think about it right now.”
“Well, luckily for you, we’ve got the cure for thinking: alcohol.” Jess grabbed her own shot, holding it up to the light and squinting through the glass. “What exactly is in this?”
“Don’t worry about it, Jess. It’s good.” Trish lifted her shot. “And if it’s poison, we all die together.”
“Exactly how I always hoped to go.” Karen quirked a smile, clinking her glass with theirs in a toast, then knocking it back smoothly. “Woah!” She made a face. “That tastes like Everclear and Kool-Aid.”
“I know!” Jess grinned. “I like it!”
“Another round!” Trish announced, slamming her hand on the table before getting up to order more shots.
And so they drank, and talked, and drank some more, until the thought of her father was all but banished from Karen’s mind. Until the shots settled around her brain like a pleasant fuzz of cotton.
“Oh man, I need a glass of water so badly. You stay here, I’ll be right back.” Karen slid out of the booth, stumbling slightly on her heels. She wasn’t drunk—just tipsy. Felt a bit like flying when she closed her eyes.
“Okay—get me one too!” Trish called after her.
“Weaklings,” she heard Jess muttering. “Water is for fools who can’t handle their liquor.”
Karen snickered, making her way to the bar. Josie was at the other end, dealing with a customer who appeared to have passed out next to his whiskey, so Karen leaned forward, elbows on the wood, and waited, looking at herself in the mirror mounted behind the bottles on the wall. Her hair was a mess, and her makeup was a little smudged, but not bad for a night out.
“Hey, pretty thing. You alone?”
Sour breath hit Karen’s neck, and she turned her head sharply to see a clearly-inebriated man pushing up to her side. He looked out of place in the dingy bar, with his Wall Street haircut, designer suit, and thousand dollar watch. Some Upper East Side asshole who probably thought he was slumming it.
“Uh, nope. I’m here with my friends.” Karen replied, stepping to the side, putting a good foot of distance between them.
“Interesting.” The man stepped forward, following her. “Don’t see any friends around here.” He made a big show of craning his head, which bobbled a little loosely on his neck.
“Well they’re right behind you, so clearly you’re not looking hard enough.” Karen leaned back, glancing in the direction of Trish and Jess, who were too preoccupied flipping coasters to notice what was happening at the bar.
“Hmm. Or maybe they’re not really here, and you’re playing hard to get.” The man let his left arm fall, brushing against her ass as it did. Karen’s back stiffened, and she turned to him with ice in her eyes. The fog of tipsiness was completely gone—replaced with something sharp and angry. “Lucky for you, I always get what I want.”
“Don’t touch me again, asshole.” The words came out through gritted teeth, and Karen felt the tick in her jaw.
“Or what?” He snickered. “Your imaginary friends are gonna get me?” He maintained eye contact, reaching out to pinch her bottom.
Before he could react, Karen had wheeled on him, grabbing the thumb of his left hand in her right, twisting his arm behind his back and slamming his torso onto the bar. It was a wrist manipulation Luke had taught her—a Krav Maga move he had insisted everyone should know for self-defense. She’d never imagined she’d actually have to use it.
“Agh! You bitch!” The man was crying out, wriggling about desperately to get free. “You fucking cunt!”
“Watch your mouth, huh? I’ve got you in a pretty vulnerable position, you prick.”
Jess and Trish were at her side immediately, their attention finally captured by the man’s pained cries. As was the attention of most of the patrons left at Josie’s, who all seemed to gather I around her as she shoved the man roughly into the wooden surface of the bar.
“Holy shit!” Trish had her hands over her mouth. “What did he do to you?”
“Touched my ass.” Karen spat, increasing her grip on his wrist.
“Hey! Hey!” Josie was in front of them in seconds, frowning. “What’s going on here?”
“This bag of dicks was trying to touch my friend here.” Jess reached out, smacking the man upside the head as she spoke. “Without her permission.”
“Let him go,” Josie demanded, tilting her head toward Karen. “Mike’ll take care of him.” She cut her eyes to the gruff, brawny looking man making his way toward the commotion. Karen hesitated a moment before letting the drunk asshole go, shoving him away from her as she did.
“Fucking bitch!” He yelled, spitting at her as he was dragged outside by Mike. The glob of saliva landed at her feet, and Karen almost laughed. It was so pathetic.
“Fuck, are you okay?” Trish had her arm around her in seconds, looking concerned.
“Yeah, I’m fine. I’m fine.” Karen waved her off, and the crowd that had gathered around them began to dissipate.
“Where the fuck did you learn that move? It was bad-fucking-ass.” Jess sounded pumped, and impressed, which Karen wasn’t entirely sure was the appropriate response to the situation.
“Uh, from that gym I’ve been going to. Where I box.” Karen ran a shaky hand through her hair, turning on her heel. As soon as she did, she stepped into a cloud of familiar scent—something dark and woodsy, with an undercurrent of chalk. All at once, every synapse in her brain fired off, lighting up like a fucking Christmas tree. The feeling of remembrance was so visceral that it literally had her shivering as it tripped down her spine.
Frank.
That smell was Frank. She was absolutely certain. She’d never forget it—not in a million years. In fact, she was pretty sure she’d white rose it until the day she died.
“Karen? You okay?” Trish’s brow furrowed, taking in the wide-eyed look on her friend’s face.
“Yeah, I—” Karen didn’t finish her sentence; she was too busy whipping her head this way and that, looking for any sign of Frank. Her heart was beating wildly in her chest.
“Are you sure, because you look kinda like—” Jess spoke up, but Karen cut her off.
“No, no—I’m okay.”
Trish and Jess glanced at one another, frowning for a second, while Karen continued to crane her head and swivel around in the middle of the bar.
Nothing. Not a single glimpse of him. Her heart relate began to slow. Fuck. How desperate was she that she was imagining Frank’s scent? It was almost embarrassing. With a sigh, she collapsed back against the bar.
“Really, I’m fine.” Karen scrubbed a hand down her face. “I just—I thought I saw someone.”
The looked that passed between Jess and Trish said they both knew exactly who she thought she saw. She wouldn’t have reacted with such…vigor for just anybody.
“Well,” Trish sighed. “I hate to say it, but I think our night’s over.”
“Nothing like a little light sexual harassment to ruin a girl’s night out, eh?” The poison was practically dripping from Jess’s voice.
“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Karen nodded. “I had fun, though. Thank you both so much for doing this for me.”
“Hey,” Trish placed both hands on Karen’s shoulders; forcing her to look her square in the eye. “I would do anything for you, Kare.”
“Yeah, I guess I would, too.” Jess nudged her side, sounding faux-put out.
“I love you guys.” Karen’s smile was a little watery, as all the exhaustion and drama of the night settled over her, making her feel a little like a windup toy whose song was about done.
“Oh no. We’re getting to the sappy part of the night.” Jess raised her arm over her head, pointing and swinging it in a circling motion. “Pack it up! We’re out of here!”
Despite the fact that Karen collapsed onto her bed, utterly spent, at around 3 that morning, she couldn’t sleep. Her head was an absolute mess of thoughts, all because of that moment in the bar where she could have sworn she smelled Frank.
She’d taken freshman biology in undergrad—she knew that there were profound ties between the olfactory senses and the hippocampus, which was why memory was so vividly sparked by scent. And she trusted her brain; if it was telling her Frank was nearby, Frank must have been nearby.
Except he wasn’t invisible, now, was he? If he was there, she would have seen him, right? He wasn’t exactly a small man; with those broad shoulders and that unbelievable build, it was difficult to blend into the crowd. So maybe her brain was wrong? Maybe she’d been projecting?
Back and forth, in the early hours of the morning, she bounced between the two ideas. Until finally, around 7AM, she fell into a deep sleep. Dreamless and dark—the kind of sleep that tastes a little like death.
When she woke up, it was 6PM on Sunday night, and her mouth felt like cotton.
“Aw fuck.” She rolled over, burying her face in her pillow. She’d told Luke she’d be in for some sparring around 5, and she’d slept through it. The gym closed at 9PM on Sunday nights, which meant she probably wouldn’t make it in time to get in a good workout. And she really, really needed to put her fists on something—too much budding, nervous energy flooding her system after last night.
Fortunately, Luke was more than willing to accommodate her.
“I’m leaving a spare key to the entire building in the power box round back. Put it back when you’re done. If my gym gets broken into because of your running-late ass, there’s gonna be hell to pay.”
Karen had grinned when she’d read the text—if she had a dollar every time Luke Cage threatened her for some reason or another, she’d be a very wealthy woman.
It was 10 o’clock by the time Karen dragged herself to the gym, sports bra and yoga pants in the mid-July heat. The key was in the power box, just as Luke had said it would be. There was a moment of pause as Karen unlocked the gym door, and saw the light to Curtis’s old office was still on. It wasn’t like Luke to forget to hit all the lights before he left—the man was serious about conserving his electricity. But as she flicked on the main light switch, she shrugged it off, assuming he’d left it on for her. So that it wouldn’t be pitch black when she walked in.
It was strange being in the gym all alone—a little creepy. So Karen locked the door behind her, suddenly feeling cautious. She was so used to seeing the place packed—with the old Navy vets who came in on Monday nights to do some light boxing (but mostly sit around talking, reliving the glory days); the mommy kick-boxing class that met on Thursdays, filling the gym with Lululemon and talk of private daycares; and the young boxing hopefuls who came to work with Luke Cage, in the hopes of someday making it to the pros. So standing in the middle of Hoyle’s all alone was a little disconcerting.
Karen shrugged off the feeling, walking toward her favorite punching bag (the one someone had drawn a smiley face on in red Sharpie), and plugging her iPod into the Bluetooth speaker Luke had left for her. She scrolled through her playlist until she hit “AC/DC,” and tapped “Thunderstruck.” As the opening riff howled over the speakers, she pulled out her Ringside 180” and began wrapping her hands.
Karen always lost herself the minute her fist met canvas—practicing her jabs and her footwork. It was so easy to turn her brain off and give into the feeling of letting her body go; letting her muscles stretch and bunch with every swing of her arms. If she concentrated hard enough on her breathing, she could almost feel herself exiting her body, drifting off somewhere far away, leaving bone and tendon and sinew behind. It was blissful. She’d always heard of a runner’s high, but she felt a little bit like she’d reached a boxer’s high.
She was so into her workout that she barely noticed when her playlist finished, leaving the gym completely silent, save for the huff of her breath and the thud of her fists hitting the punching bag. So of course she didn’t notice the soft sound of footsteps on the wood floors as they approached.
“You need to move your left leg back a hair.”
The scream that left Karen’s throat was frantic—panicked—as she wheeled on her feet suddenly, hands raised in a defensive stance, and stopped dead in her tracks. Her arms fell limply to her sides.
Holy fuck.
Heart pounding, eyes wide, adrenaline flooding her veins, she found herself staring straight at Frank Castle. He was smiling almost shyly, arms crossed, as he leaned against a support beam.
There was a moment where nobody spoke, and Karen could feel her heart leaping into her throat, hard and insistent. Her mind was blank—utterly blank—and then it wasn’t; a thousand thoughts rushing in at once. Mostly “holy shit”, “what the fuck?”, “is this a dream?”, “I must be hallucinating.” And then, over the chaos of questions flooding her brain: “God damn it, how does he look so fucking good?”
And he did—look really fucking good. Even better than she’d remembered him. Wearing gray sweats, a CCR t-shirt, and a sheepish look, he was like every fantasy she’d had of him over the years come to life. If at all possible, he looked bigger than before—fuller—more broad; cut; healthy. Skin lightly tanned, and that beard just a tad longer than it had been before. But the eyes were the same—dark and soulful and full of a thousand points of light that Karen couldn’t help but be drawn to.
She drank him in. Desperately. Like someone slaking an impossible thirst.
Frank, for his part, found his heart stuttering in his chest at the sight of Karen Page—solid and real and panting in front of him, sweat dripping down her neck. Seeing her in person, after two long years—it was so fucking sweet, he could almost feel it in his teeth.
How many hours had he spent, tuned into CBS NY to watch her segments, sequestered away and feeling like she was his only real tether back to the world he used to know? How often had he wished, in those isolating years up on Lake Placid, that he could just talk to her? Just once? Call her up and say hello? How many times had her voice—her smile—on the TV helped to banish the loneliness and misery of his recovery? There was no way he could put into words how much she had meant to him in those years he’d been gone, because it didn’t quite make sense to even himself. All he knew was that his entire body was vibrating in her presence. Like a livewire.
The air in the gym was thick and tense—quiet as the grave—then all of the sudden:
“What the ever-loving FUCK, Frank!” Karen whipped off one of her boxing gloves, and chucked it at his head.
“Woah—hey!” He ducked, chuckling to himself as the glove flew passed him, missing by an inch.
“Are you—” Karen sputtered, “are you laughing at me!” The other glove came off, then it, too, was hurtling toward his face. He contemplated, for a moment, letting it hit him. Just to give her the satisfaction. But his instincts kicked in at the last second, and he dodged it as well.
“I’m not! I’m not!” He protested, holding up his hands. His earnestness was severely undercut by the fact that he was fully snickering at her.
“You can’t—” Karen yelled, looking around for something else to throw, eyes landing on her towel, “disappear for two years”—the towel grazed his shoulder as it flew by—“come back all of the sudden, and laugh at me for being distressed!”
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Frank held up his hands in surrender. “I promise I am!”
Karen stopped, panting heavily, glaring at him. It took a moment, but Frank watched as the tension melted from her shoulders, and her stance relaxed. The expression on her face went soft—eyes wide and lips almost trembling.
“You miss me?” He asked. He’d meant for his voice to be teasing, but it sounded a little too sincere for that.
“Frank.” It was all she had to say. There were no other words. They stared at each other a moment, and there was a distinct feeling in the air, like anticipation.
God, Karen wanted to hug him. She really fucking wanted to hug him. Which was ridiculous, because they’d never hugged one another before he disappeared, so it wasn’t like something they did. But that fact didn’t keep the desire to hold him in her arms from wrapping itself around her brain.
“You—” Karen started to speak, but her voice sounded a little wrecked, so she stopped. Paused. Tried again. “When did you get back to New York City?”
“Uh, officially?” Frank scratched at his jaw. “Last night. Came into the city a few times over the years. But I’m back for good now.”
“So…” Karen’s mind was working—Frank could see the gears turning as clearly as if her skull were made of glass. “Last night? At Josie’s bar…?”
“When you went Black Widow on that guy who touched your ass?” Frank was smirking (and it was such a strange feeling, being so immediately comfortable around Karen. Like no time had passed at all. He’d think about that later.)
“You were—” Karen was sputtering again, indignantly. “But how—why—you asshole! Why didn’t you say something!?”
“You were having fun with your friends. Didn’t wanna ruin that.” His shrug was entirely too dismissive.
“Frank. Fucking. Castle.” Karen’s voice was deadly, but he didn’t mind. Just hearing it was kind of great. Even if he was in trouble. “You are…” Karen scrubbed a hand down her face. “The most insufferable man in the world. I am so fucking,” she paused and took a breath, “happy to see you. Damn it.”
Frank’s chest warmed. That was not how he was expecting that sentence to end.
“Yeah, you too, Page.”
“I have so many questions. Like—more questions that I have words for.”
“I figured you would.” Frank’s mouth quirked.
“So does that mean you’re gonna answer them, or…?” Karen shifted from foot to foot.
“I’ll try.” Frank glanced over his shoulder, looking toward the front door of the gym. “There’s a diner down the street. Shitty food; great coffee. Let’s talk.”
Karen waited a beat, trying to wrap her mind around the fact that she was about to go sit in a diner across from Frank Fucking Castle, then nodded.
Frank was different. Not massively so—he was still Frank Castle—but he was different. Karen supposed it was to be expected; near-death experiences tended to alter a person, or so she’d heard.
He was still quiet, but the quiet had been changed somehow. Before, he was quiet in a way that was a little defensive. Arms out in front of himself, keeping people at bay, “don’t ask me about my life, because I won’t give you a straight answer” kind of quiet. Now, his quiet seemed more thoughtful. Contemplative. Karen couldn’t say exactly why, but there was something in his stance—the way he faced her when he spoke; leaned toward her; looked her in the eye—that felt more open.
If Frank could have glimpsed inside her mind at that moment, he would have corroborated the feeling. He was more open—more willing to let people in. He’d almost lost his fucking life on that night in Vinegar Hill, and then he’d spent the next two years in almost total isolation, with only Curtis, David, Maria, and the kids to talk to. He knew, intimately, what it was like to be closed off from the world. So he was a little bit tired of disconnection—of solitude. For the first time that he could remember, he wanted to be tied to other people, in as many ways as he could be. For as long as he could be. And that was a terrifying thing, for someone who’d lived his whole life fighting to be left alone. But he figured Karen was a great place to start.
“So…” Karen held her coffee mug in both hands, letting the heat seep into her fingers. It still hadn’t settled on her fully—that she was sitting across from Frank Castle, who was sipping his own coffee like it was the most normal thing in the world. “You take your coffee black?”
Frank snorted—almost spitting out his coffee—before swallowing his gulp. “That’s the question you come out of the gate with?”
“What?” Karen spread her hands defensively. “It’s called easing into things, Castle. You never come out with your power ball question right off the bat. Journalism 101.”
“Okay, sure.” Frank shook his head, crossing his arms. “Yeah, I take my coffee black.”
“Hmmm, okay.” Karen nodded. “So where were you for the past two years?”
Frank bit back a smile. “That’s how you follow up ‘so you take your coffee black’?”
“It’s the old one-two-punch. You disarm them with the innocent question, then slug them with the big one. Catch ‘em off guard.” Karen nodded to herself sagely. “It’s a classic.” Frank’s grin grew.
Fuck, it felt good to smile again. To really fucking smile. He’d had moments, over the past few years, where things had been good. When the kids had been over for a visit and Frankie did something ridiculous, or when he’d started gaining back his muscle mass, and the idea that he could fight again began to seem a little less impossible. He’d had good moments. But in this second, sitting across from Karen, he felt normal. Like Old Frank. He’d almost forgotten that was part of Karen’s appeal—she was so fantastic about making things simple. Easy. He was Frank and she was Karen—and that was all that they needed to know.
Except that it wasn’t. Because there were some very basic things Karen needed to know, and which Frank wanted to tell her.
“So. We were answering my questions.” Karen slipped her chin into the palm of her hand. “Where were you?”
“Uh,” Frank ran his hand over his beard, scratching. “David has a place up on Lake Placid. Real middle-of-nowhere setup. Was up there with Curtis the whole time. Doing physical therapy—then training.”
Karen had so many follow up questions, she had to take a moment to choose one.
“Why?”
“Why what?” Frank’s fingers were tapping out a nervous rhythm against the table.
“Why the disappearing act? Why not stay in New York and recover at a facility? With trained therapists? Why go all the way up to Lake Placid?”
“Well, I—” Frank coughed, shifted in his seat. He wanted to answer her—he really did—but he wasn’t entirely comfortable tackling the question. So he did the best he could. “Afterwards, in the hospital? My head wasn’t on right. Being in New York—it wasn’t good for me.”
Karen paused, considering. She couldn’t tell if Frank wanted her to ask for clarification, or if he would shy away as soon as she did. Watching the anxious rap of his fingers on the pale red Formica, she took a chance.
“What do you mean, your head wasn’t on right?”
“Uh,” Frank looked away, taking a deep breath. “Just…in the beginning, doctors were saying I’d never walk again, right? Never fight. And I guess I—” his eyes darted back to Karen, before landing on the table in front of him, “I had trouble thinking about a life like that. If it would be worth living.”
It was quiet, and Karen felt her heart sinking in her chest at the thought. She knew what he was trying to say.
“Wasn’t good for my kids to see that, you know?” Frank continued. “I mean, I couldn’t even hold a pen in my hand. I didn’t think—.” He broke off, shaking his head. “I just needed to go away. Curtis and David were the ones who suggested Lake Placid. It was the right choice.”
Karen could tell that Frank didn’t really want to talk about it anymore—the topic practically had him squirming where he sat. So she changed the subject; asked another one of her burning questions.
“So Curtis and David? They just…were living with you in upstate New York all this time?”
“Curtis was. David was commuting every weekend.” Frank picked up a sugar packet, began fiddling with it, keeping his hands busy. Just because he was trying to be more open these days didn’t mean it felt all that natural. “Maria and the kids, too. Were coming up to see me as often as they could. Lisa and Frankie Jr. actually spent all summer with me up there. Fishing and camping. It was nice.”
Maria and the kids. Karen had so many questions about that. But first:
“You said ‘training,’ Frank. With Curtis.” She leaned forward, frowning. “That’s what I’m confused about. How did you go from the doctors saying you’d never walk again to this?” She gestured at him.
“The doctors?” Frank scoffed. “They were just wrong. Didn’t call it right. I mean, I’m walking, aren’t I?” He gestured down to himself.
“Yeah, and you—” Karen broke off, coughing slightly. “You look really good. Like fighting shape, but…” She trailed off.
“I’m better than fighting shape, Page. Better than I was before.”
“How is that possible?” Karen shook her head, blinking in confusion. Sure, the evidence was in front of her—Frank looked like he could tackle a fucking bull—but that didn’t mean it made sense.
“You know,” Frank shrugged, “just old-fashioned determination and a good trainer.”
“Uh-huh. Yeah.” Karen flagged down the waitress who was passing by. “Ma’am, can I ask you—do you always serve bullshit here or is that just him?” Frank almost choked on his spit, as the waitress shook her head with a smile, walking away.
“Okay, okay.” Frank shifted in his seat. “Curtis and I tripled the recommended hours of physical therapy a day. Then once I was able…trained harder than I ever have in my life.”
“That sounds more accurate.” Karen bit her lip. “So you’re hoping to get back in the ring?”
“Yeah.”
“Soon?”
“As soon as I can.”
“I mean, I don’t feel like I have to say this, but I will anyway.” Karen dipped her head, holding his gaze intently. “Whatever you need, I’m here. I’m fighting your corner, Frank. Always have.”
“Yeah, I know.” His grin was soft. “I did watch your segment in The Knockout Box.”
“So you know I’ll take on assholes like Harrison if you need me to. It’s going to be hard, coming back into the game. A lot of eyes on you. A lot of pressure.”
“I know.”
“A lot of people asking questions. Questions you don’t have to answer if you don’t fucking want to.”
“I know.”
“Just making sure.” Karen ran her thumb across her bottom lip. “Nothing you can’t handle.”
“Yeah.” Frank turned his head, and she caught sight, for the first time, of the hairless patch of scar tissue that ran in a line above his ear. “Holy shit,” she whispered. And before she could stop herself, she was reaching out to touch.
Frank flinched, and Karen withdrew her hand, eyes concerned.
“No, sorry.” Frank shook his head. “Habit. You can touch it.”
“You sure?” Karen’s hand hovered in stasis between them. He nodded. She cut her eyes to his own for a moment, double checking, before leaning forward to press the pads of her fingers to the scar. Frank barely suppressed a shiver at the touch.
“Jesus, Frank.” Her voice was low, a mix of something that sounded like fear, reverence, and sadness. So much reverberating sadness. “You could have—” She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t want to.
“Yeah.” Frank bobbed his head in a nod, and the bristle of his hair moving against her fingertips felt strange. Good strange. She withdrew, folding her hands in her lap. “I know.”
There was a beat of silence, in which the reality of what Frank had survived settled upon them, heavy. There was something he wanted to say—something he needed to say. That he’d been holding inside of him for a long time. A small, dark truth turning tight in his stomach.
“You know, uh,” he took a sip of his coffee, for something to do. Talking this way—it didn’t feel entirely comfortable. But it felt right. “Hardest part of it all wasn’t the physical stuff. It was the mental stuff.”
“The mental stuff?” Karen tilted her head, brow furrowed.
“Yeah.” Frank glanced out the window—watched the people walking by in the pale orange lamplight. Unaware of the entire worlds that were raging on inside the bodies of those they passed on the street. “Coming to terms with what I did.”
“I—” Karen broke off, confused. “I don’t understand.”
“I mean playing big fucking hero, Kare.” Frank was fiddling with the sugar packet again. “Doing what I did. Two kids still fucking died. And all I managed to do was get myself shot; almost killed. I mean—” Frank broke off, shaking his head, clearly frustrated. “I got two kids. I got an ex-wife. They need me. And I just…didn’t even think about them. Didn’t even pause. Just got involved in shit I shouldn’t have been involved in.” He snorted, bitterly. “And everyone calling me a hero. Like I did anything at all.”
It was quiet for a moment, the low murmur of the diner—dishes clinking against one another, an old A/C unit ticking on, the elderly couple three booths away talking with bent heads—was the soundtrack to Karen’s thoughts. She wanted to say something, but wasn’t sure if she should.
Frank watched her—could see the way her eyes were working, like they were tracking words across an invisible page. He could still read her like a fucking book, and the thought warmed him in a deep, soft part of his chest.
“You can say something, Kare.” His voice was low.
“It’s just…I don’t know what it’s like to almost die, Frank. So I don’t want to make you feel like I’m, I don’t know, not validating your experience.” She started out, sounding a little hesitant. Frank prodded her gently under the table, hitting her foot with his own. Her quick grin was small, and sweet. “It’s just…I’ve been a bystander to acts of cruelty before. And it’s not good. I’ve been the person who just watches—who does nothing. And I think watching cruelty, and not stepping in…that’s its own form of evil.”
Karen’s voice was distant, as was her gaze. Frank got the feeling she was more talking to hear the words out loud than to communicate, and that was fine.
“I mean, the world only changes when people do shit, y’know? When brave, good people step up to the plate when they see something awful happening. That’s the only way anything gets better. Action.” Her voice was adamant. “And yeah, you got your ass kicked this time. And yeah, maybe it wasn’t the smartest moment to step up, but you gotta give yourself some credit for being the kind of person who would try to help in that situation. Do you know how fucking rare that is? How many people walk by pain and hurt and violence every day and don’t do a damn thing about it?” She was looking at him, suddenly, with those deep blue eyes. “I think the first step to being a good person is being the kind of person who takes action.”
A soft buzzing—a low rumble—was building in the base of Frank’s skull. It was a pleasant feeling; reminded him a bit of the sensation of cutting his fingernails a tad too short, so that every time he reached out to touch something, he felt it sharp on the pads of his fingers. Because feeling anything means accepting that it may come with some pain.
“I—” Frank cleared his throat, suddenly a little overwhelmed. “Yeah, I know. You’re right.”
Karen raised one shoulder, a slight movement. “Almost always am.”
Frank chuckled, then stilled, serious again. “It’s just…my kids. What would have happened to my kids? Took me a while to wrap my head around that.”
“But hey—” Karen reached out and placed a hand over Frank’s on the table. It was the first time she’d touched him deliberately like that, hand-to-hand, and Frank was surprised it didn’t feel strange—odd. “You’re here. You’re fine.” She squeezed gently before letting go, and it felt good to have her skin against his own, for just a moment.
“Yeah.” Frank shook his head slightly, as though clearing out his dark thoughts. “Yeah.”
Karen smiled, in that way that had her eyes almost closing.
“Best part about being out of commission was seeing my kids.” Frank wrapped both hands around his still-warm mug.
“Yeah?”
He nodded. “Spent more time together in the last two years than we had in a while. Played board games, built a tree house in David’s yard. Watched a lot of sports. Watched your segments, actually. A lot.”
“Really?” Karen’s grin was bright.
“Yeah. All the time. Think my kids are a little obsessed with you now.” Frank huffed a laugh. “Especially Lisa. She things you’re badass.”
“Oh no,” Karen buried her head I her hands, blushing furiously. “Stop. It’s too cute. It hurts.”
“She says she wants to do what you do when she grows up.”
“No—seriously.” Karen held out a hand. “You have to stop. I’m going to melt right here.”
“I think as far as women in the media go, she picked a good role model.” Frank’s tone was only partially-teasing, and entirely gentle.
“Oh god.” Karen’s head thumped down against the table. “I’m dead. I can’t handle the compliments.”
“Then we’ll change the subject.” There was a smile in Frank’s voice. “All my boxing info came from the news. Any behind-the-scenes gossip I should know?”
“Oh boy,” Karen lifted her head, “is there.”
They spent the next two hours talking boxing, Karen catching Frank up on all of the petty drama that never makes it to the screen. And occasionally, when Karen could wheedle it out of him, they spoke more about Lake Placid. Though Frank clearly began to struggle when he spoke about his years of recovery for too long. Karen understood—they had time. She had a million and one more burning questions, but nothing that needed to be answered at that exact moment. Instead, she just let herself soak in how marvelous it was to see Frank again—to be sitting across from him, breathing the same air.
It was well-past 2AM by the time the waitress informed them that the diner was closing, so they had to leave. Karen knew she would regret staying up so late the next morning when her alarm went off for work, but it was worth it. So worth it.
Talking with Frank was a revelation. It was so different than it had been before—some kind of unspoken understanding had passed between them that things had been altered. They spoke with a kind of candidness that hadn’t been there before. Karen didn’t know if it was just Frank reacting to his accident like a man looking to make a change, or if it was something else. But she was grateful for it.
He walked her to her apartment, wanting to make sure she got home safe (despite her protest that she could take care of herself; he knew she could, but he just wanted a little more time with her). The whole walk back, all Frank could think about was how alive he felt. After years of loneliness, riddled with moments of hopeless desperation, he remembered what it was like to light up in the presence of another person. To feel that electric buzz of connection. It was the same power Karen had always had over him—to make him care, to make him feel profoundly part of something bigger than himself.
And when they said goodbye at the front door to her building, in the early morning light, it also felt a little bit like saying hello.
|
“Congratulations!” you open arms to your sister, hugging her close. “Onónë, you look beautiful!” Your sister blushes and you release her to embrace your new brother. “Welcome to the family.”
“Thank you.” He smiles, wrapping an arm around your sister’s waist. He smiles down at her with such love and affection that you are reminded of the ruins your own marriage currently lies in. The two newlyweds don’t notice your smile falter. “We’re glad you could make it. You arrived so late that we thought you weren’t coming.”
“Nonsense! I wouldn’t miss this for anything.” You insist.
“It’s a shame Thranduil couldn’t be here.” You sister lays her hand on your forearm in a comforting manner.
“The politics of the realm keep him occupied. He sends his blessings.”
As your sister and her husband move on to speak with other guests, you seek an exit from the marriage hall. All this love and affection was making your heart ache. It has been four days since you’ve seen or spoken to Thranduil. The last words you said to him still echo in your mind.
Stay away from me!
He seems to have taken your words to heart. You were able to leave the forest and make your way here without any sight of him or one of the woodland guards. Had Thranduil wished it, you wouldn’t have made it out of the halls.
You had arrived here with a story of never-ending politics and a husband that dare not leave his kingdom to struggle, but had insisted that you still attend the wedding. At the end of the week, when you were supposed to return home, the truth of events might just reveal themselves.
How were you to return to a husband that held you against your will? How were you supposed to return to a husband that you had caused so much bodily harm to? Not only had you stuck his face, but you’d struck his shoulder, elbowed him and pushed him. He had every right to bar you entrance from the kingdom.
To learn of your fate you would have to return to Mirkwood, but that could cause trouble itself. No, you would have to speak with your parents at the end of the week and explain everything to them.
You find your way onto the balcony as the music starts playing behind you. Below you the lights of the birthplace sprawl across the valley, mimicking the stars in the sky above them. There is a yearning in your heart, but it is not for this place. In only ten short years Thranduil and the woodland realm has become your home, and the rift between you and your husband hurts.
It might not hurt so much if this was a birthday celebration, not a wedding. Yet a wedding it is and the music, laughter and love remind you of your own wedding not so long ago. How could things have gotten so bad in such a short space of time?
“Anel, what troubles you?” your mother stands behind you on the balcony, and you wonder if she’s part of the reason that your marriage to Thranduil is already rocky. She’s always been in charge of the relationship between her and your father, with your father putting up very little protest. You tried to adopt her attitudes in your own marriage and look where that has gotten you.
“Nothing, amal.” You’re lying and she knows it. With a gentle smile your mother moves to stand by your side, linking your arm through hers.
“Last I saw you with that expression on your face, you were nursing ‘unrequited’ love for an elf prince.” Your mother fixes you with a stern look. “I was led to believe that love was requited, as you married him ten years ago.”
Your lips draw together in a thin, pained line. “I thought it was requited too, amal.”
Your mother tugs on your arm, drawing you over to a bench. “Tell me what your husband done?”
With a sigh you tell your mother how he has been over worked, exhausted and stressed for the last few months, how he did not wish for you to come to the wedding and how his anger resulted in a physical fight, and how that fight might very well have ended up with you exiled.
Your mother listens to you in silence, nodding occasionally. When you’ve finished speaking she sits in silence for a moment. “Thranduil love you, never doubt that. He will justify your actions and welcome you back with open arms when you return.” She rises to her feet, pulling her with you. “Today is a day for celebration. Get some wine in you and go dance with your new brother.”
X
By the time you are ready to leave three days later, your heart is so heavy in your chest you think you are starting to stoop. Your mother hasn’t approached you on the subject of your husband again, and you don’t desire to bring it up.
Your sister and her husbands are waiting by the gates to see you off, your parents having seen you in the library earlier. “Safe travels.” Your sister smiles, oblivious to your inner turmoil. “I hope that next time we meet you have been blessed with an elfling.”
“I hope so too, sister.” You turn to her husband and smile. “Treat her well, or you’ll have me to deal with.”
“She is the greatest treasure in my world.” He assures you. “I would die before I see her hurt.”
You force a smile, though it is almost painful to do. You bid them farewell before mounting your horse and departing.
The weather is pleasant and your horse is strong. As long as there are no delays you should be at the borders of the forest by nightfall. You aren’t overly keen to return, but you want the confrontation out of the way as soon as possible. The longer you are away the larger the rift between you will grow, until it is a chasm that cannot be breached.
The thought of losing the possibility to reconcile with Thranduil makes you ride though the day, pushing your mount as far as it will go. By the time you reach the edges of the forest before sundown, it is as tired as your heart.
You dismount and unsaddle the horse, finding water and allowing it to graze. You decide to rest here tonight and push through the woods in the morning.
However you’ve barely been there for half an hour before the trees rustle and shake unnaturally. There is something moving through the flora. You shrink back against your horse, urging it to be quiet as you unsheathe your sword.
The night falls silent then the sound comes again, closer than before. There are voices this time, though the words are too quiet for you to hear. The rustling grows louder until four elves spill out of the woods. You blink in surprise and hastily sheathe your sword. They look more surprised than you do.
“Hiril vuin!” the leader of the small party exclaims, dropping into a deep bow. His companions mimic him. “We have been looking for you!”
“I have been at a wedding.” You reply, stepping away from the horse. “I did inform the king as to where I would be.”
“Of course, hiril vuin, but he expected you back a day ago.” The elf steps forwards. “Might you come with us back to the halls?”
You nod, beckoning to two of the elves. “Will you see to the horse? She has had a long journey and is quite tired.”
The two elves nod, one stepping forwards to lead the horse and the other gathering up the saddle and the bags.
The four elves lead you and the horse back through the forest. It is a long walk made longer by the faded light and winding trails. You reach the gate just before the moon reaches the highest point in the sky.
“Láta andondin!” one of the elves calls out and the gates swing open.
You take a firm breath before stepping inside the halls, wondering for a moment if Thranduil will be there, ready to send you out again. He is not.
The halls are empty besides the gate keepers.
“Take my horse and see that it is cared for.” You command the elves before taking your leave.
You doubt Thranduil’s work ethic has dwindled in the last week, and he will most likely be in his study. You are tired and want nothing more than to curl up in bed, but you daren’t do such a thing until you have spoken to the king.
Sure enough there is light seeping out from under the door of his study. You steel yourself before knocking, pushing all hopes from you head.
Upon the king’s call to enter you push the door open and step inside. He looks up only once the door is closed, and surprise washes over his face as horror washes over yours.
Thranduil looks sick. His skin has a grey hue, his eyes dull and ringed in dark circles. His hair looks fragile and messy, as though it hasn’t been brushed nor washed since you left.
“Thranduil!” you step towards him with wide eyes, stopping just short of the desk. Beyond his surprise he has shown no emotion, welcoming or otherwise. “Thranduil?” you question gently, fear gripping your heavy heart.
“You came back.” He sounds broken. “I thought… I didn’t think…”
You hurry round the table and drop to your knees at his side. “Of course I came back.” You take his hands in yours, worrying about how cold they are.
“What I said to you.” Thranduil shudders. “You have no reason to come back here.”
“You’re here.” You smile sadly, pressing a kiss to a cold knuckle. “Oh, my love, I am sorry.”
“Sorry?” Thranduil echoes. “What are you sorry for?”
“I struck you. I pushed you away. I hurt you.” You stand, cupping his face and pressing your forehead against his.
“It was justified.” One of Thranduil’s cold hands lifts to yours, pressing it harder against your face. His other hand rubs lightly against the wrist he held too tightly. “Ninya calwa indis, it is I who must ask for your forgiveness. I spoke to you harshly, denied you the only thing you asked me.”
“Oh, Thranduil, of course I forgive you.” You smile. Taking a little step back as he stands.
Thranduil pulls you into a tight hug, lifting you onto your toes with the force of it. He presses his lips gently to yours before kissing your cheek and burying his face in your hair.
|
"Do you believe in God?"
The question had made him pause, looking over the sights of his gun at the shivering, cowering victim kneeling in front of him.
"Please! If you believe in God, please, spare me, you know He wi-"
He'd laughed, and the remaining blood in the coward's face had drained away. Leaning down, he tapped his gun lightly on his quarry's forehead, enjoying the flinches that came with each tap.
"I am a God," he whispered, before leaning back and pulling the trigger.
-
Humans, as it turns out, need to believe in otherworldly and abstract concepts to survive. It's like the entirety of humanity has one fatal flaw they share: the blind necessity to believe in something; good, evil, God, power. In recent times, many ridiculed religion but turned right around to worship money or control, or—a crowd favourite—love.
Like sheep, they don't realise that worship of a different concept is worship nonetheless, and with that worship comes a means to keep the Gods alive. Or whatever version of 'alive' they were.
They merely had to find novel ways to stay relevant, expanding their portfolios and job profiles to include new human concepts with each millennium. They come to call them Cycles, the only way to distinguish one period of time from another. With each Cycle, they scatter and regroup in new forms, under new names, taking up residence using different regions as their headquarters. For the humans, who cannot see all this from a macro-perspective, it translates to the existence of multiple gods which turns into some kind of nonsense war of different religions.
Nonsense, at least, in Hades' book. He is aware that Ares sees value in it, but he feels disdain whenever he thinks of the reasons for most humans' hatred of one another. In his most recent Cycle, he has reserved a special place in the Underworld for humans who had fallen to the vice of blind belief and allowed it to blacken their souls. There's even a viewing section built-in for when he feels like visiting, to watch these human beings tortured for their crimes, sobbing in confusion as they declare that they simply followed the rules they believed their God wrote for them.
To be fair, a lot of this confusion is God-made, but Hades doesn't care about the reasons behind a human being's corruption, just that they deserve punishment. After multiple Cycles, he's very good at his job, thank you very much, and knows there have been human beings—a precious few, in the grand scheme of things, but they definitely existed—who have not allowed God-made confusion to turn them into monsters.
There are enough real ones in the world anyway.
-
"You... you're not supposed to be dead," Hades said slowly, looking at the paperwork in front of him, and the once-powerful Pan standing opposite.
The God of the Wild looked bored. "Why do you make us fill in forms if you're not reading them?" He asks. "I said clearly for question 3: I was murdered."
Hades sighed. He'd have to report this to Zeus and Poseidon and that meant a 'family' meeting.
-
It's a sunny day, and for whatever reason, Hestia, the Goddess of Home and Hearth, has decided Seoul is the best place to have the meeting for the deities of the pantheon. It is mid-summer, and most of this part of Asia is swelteringly hot, but she seems to have not thought about such things as the weather. He has to exercise great control to not sweat in his sharp, new designer suit, ignoring the urge to turn around and go back to the much cooler Underworld. He'd had half a mind to ignore the invitation the moment he'd received it anyway, if it hadn't been for Hestia's request.
The messages had arrived in her usual style, heavy card paper and calligraphy, with the date, time and name of a hotel inscribed.
She'd added a little note at the bottom: Hades, looking forward to meeting you!
As he rides a gilded elevator up to the penthouse suite of a large hotel, he has to restrain a snort. Hestia is sweet, and pleasing all the gods at a meeting isn't easy, but he doesn't look forward to meeting her if it means having to deal with the rest. He's told her a hundred times to just visit him at his new Italian, decidedly private, headquarters but she always demurs.
I must roam the world to protect our home, she usually says dreamily.
He hates that his closest friend in the pantheon is a hippie. She even spends her off-duty times playing the piano and teaching children, dressed like some kind of cross between a librarian and a wraith. Hestia has never gotten used to the current human clothing styles. Unlike Hades, for example, who has come to deeply enjoy the new trends of clothing that humans have created. It's a far cry from the early days of shrouds and shadows.
Even now, the people in the elevator are sending him 'subtle' glances, and he has to suppress a smirk. Sure, he might be the god of the Underworld, but he always chooses well when it comes to his human-friendly visuals. In this present Cycle, he looks like an Asian man, lean-figured, attractive, and well-dressed. Of course, he can never truly shroud the power of being one of the Big Three, so he's chosen a form that matches the energy that always surrounds him. It all works very well in his favour.
Even Aphrodite had paid him a compliment, back when this Cycle has begun: you look good enough to bite, Hades.
He never takes her flirting seriously, because as shallow as Aphrodite seems, she is just as dangerous as a partner, and he's not interested in complicating his existence. Besides, she just likes the bad-boy vibe.
When they're all finally settled at various corners of the massive penthouse, waiting for Zeus to arrive fashionably late—the ass can't resist making an entrance—Hades casts an eye around him at the pantheon, noting with pleasure that most look as displeased as he feels.
Demeter, as usual, looks like he wants to be anywhere but in the luxury setting of a city, sealed in by glass and metal. He is seated, arms crossed, near the roaring fireplace Hestia has started - she always insists, even though it provides no heat - looking like a vaguely fussy old matron. No matter what visage Demeter chooses in each Cycle—and they change it up every time, fluidly picking genders and identities like plants that change their sex—they always end up carrying the vibe of a nagging old crone. In this Cycle, they are a he, made to look like a simple lawyer.
Hades' eyes slide over to the striking figure sitting on Demeter's right, muttering to her parent. He has never seen her before, but he knows that she must be Persephone. For a few moments, he allows himself the luxury of appreciating the vivid red lips and chestnut-coloured hair she's chosen for herself. If Demeter looks like a boring man, Persephone looks like a supermodel, dressed in the quality of clothing Hades would expect to see on himself, or Aphrodite. The parent and child don't get along too well, he knows, judging from whispers he's heard, but they've still chosen matching appearances for their Cycle, though Persephone looks like she could grace a magazine cover and Demeter looks like he'd use the magazine cover to snap an errant teenager on the head for bad behaviour.
She must feel his eyes on her, because she looks up from a muttered, clearly heated conversation with her parent, and raises her eyebrows coldly.
What? she asks, sending him a mental question.
He doesn't betray his surprise at this rude invasion of mental privacy. They can all communicate without opening their mouths - they're Gods, after all. But common decency dictates that one asks first.
He smiles, stubbornly refusing to engage in conversation, tipping his glass of wine in her direction before turning to see Zeus finally enter the room.
"We have a problem!" he announces, sweeping in.
-
"It's the fifth natural entity's death in the past decade, Hades, surely you must have more information! And this is Pan! He was no minor God."
Hades had rolled his eyes at Demeter, sending Zeus an annoyed look. He doesn't need to be cross-questioned on his job.
"I cannot find out any further, Demeter. There are privacy laws in place for a God's or any God-like entity's passing - laws, I might add, that this pantheon had agreed upon to impose on my rule. I cannot break them unless all of you agree to completely remove those restrictions."
Zeus had sent him a dirty look. "So you're saying 'I told you so'?"
-
"The smartest course of action," Athena drawls from her position on a bean bag (where did she find a bean bag in this ostentatiously pretentious hotel room?), looking for all the world like a college student in a hoodie and messy hair, "is that we do away with Hades' restrictions and find out who this mass-murderer is, then stop them."
There are murmurs of assent through the room, and Hades feels a smile twitch at his lips. He is so close to finally winning back his original powers, he can feel it.
Zeus, he knows, hates the idea, but then again, Zeus was the one who'd first thought to put restrictions on all the Gods of the pantheon anyway. "We cannot be limitless!" he'd declared, just after the Gods had won their battle with the Titans and overthrown them. "That's how we get corrupted!"
They'd agreed to restrictions on each of their powers to avoid said corruption and then spent the next millennia seeing Zeus be a philandering swine who saw fit to treat humans and demigods like flesh to be played with, while his wife took her wrath out on Zeus' hapless victims. As far as leaders go, his brother is possibly the worst.
Even now, his Caucasian features are twisted in an unhappy pout, looking like a lout whose birthday party isn't going his way. For a split second, Hades imagines Zeus to be one of the many Italian mobsters he pretends to work with under his human disguise and imagines shooting his spineless brother. It gives him a moment's sadistic pleasure.
"We cannot just go back on our rules-" Zeus begins, but he is cut off by Athena's bored voice again.
"And if we don't, we wait here, like sitting ducks, for this entity to keep murdering the Gods, demigods and spirits who have anything to do with nature, permanently altering the Earth in this Cycle."
There is silence, and Hades send Athena an approving look. She's never particularly been his favourite, but he appreciates the side of her that sticks to cold logic. She is, after all, the Goddess of Wisdom for a reason.
And strategy.
Zeus begins to protest again, in his never-ending quest to avoid letting anybody else come close to being as powerful as him, and Hades feels a nudge on his arm. Turning, he looks at his movie-star handsome brother, Poseidon, nodding hello at him. His attention, however, is caught by the t-shirt he is wearing: a graphic thing that says Life Can Be a Beach.
"Can you be any more of a stereotype?" Hades asks in distaste, eyeing the t-shirt, though he appreciates that his brother has taken the effort to actually tuck it into tailored pants, and paired the entire thing with a blazer.
The man in front of him shrugs. "You're one to talk. What are you wearing again? Black? It's almost like that's a stereotype for someone who deals with death-"
"Shut up," Hades corrects, loathe to share the same origin as Zeus' form. He'd chosen first, Zeus had just decided to copy him, taking good things for himself, as per usual.
"Are you two listening?" Zeus snaps suddenly, and Hades and Poseidon look up at rest, pulled out of their squabble.
"Not really," Poseidon says smoothly, raising a glass of some kind of fruity cocktail to toast the room. "I, for one, don't agree with the idea that we should discuss if Hades needs his restrictions lifted. It needs to be a discussion of when. Need I remind you that one of the dead is one of my sons?"
The light-hearted tone he'd started with melts away by the end of the sentence and a ripple of anger is sent across the room. The building shakes a little, before Poseidon sighs and controls his anger, slapping on another easy-going smile on his face.
Demeter jumps up. "I've had a conversation with Poseidon, and we feel - as the two here who are most connected to any environmental problems - that we're not taking this issue seriously enough. If we don't save our own, then the Earth's balance will be lost. We've all seen the consequences when that happens - entire civilisations will perish again."
He's finally hit on the real topic at hand. For Gods, just like everything else in the world, are doomed to repeat the same patterns - the reason why they'd named their eras Cycles. Like humanity, Gods have their own fatal shared flaw, and it's the inability to learn from their mistakes.
Wincing, Hades remembers the mountains of paperwork he'd had his teams sort through with the Indus Valley civilisation and Atlantis. He definitely didn't want a repeat of that one.
"We've formed a committee," Demeter says doggedly, twisting his hand so a wreath of vines appears in midair, with a scroll nestled in it. "And we will fight this."
In typical Zeus fashion, he disregards the legal document of notice that Demeter has drawn up, and insists the pantheon try a safer solution first - expanding their nets, putting every spirit and demigod on detective duty, and putting more protection on environmentally adjacent entities.
Demeter sends Poseidon and Hades a look, and Hades can't help but agree with the unspoken sentiment.
Persephone is not impressed.
She's never been allowed to join a real 'family meeting' before, on account of being considered too minor a God to matter, but special arrangements had been made on account of the meeting being about the mass murder of nature gods and spirits. Demeter had argued that typically Pan would have been invited to attend and there needed to be more of the endangered community—as he put it—present. As the goddess of spring growth, it had been decided that she could attend, because the other option was Triptolemus, Demeter's right-hand man and the god of farming. The major Gods, obsessed as they are with pedigree, would have rather eaten their own shoes before letting a half-human into their fold.
It's all nonsense, but she is secretly pleased to finally attend... until she realises the Gods can't seem to agree on the most logical course of action and end up agreeing with Zeus' final word.
She has to try not to curl her lip at him in disdain because she knows Hera will notice. Her eyes slide away from Zeus to eye his wife, who is sitting next to him, barefoot and silent, wearing a white dress and looking for all the world like an innocent, almost virginal spouse and not an unhinged, obsessed Goddess with jealousy and rage issues.
When her father's notice of rebellion (or whatever it was that he'd drawn up, which she'd told him would be ignored) is predictably disregarded and the meeting adjourned, she circles on Demeter.
"I told you so," she says immediately, maturely, every bit her age.
He waves her away impatiently, beckoning to Poseidon and Hades, who obediently walk over to him. She eyes Hades as he comes over, and decides he's the right person to transfer all her ire to.
"You know, I may just be a minor God," she starts snarkily, looking at his (admittedly striking) face, "but at least I don't have shackles on my wrists to render me useless and not let me use all my powers."
He throws her a dirty look and Demeter ignores them in favour of engaging Poseidon in a discussion about a second meeting with nature spirits. He's heaven-bent on creating a committee because he seems to think Zeus will eventually be swayed like he's some kind of mortal.
Hades invades her personal bubble, like the male model for privacy invasion, lowering his voice so she's the only one who can hear her. "That's because my unrestricted powers are a little more complicated than telling flowers when to grow."
She flicks his shoulder, ignoring the part of her brain that's telling her to appreciate the timbre of his voice instead, noting with appreciation that he looks a little surprised at the flick. Has nobody dared to lay a finger on him before? As the God of the Dead and Underworld, it's probably not easy to find anyone with the bravado to try and flick him.
"Will you join us today, Hades?"
Hades steps away from her, face smoothening back to his usual studied disinterest. "Sorry, Demeter. I have somewhere to be. You can contact me later, though."
He nods at them and turns to walk away, giving Persephone a sardonic bow before leaving.
"Did you have to annoy him?" Demeter asks, looking disapprovingly at her.
"Why do you automatically think I did something?" she demands, like a hypocrite. He shakes his head, and gestures for all three to leave as well.
"Every Cycle," she hears him mutter.
-
Like humans, Gods are given to repeating some patterns.
Like humans, this is because of their own, intrinsic fatal flaws.
Unlike humans, this is usually needed to keep the balance of the world in place.
Persephone hates the idea. It's basically like someone telling her there's a rule—no, a law—about how she needs to do the same thing she did millennia ago, otherwise the world would go to shit. It doesn't matter what she wants now, she is doomed to keep repeating the same mistakes.
It's especially grating because she doesn't even know what her patterns are. Much like the dumb rule about restricting the major Gods and Goddesses' powers, Zeus and the rest had also pushed a law about this, after two Cycles of some truly messed-up problems. (Most of the Greek gods had repeated their patterns in their new forms, then tried to fight those patterns, and made things much, much worse. There's a reason the Roman empire fell.) So they'd all agreed to scrub their memories of major patterns in each Cycle, to avoid the natural desire to bypass making the same mistakes like a shitty film stuck in a loop. Some of them remember each other's patterns, but they keep quiet, out of either respect or the selfish desire to enjoy someone else's misery.
It's mostly the latter.
Demeter, Persephone knows, is aware of his child's patterns. It's been one of the biggest arguments between the two in their current Cycle; his refusal to warn her or tell her what to avoid.
Stupid rule-abiding old man, she thinks viciously. They're standing in line at a coffee shop, and she is silently watching her father and Poseidon order their usual beverages and snacks.
"Iced Americano for me," she snaps, and Poseidon cheerfully adds to the order.
You're stupid too, she thinks, eyeing his graphic t-shirt. Admittedly, the God of the Seas hasn't done anything to deserve this contempt, but her father's mention of Cycles in the hotel has thrown her mood further into the trash.
"Every Cycle," he'd said after Hades had left. The only implication of those two words was this is what you both do every Cycle. Unfortunately, she has no memory of bantering with Hades in previous Cycles, which means whatever they engage in every time is something connected to a fuck-up big enough to be repeated, and scrubbed from their memories.
They move to sit down at a coffee table in a corner. Poseidon offers her his plate (how did he manage to get the barista to serve him steak?) and she declines, frowning heavily into her coffee, listening to Demeter outline the plan to meet with his trusted inner circle of nature spirits. Poseidon adds intermittently about the reluctance of his ocean nymphs and demigods to join in any sort of battle, or about the sea community 'mourning' his son Triton, but for the most part, Demeter leads the conversation.
Persephone's bored out of her skull.
All this talk won't do anything. They need to actually take action - between just the three Gods on this table, for example, they have enough firepower to terrorise any potential murderer. All this diplomatic committee-making to convince the King of the Gods is pointless.
"I do think we can convince Zeus," Poseidon says, in direct opposition to her mental monologue. She can't help it; she rolls her eyes and both stop to look at her.
"Speak up if you want to say something, stop sighing like some wind God," Demeter snaps. She takes a moment to stick her tongue out at him, then firmly turns to Poseidon.
"How is your big plan still to convince your brother to give Hades his powers? Isn't it obvious now that he won't do it?"
Poseidon grins. "Everything's a popularity contest for my brother. He just needs to feel like enough Gods are against him, so the plan is actually to use our nature committee to sway more Gods."
She raises her eyebrows coldly. "This is beginning to feel a lot like treason."
"We just need to do whatever it takes to waive restrictions, and then once Hades knows who's behind this, we can go in... ah, how do humans put it? Guns blazing." His eyes twinkle like he's entertained with the idea.
Honestly, she's beginning to think all of the Big Three have a few screws loose.
It's only much later, when Demeter has gotten up to make a call, that Persephone pipes up again. She looks squarely at Poseidon, who smiles charmingly and shifts to submit more of his face to her for scrutiny.
"What do you know about your patterns?" she asks bluntly, eyes tracing his features. He looks movie-star handsome today, but he's a little blurry on the edges, as though he's planning to switch appearances already and he's not decided what the new look will be.
Poseidon, she knows, has not decided on one appearance in this Cycle, choosing instead to blend constantly.
"I know only some things," he says nonchalantly. "I don't care much, truth be told." He must see the surprise on her face because he chuckles. "When you're as powerful as I am, the idea of having to match with something I did millennia ago is irritating."
She nods along in agreement, though she wishes she could empathise with the 'as powerful' part.
He tilts his head and smiles. "From where I'm sitting, what's the point of all that power and immortality if I'm just following my own footsteps?"
"But you can't control that," she objects. "There's no way to stop-"
"Ah, I know," he says dismissively. "The point is to live each Cycle taking as many radical decisions that can tip the scales enough that your old patterns can't apply."
"Does that work?" she asks curiously.
He shrugs. "I have no idea. But it's been a better way to live each Cycle waiting around to find out what's going to happen."
Demeter chooses this moment to return, and the conversation changes again. Bored once more, she stands up abruptly.
"Abeoji, gal geoyeyo," she says in Korean to Demeter, using their chosen language for private discussions.
"Come to the meeting," he orders and she waves her hand vaguely in his direction, not bothering to give Poseidon the customary bow minor Gods are expected to give the Big Three.
She has another one to go harass now anyway.
As she's leaving, Poseidon's edges blur again, and his features start turning to something more familiar.
-
"It's not easy tracking you down," she announces.
The God of the Dead drops the fork he was holding, about to take a bite of what looks like some pasta.
"It's so that I'm not bothered mid-meal by rude people."
"Yah!" She snaps. He raises his eyebrows. Probably another thing he's not used to experiencing from others.
"Rude, yes. 'People' is a little below the belt," she says, settling in a chair next to Hestia, who waves mutely at Persephone, choosing wisely to continue stuffing her face with pizza.
He nods in acknowledgement. "That's true, you're not as irritating as a human being... yet."
"I'll get to the point, then, before I ruin His Deathly Majesty's mood," she says, tone sugary sweet, picking up his fork to sample his pasta. She takes her time, chewing the food slowly.
He offers her his wine glass, an indecipherable expression on his face.
She takes it, gulps, and then accepts that she's milked the moment for all it's worth.
"I need you to stop encouraging my father to do all this nature spirit-rallying. It's not going to help, and he's just going to make Zeus furious."
"Do you really think Demeter is someone I control?" he asks, amused.
"No, but he'll listen to you. Right now he's got you and Poseidon encouraging him, and I think it's ridiculous. Even with restrictions, you're both powerful enough to protect all the Greek Gods and the nature spirits. Why not fight murderous firepower with firepower? We can get the rest of the big Gods to protect important nature gods and demigods, or-"
"I don't tend to just blindly align myself with everybody, Lady Persephone," he says politely, signalling to a waiter to bring a third glass of wine to the table, after giving his up entirely to her.
She narrows her eyes at him. "You wouldn't be blind, this is about making use of the other Gods..." she trails off, as something clicks. "Ah, you don't trust them either."
He clicks his fingers at her like she's scored a point.
She looks at Hestia, who is placidly sitting with an empty plate, staring out the window and humming something that sounds suspiciously like Mozart's Symphony 29. "What do you think?"
Hestia turns to look at Persephone, eyes betraying the hippie vibe she's built around herself. Hidden inside, Persephone can see a much more alert personality than the one on show.
"I think the home is the first place you hide when fearful of persecution," she says calmly. Another point to Team Trust Nobody, she supposes.
"So what do we do?" she finally asks frustrated. "I don't think you realise, but my father is out there becoming a sitting duck and any time now, this murderer is going to notice that Demeter is the one to blame if you get restrictions lifted."
"It's not easy to kill a God like Demeter," Hades says absent-mindedly, steadily cutting ravioli into smaller pieces.
"Whoever this person is, they killed Pan. Are you saying the God of the Wild was weak?" she snaps.
This, finally, makes Hades look up from his plate.
-
Somehow, and she's not sure how, their lunch results in Persephone walking into a rice paddy—why is it a paddy field of all things? She's wearing heels, come on—with the God of the Dead flanking her side, making their way to the centre to join Demeter's committee meeting.
She'd been hoping he'd look ridiculous, dressed as he is in full black, with a long winter coat over a three-piece suit, and hair slicked back. Instead, he looks even more like a male model, this time on the cover of a magazine about guns and the top five tips to murder corrupt politicians without a trace.
Demeter looks surprised to see both of them, and there are ripples of gossip immediately around her as the nature spirits recognise Hades.
"Sir," Triptolemus says solemnly, bowing low in front of him. His glasses slide off his nose and he grabs them from the ground, putting them back on his face haphazardly. "It's a pleasure to meet you," Triptolemus continues, smoothing down the sweater vest he's wearing.
Hades' eyes slide over the God of Farming, clearly noting the sprigs of random wheat stalks sticking to his sweater, and the mud on his glasses. For some reason, whatever this visage paints for him is positive, because Hades' face splits into a reluctant grin, and he offers a hand to shake.
"Not many people would call meeting me a pleasure," he says, sounding almost friendly.
Persephone wants to slap the smile off his face. It's making him far more attractive than she'd expected.
"I'm sure you all don't need an introduction," Demeter says finally, turning to the crowd around them. Persephone turns to smile, belatedly realising they're all—in some small way—her father's subjects, and she's probably expected to at least greet them.
There are two dryads she recognises, a couple who have unerringly found each other in every Cycle. She doesn't remember their exact origin, but she can't mistake the way he wears moss circled around his head like a cap, and she uses roses to clip her straight her back neatly. They are accompanied by an oak tree dryad who she only knows on sight because of his large, comical moustache. She'd once been offered a salad by him, the last time she's visited her father when he'd been holding court. It had been the worst salad she'd ever tasted.
She's pleased to see Hegemone, the goddess of blooming plants, and moves to hug her. They've always gotten along, even when Demeter himself has been a pain. Hegemone introduces her to her child, and to Terpsichore, who has nothing to do with nature but has accompanied Hegemone to the meeting as a friendly companion.
"I've never met one of the nine Muses, Terpsichore" Persephone says, clapping her hands together in excitement.
"Call me Larry," she says, nodding her head humbly, as her form shifts and takes on that of a lithe man. Persephone blinks at the Goddess - no, God of dance and chorus before deciding to just go with it. "Whatever you want," she says.
Behind her, she hears a disturbance and turns to see three Hesperides, the nymphs of sunsets, clustered around Hades, who looks vaguely uncomfortable. Two, she can see, have taken the form of men in this Cycle, and one looks more like a female nymph who'd belong in the Underworld, working for Hades, and not the evening forests.
Demeter finally waves his hand, and the chatter dies down.
"Not that I'm not pleased to see you," he says to Hades as an aside.
"But why have you come? Even Poseidon declined eventually to join." She cocks her head to the side and frowns. What happened to Poseidon's seeming excitement about being a part of this committee?
Hades waves his hand in Persephone's direction softly. "I was convinced I may want to hear out your plans a little more, since they directly pertain to all of us."
Demeter sends her a warm look, and Persephone's foolish heart grows three sizes in her chest, warming under the undeniable feeling of paternal pride.
How pathetic can she get?
"Demeter."
"Hmm."
"Are you sure about all this?"
Looking up from his bowl of makgeolli, Demeter raises his eyebrows. "Since when do you second-guess decisions?"
Hades rolls his eyes. "I'm not second-guessing. I'm just asking if you're aware that you're painting yourself as a target. I don't think this murderer would chase someone as powerful as you down if you stopped openly calling them an 'evil hag'. Not to mention, you're irritating hags now too."
Demeter smiles a little sadly, draining the bowl of his favourite drink, then shaking it over his head. He falls silent, but Hades doesn't rush to speak, knowing that Demeter usually takes his own time to piece together his thoughts.
It's not the first time they've grabbed a drink together.
Over the years, Hades and Demeter have forged a tacit allyship, usually on the same side against Zeus' terrible family decisions. He doesn't remember sharing much of a connection with Demeter in previous Cycles, so he doesn't know why now - but he's not complaining. It's a breath of fresh air (almost literally, because Demeter always smells like freshly mown grass), though he would enjoy not having to deal with crops randomly growing out of cement when they get a little too tipsy. It's not a friendship, though. In fact, Hades usually feels like he's being scrutinised, or is attending a pre-trial interview with his lawyer.
He's beginning to suspect the reason behind this behaviour, at least.
"Do you know how important agriculture is to human beings in this current year?" Demeter finally asks, a twisted smile on his face.
Hades shakes his head mutely.
"Do you know what it feels like, to be attuned to the earth as a God of things like harvest? I'm always aware of the earth, of billions of fields across the world. I can tell you exactly which eighty-three corn crops in India have insect infestations right now or how many maize farmers have been tending to their fields in Africa."
Hades doesn't move, but he's beginning to see the point. He does, after all, have a similar connection, albeit to dead spirits and not... plant life.
"And that extends," Demeter continues, pouring them fresh glasses. "Everyone forgets, but part of my job is to look into and balance the cycles of Life and Death on Earth."
"I don't forget," Hades interjects, only slightly caustic and the two share reluctant grins. They have bi-annual meetings about it, and it's usually a pain for everyone involved.
"I am... aware, painfully aware, every time human greed or corruption brings another ecosystem crashing down. When Pan died, or Triton died, or even the minor nymphs before them, it was like a dagger in my chest."
Demeter pauses, his face twisted again in regret.
"So you see, I'm not being altruistic, as you and my daughter seem to think. I would just like to not feel this pain. And after all, we're the Gods. I know we usually don't do it but isn't it our job to actually protect this foolish race and the Earth?"
"Corporate social responsibility," Hades mocks quietly, draining his own makgeolli, ignoring the feeling of bitter liquid mixing with the discontentment Demeter's words have left in his stomach.
-
Walking the streets of a human city is always like an interlude. Nobody notices him, because Hades doesn't want to be noticed. Instead, he melts into the crowds, feeling the neon lights fail to penetrate his darkness, hearing the sounds of humans chattering or fighting around him and car horns in the distance.
He finally comes to a stop outside his destination - a large estate on the edge of a Korean city. He usually doesn't pay house-calls, but since the family meeting had brought him to the city anyway, he's decided to step in and do a little grunt work.
He stands outside the wrought iron gates, reaching for a lighter in his pocket and flicking it open. The heavy, familiar weight grounds him to the moment.
"Lord Hades." Thanatos, the personification of death, materialises next to him, as they both look pause at the gates of the large estate. "Do you... what brings you here?"
Hades snaps the lighter closed before flicking it open once more, enjoying the rhythm.
"You know I like it when the bad ones die."
Together, they step past the gates, making their way to the house. He can already smell the blood, hear sobs of pain. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees an assassin run off the estate in the shadows and smirks.
Correction: he likes it when the bad ones are killed. Poetic justice.
-
Charon is waiting for him at the gates of the Underworld, looking vaguely apprehensive and disapproving.
"Sir, you know it complicates matters for the Judges of the Dead if the Lord of the Dead was present at the collection of a soul."
Hades waves his hand dismissively at his handsome right-hand man. "Minos, Rhadamanthus and Aeacus will handle it," he says, referring to the three Judges of the Dead. Charon tsks, following Hades, buttoning up his dark suit, a sure sign that he's worried. "Sir, the soul in question spent the entire ferry ride to the Underworld whining about how the judgement couldn't be fair if Lord Hades had already laughed in his face-"
Hades comes to a stop and gives Charon a look, who promptly subsides into silence. "If he wants to complain to a higher authority, ask the departed soul to visit me," he says smoothly, feeling fury lick at his insides. How dare some corrupt politician try and game his way around Hades' own kingdom?
He grips Charon's shoulder, and the younger being winces slightly. "Let him complain about Lord Hades to Lord Hades, and I'll teach him about what's fair."
"You usually say nothing's fair," Charon mutters reluctantly, as Hades releases his shoulder with a gentle pat.
"Exactly."
He walks away from the Ferryman, slightly regretting his tone. Through each Cycle, Charon's usually been a staunch follower. Lost in thought, he walks past the gardens surrounding his sprawling island mansion, until his mind finally awakens to something being off.
Turning, he looks around and realises he's in the midst of a riot of colour, not usually something he sees in the dark vineries of his Underworld. Among the shadowy vines and deep purple grapes, he now sees magenta flowers and fruits interspersed, with emerald leaves shooting through them. Curiously, he approaches one of them only to realise that they're not real: the emerald isn't just a colour, but the actual stone. The flowers and fruits are, likewise, gemstones hewn to look like pomegranates and bougainvillaea.
"Do you like it?" Pan asks, emerging from underneath one low-hanging branch.
Hades gapes at him for a few seconds before pulling himself together. "I'm no nature god, but I know none of these plants actually grow together naturally," he says, amused. Nobody's ever done this to his lands before, but he can't find it in him to be irritated with the God of the Wild.
Pan shrugs. "If I'm stuck here, I might as well spruce up the place."
He frowns up from his position under the trees. "Is there no way they can be real trees? The only thing that seems alive here are the grapevines, and I've never been much of a wine person."
Hades shrugs. "Sorry. The vines were a gift from Dionysus, which is why they manage to grow. Besides, I don't know if you've noticed, but nothing here tends to be... alive." He smiles in what he hopes is a comforting way, but Pan's sour expression makes him think he's achieved something closer to a smirk. Ah well.
"It's also called the Underworld," Pan counters, unimpressed. "But I can't help but notice it's an island that's most definitely not under the surface of the world."
Hades rolls his eyes and turns away.
"They look pretty," he calls over his shoulder. "Feel free to do more, if you want."
-
Hades is dragged yet again to the hot summer of Asia within a day of his return to the Underworld. This time, he wisely sticks to light cotton-wear but shows up appropriately grumpy at Persephone's chosen cafe, just to make a point.
"You know I can just choke your messengers with shadows the next time you dare to demand I meet you, right?" he asks her, by way of greeting.
She looks up at him and smiles angelically. "I imagine that's just more trouble for you because that would mean killing more dryads at a time when there's already a mass murderer trying to-"
"Okay, okay," Hades says, sighing. He sits down at the table, placing his order with a waiter for a double espresso.
"I want an Iced Americano," Persephone volunteers and he blanches. "Please drink something better than that sewage."
She blinks at him sweetly. "No."
He places the order.
"What is wrong with you and your father?" he grumbles under his breath, and he didn't think it would be possible, but her smile widens. "We're one of a kind," she says proudly, flipping her hair behind her. He eyes the shower of rich brown before looking off into the distance. Just because he's actually arrived for this meeting doesn't mean he needs to engage in further discussion. She can either start talking, or she can deal with silence.
Of course, Persephone seems to not be entirely normal, because she chooses silence until the coffee arrives at the table. It's unsettling, because she sits placidly opposite him, smelling like some kind of fruit that he cannot place, lips red and distracting.
Once they're sipping on their coffee, he gestures for her to start speaking, and she sits up primly.
"I know you want this murderer gone too. It's messing with the balance of more than just the environment."
He sets down his espresso and narrows his eyes. "So?" He doesn't bother denying it; she's right of course. The cities, as usual, are untouched, so nothing seems to have been changed, but mass death of nature gods and nymphs has already resulted in mountain slides in the northern regions of the world, while low lying sea communities have suffered freak tsunamis and at least two endangered animal species slipped from being "vulnerable" to "endangered". His people are dealing with twice the amount of paperwork, and Charon's complained about having to increase the frequency of his ferry rides.
"So, let me help you. I have a lead on a suspect."
He raises an eyebrow at her. "Who is it?"
-
Prometheus' hideout is a library. Hades isn't sure what he was expecting, but it definitely wasn't a library. He turns to raise his eyebrows at Persephone, but she smacks his shoulder (he makes a mental note to ask her if she's forgotten who he is). "You're supposed to be disappearing right about now," she hisses. Sighing, he melts away into the shadows. It's not usually enough to trick Gods, but Prometheus is a titan - and from what he's heard, not particularly bright.
They walk in (or rather, he walks, and Persephone prances in, looking like some kind of pink-suited bat fluttering around the shadowy library). He can feel the pulsing presence of Prometheus the moment they step in, and it's easy to find the figure of a young man, dressed in a stiff suit, hunched over a giant textbook.
"Since when does the father of human arts and sciences need to study?" Persephone asks gaily, dropping into the chair opposite the man, who jumps and looks at her in surprise.
"Who are you?" he asks, straightening up and trying to look foreboding.
She extends her hand, not speaking till Prometheus reluctantly grasps it. "I'm Persephone. Goddess of Springtime, Maidenhood, good taste, common sense."
Hades has to hold in a laugh, then sternly tells himself to get it together.
Prometheus seems unimpressed. "What would you need from me?"
She shrugs. "I heard through the grapevine"—she sends sly look in the direction of where Hades stands, still hidden from the eye, and has to stop himself from laughing again at the unexpected vinery pun—"that you were hanging out here and I've always been fascinated by what happened to you."
"By... by what happened to me?" Prometheus stammers, leaning away from Persephone like her presence gives him hives.
"Oh, you know, the whole thing with Zeus."
At the mention of Zeus' name, Prometheus pales. It's only been two centuries since he was rescued from his punishment by Zeus for giving humans a way to advance their technology and industrial craft. His hand absently goes to caress the front of his torso, near where his liver would be. The rumours did report that his liver had been pecked at again, a classic Zeus punishment if there ever was one.
Hades shakes his head at the idea. Zeus goes overboard every Cycle whenever he punishes Prometheus for helping humans. Of course, nobody's forcing Prometheus to keep giving them advantages like fire or, as in the current Cycle, a roadmap to bring about the Industrial Revolution.
Prometheus stands up from the table quickly. "I'm sorry, my Lady, I have nothing to say about that," he says formally, skin pale. He backs away from the table and exits the library.
Hades reveals himself and sits in the vacated chair, examining the textbook Prometheus has left behind. It's... economics?
"He definitely knows something," he comments idly, flipping through the textbook.
Persephone nods, still eyeing the door Prometheus had walked out of. "It looks like my sources were right when they said they saw him creeping around the hotel where we had our meeting."
"If there's anybody who has a reason to make trouble for the Gods, it's him," Hades agrees. "But you saw how he reacted. That's not the reaction of some skilled invisible murderer."
She nods slowly, eyes unfocused. "So, who is he working with?"
-
"Hades."
Startled, Hades jumped. He was at home, seated on his throne. The fireplace opposite his throne was cold and it took him a moment to realise Hestia's voice wasn't coming from the hearth, but the open Macbook on his table.
"What?" he asked, irritated. He'd told her numerous times to stop hacking into his electronics but she seemed to enjoy it.
"I've heard something. My vision was blurred, but the conversation happened quite literally in someone's home in front of a fireplace, so I was able to hear bits and pieces."
"What is this about?" he pressed, frowning. Hestia didn't tend to gossip about private conversations.
"I overheard a voice telling Prometheus he needed to be careful and to keep an eye on Demeter."
-
Unlike most of the Gods, Hades extends influence outside of his usual realms. While the dead and dying automatically become his subjects, he's spent millennia cultivating loyalty with nymphs and demigods who are technically ruled by others. It's all very quietly done, of course, because he knows it's tantamount to getting spouses to cheat.
It's not his fault he's just a nice person with a winning personality, unlike, for example, Dionysus.
In Demeter's world, those loyal subjects (or disloyal, however one wants to look at it) are the two Epimeliads who are the guardians of the tree that the Golden Fleece is kept on. He visits their meadow in the night, darting quietly past blessed sheep, coming to the stop just a few paces away from the Golden Fleece. The fleece, a golden-wooled thing of beauty that once belonged to the winged ram, Chrysomallos, hangs there, shining brightly. It's said to have countless powers.
Hades can't bring himself to care. Instead, he waits patiently and soon enough, two small trees near the Fleece melt away to reveal two white-haired men.
"Lord Hades!" one says loudly, rushing forward to bow in front of him. Slower than his counterpart, the other dryad follows and bows as well. "Lord Hades," he murmurs, adjusting glasses carefully, putting his hands in his tweed jacket and waiting patiently for an order he knows is coming his way.
Gently waving away the first dryad's excited comments about how the last gift of opera tickets had been well-received, Hades lowers his voice to brief them.
"I need you to follow someone for me."
The two dryads immediately sober up, straightening their backs, suddenly looking less like jolly herders and more like spies.
-
He keeps in touch with Persephone, knowing that she's heaven-bent on finding out what Prometheus is up to, though if what he hears from her is true, she and Demeter are swamped, dealing with complaints from across the world. Nature spirits, it turns out, are not easily pacifiable by tight security measures.
After a few weeks of silence, he tries to reach out to Poseidon to know what's happening in the underwater communities but finds tightly sealed entryways everywhere. Even his usual ocean spies can't be reached.
A message shows up one day, after yet another of Hades' minions returns with negative news, bearing Poseidon's narrow, precise handwriting.
Brother,
Underwater kingdom in an uproar because of Triton's murder. Amphitrite, my wife, is very upset. Will resurface in a few weeks. I hope Demeter and the lovely Persephone are doing their part. Need your powers back soon.
-The Better Looking Brother
"Ridiculous," Hades mutters, looking at the signature. In no Cycle had Poseidon looked better, and in this one, his constantly shifting form doesn't count.
Maybe the prolonged calm lulls them all into a false sense of safety because things become a little lax. The Gods return to their bickering, and even when he visits Demeter (who just happens to be holding court these days with his daughter in tow), the nature spirits seem to have been soothed.
"Prometheus is missing," Persephone confides in Hades, stealing away from court to speak to him in private. She is a vision, despite wearing just a white shirt and tailored pants. Her long hair is adorned with a wreath of flowers, but he can still smell the mystery fruit about her; she's got an entirely different scent he just can't seem to place.
Hades looks around to see if he can see Demeter, then steps just a little closer to her, lowering his voice. He tries to ignore the way his body screams at him to lean even closer, resolutely pushing away the temptation to slide his arms around her and whisk her away to a much more secluded area. "I have someone tailing him. The last time he was seen was near the shore of Japan. I told you, spies informed me he was warned. So whoever was behind all this has decided to bide their time."
She agrees with him, and neither of them feels the need to say out loud what they're both thinking: there's no way anyone who'd been powerful enough to do away with Pan and Poseidon's own son would just stop.
Demeter yells loudly for Persephone, and her face morphs into one of irritation as she turns away to stomp in her father's direction.
"What, old man?" she snaps, once again seeming to forget that she's supposed to bow to Hades before leaving.
Hades huffs out a reluctant laugh. At this point, he suspects that if she does follow the rules, he'll be more concerned.
-
Of course, peace doesn't last.
He's touring the Mourning Fields when it happens, just as he's looking with vague pity at the residents of the Fields, souls who'd wasted their lives on unrequited love. He can't imagine being in love to a point where it became his governing principle. The one time he'd mentioned this to Hestia, she'd shot him the same unreadable look she reserved for modern architecture, or sections of the Internet she didn't approve of.
"Sir!" Charon comes skidding to a halt in front of him, panting, black suit half-wet, like he's splashed his way across the river Styx. "You need to come quickly."
And that's how he discovers Hegemone, Goddess of Blooming Plants, standing impatiently at the gates of the Underworld. She disregards his immediate questions, telling him to shut up (what is it with the manners of all these minor nature Gods?) and listen to her first.
"Just before I lost consciousness, I heard a voice say that they had to get 'the other one' next," she says quickly, one hand gripping on his sleeve tightly. He blinks uncomprehendingly at her.
"What... what other one?" Is this some kind of nature thing she expects him to know about? Her son, maybe?
She rolls her eyes before seeing his offended expression and straightening up a little. "There is nobody else like me to be named the 'other'," she says a little slowly like he's an idiot. "There is one minor demigod, Triptolemus, but he is less powerful, and his death won't create as many ripples. But we're on the cusp of a seasonal change, and there's only one God who's in charge of it."
The shoe drops and he feels his chest constrict sharply.
"She's got one final session at Demeter's court today, before she departs for the other side of the world," Hegemone continues, unaware that her point's been made. "Lord Hades, if she were to be killed, I genuinely do not know what will happen to the change of seasons. If this person's intention has been to create ecological disaster, then this would be the way to do it."
He is walking away before her sentence ends, grimly calling Charon to accompany him.
It doesn't take long to find Persephone, because he simply needs to call one of the two Epimeliads he'd saddled with spy duty. They've been splitting their time between trying to search for Prometheus and keeping an eye on Demeter, because Hades had been wrong - he'd thought the next big target would be Demeter.
She is holding court next to Demeter when he arrives, teasing Triptolemus about something, hair waving in the rainy breeze surrounding them. He tries to signal to her from afar, careful to avoid Demeter, knowing that the overly protective man will not consent to the plan in Hades' mind. She doesn't notice, so he finally drops decorum and breaches her mind.
Persephone. We need to speak.
She nods imperceptibly, masterfully not letting her expression or demeanour change. Within minutes, however, she's making her way to him. He shrouds them both in shadows and explains what he's heard, sticking to thought-speak.
We have to leave now, he concludes. She takes a moment to think, and he has the greatest urge to grab her instead of waiting for her to process. He doesn't even know why he's feeling this urgency; they're barely friends, and he's not sure he'd behave this way with even Demeter or Hestia, but every fibre of his being is telling him to open a portal to the Underworld in the next few seconds, her hand in his.
Have to? She asks, raising her eyebrows.
If you want to, he amends, stretching out his hand.
Persephone expects Hades to sweep her away in a flurry of shadows with a flourish of his long coat, opening a portal in the ground to swallow them whole.
Instead, he calmly escorts her out of her father's field, leads her to a large Range Rover parked a little way away and opens the car door for her. Once she's seated, he drives, politely asking what kind of music she'd listen to. His manners are back in full force, referring to her as Lady Persephone formally. She tries not to think of the rush of pleasure she'd felt upon hearing him say Persephone in her mind, urgently, earnestly, almost frantically.
The car ride is honestly a little surreal, but she's well aware that linguistics professors around the world will have a conniption at the Goddess of Nature calling something the Lord of the Underworld does surreal when it's actually incredibly normal and mundane, so she simply asks him to play KPop (he winces, but agrees) and stares out the window.
The scenery outside the window is decidedly not normal and mundane. It's like someone with a photo-editing app has decided to blur the scene outside - she catches glimpses here and there of vaguely familiar cities, or trees and shrubs, but that is all she can recognise. Within minutes, the liquefied world outside the window gets darker and she starts to see shades of grey mixed in with flashes of faces. She thinks they're twisted in horror, but honestly, at this point, that could be her own confirmation bias. She doesn't ask him, because she's not sure what she wants the answer to be.
Her stomach is churning, which startles her. It's not a feeling she's used to, this odd mix of anxiety and anticipation. She's not even sure why the latter exists; what does her body expect that she is not capable of recognising? There's some kind of divine impatience that she feels rushing in her veins and she can't stand it.
Ignoring all the things she doesn't know about and cannot recognise, she turns to look at the God on her left. His eyes are trained to focus on the not-road ahead (how does he even know where they're going?), hands gripping the steering wheel. She follows the tight lines of his shoulders, noting that he's tense. (But then, she's met him frequently this summer and he's always tense, so that isn't new.)
The car slows down and she can suddenly see real surroundings again. There are palm trees, winding roads, people on the street. In the distance, she sees a glittering sea under bright sunlight, practically inviting her to dive in. On closer inspection, she realises the people aren't necessarily people: the ones who roam freely seem to all have jobs to do, or at least they're suited like white-collar officials, rushing from one place to another, while there are frequent groups who pass by, wearing shackles at their wrist, chaperoned by wraith-like entities she cannot place.
"Welcome to the Underworld," Hades says, breaking their silence. She wants to ask him a hundred questions almost immediately, but holds her tongue, not wanting to seem like some godling on her first outing. Why me, she wants to ask.
Why is there sunlight?
Who are those people outside?
What are those wraiths?
Why me?
Did we already pass the gates to the Underworld? Or is there some back entrance you used?
You have a three-headed dog, don't you?
Are these plants real? Are they alive?
Where are we going if we've reached already?
Why me?
If she had to choose one question, she'd choose just the one. Why did he go so far to save her? Surely he knew that, if not her, another nature spirit or god would be in trouble next. Why not harbour them all? Because of logistical difficulties?
It feels like she's being overconfident, but she knows the answer bone-deep, like she knows how each flower in spring feels to touch, but about her and him and something much bigger.
Every time, Demeter had said. It's their Cycle. There is something they must do, some step they must take, that binds them together and makes her acutely aware of his presence when he's around. It's what has made him reach out with the least hesitance to tug her into the Underworld. It's what has made her dive deep into this search for Prometheus and the protection of nature spirits. Every part of her detective work has kept her in contact with him.
It's not altruism, she acknowledges to herself. It's a streak of selfishness that she cannot rid herself of. I'm more like Demeter than I thought, she thinks wryly, thinking of her father's recent attempts to tell her that he's not interested in saving the world, or nature spirits, just himself of pain.
The car swerves a little, turning down a sharp pin in the road, leading them up a winding, gentle incline. If he'd not been driving, she wouldn't have seen the turn at all. They're practically in a tunnel; there are tall walls bracketing the road, roughly hewn from rock. Here, finally, she sees notes of the stereotype she'd been expecting; the rock is dark, and she sees obsidian streaks in the stone as though the darkness is leaking through its modern illusion. The road opens wider, leaving the rocks behind so they're now flanked on the left and right by grapevines that are somehow interspersed with flashes of colour that zip too quickly past for her to recognise.
"What are those?" she asks out loud in wonder, catching bright pink and emerald flashes amidst the dark purple and green of the vines. She turns in time to see him smile, switching gears and rolling the car to a stop in front of a sprawling mansion.
"Interior decoration courtesy the God of the Wild," he says dryly, before leaning across her to unlock and open the door.
Their eyes meet and she feels like time slows down while his hand lingers at her seatbelt, unlocking it. For a mad second, she is tempted to bend, just a little -
"This is my home," he says.
-
The mansion is less a house and more like a case study in Italian architecture. Hades takes her on a brief tour of the ground floor and the surrounding gardens, pointing out paths to the grapevines, the stables and the garage housing his horses and cars (I can hardly use a chariot nowadays, he says nonchalantly) and the six main rivers of the Underworld. "Try not to wander off alone," he warns, eyeing her like he thinks the warning is falling on deaf ears. She sticks her tongue out at him, ever the mature one, though she admits privately that he's got her pegged. It's just that she has no desire to accidentally stumble into the rivers of Pain, Forgetfulness, Hatred or... whatever the other three were. He rolls his eyes as they move down a path hidden behind a towering oak tree (really, the vegetation here makes no sense).
"I've instructed my staff to ready a suite of rooms for you in my home, Lady Persephone," he says over his shoulder, lightly moving aside low-hanging branches of the little wooded track they're on, so they don't catch on her head. "It'll take a while, so I thought I'd show you around a little more."
He turns to smile at her winningly like they're humans and he's merely a good host, not the God of the Dead. There's something different about him, she thinks. She can't put a finger on it.
They emerge near a long meadow of grey. It's not an exaggeration; it's literally grey and boring, extending to where her eyes cannot see, a monotonous plain of nothingness. In the middle, she sees many human-like shapes shrouded in a fog, standing motionless.
"These are the Asphodel Meadows," Hades says quietly, like he doesn't want to break the dull spell of the area. "This is where humans who were ordinary come."
"Ordinary?" she asks, frowning.
He nods solemnly, touching her shoulder to propel her towards a single, bare tree a few feet away. He touches the bark and a shadowy set of stairs appears on the ground. She gestures for him to lead the way (no way is she going first down a series of suspicious stairs).
"There are some souls who don't accomplish anything," he explains, throwing her an eye roll at the artless way she gestured for him to lead, beginning their descent down the staircase. "They were neither bad, nor good, heroes, nor villains. They just... were. So they don't get to go to Elysium, they're merely here. Waiting for the day they can be reborn."
"That's terrible," she murmurs. He looks a touch surprised, as though he's never had to consider the fate of being average. "I suppose," he allows doubtfully. Ahead of them, the stairs level out to a long corridor and they continue, gently talking about the pros and cons of being in the Asphodel Meadows. She insists it's a form of torture. Everybody is special for somebody.
In quick succession, he shows her each river, the Mourning Fields, the entrance to Tartarus (which sends a shiver right down her spine) and Elysium, or Isles of the Blessed. They're a cluster of smaller islands nestled in the cove of the Underworld. She sees Pan, who nods gruffly at them both before disappearing and re-appearing with Hegemone in tow. They greet each other - she assures Hegemone she is fine and thanks her for alerting Hades to the danger - before she vows to find her way back to Elysium to spend more time with Hegemone. The Goddess smiles and nods in a motherly sort of way like she would if her child promised to visit on a Sunday for lunch. "As long as you're safe," she mutters softly, patting Persephone's hand.
"Are you going to hang around here, then, with him?" Pan asks bluntly, jerking a finger in Hades' direction, who raises his eyebrows, hands settled comfortably in his pockets. "If you want to keep your quarters in Elysium, Lord Pan, I'd suggest doing away with the tone," he warns, eyes shining with what seems to be an impish delight in the threat.
Hegemone elbows Pan in the stomach, who rolls his eyes like the grumpy old man he is. "All this after I helped make your boring vines look good," he grumbles, the light of the sun catching the silvery grey of his hair. Turning his back resolutely to Hades, Pan looks Persephone in the eyes. "I don't know what you always see in him," he says disapprovingly before walking away.
He knows too, Persephone realises. She grasps for Hegemone's sleeve, but even she has turned to leave, though not before sending Persephone a knowing glance.
"Shall we?" Hades asks, pointing in the direction of the River Styx, clearly unaware (or uncaring) of this exchange. "I want you to meet someone."
Once near the Styx, they walk along with the black, rushing waters for a while. He explains how the Elysian Fields work, how only heroes or humans with exceptional lives are allowed to reside there, like the ultimate blessing. As she talks, she feels the knots of anxiety diminish. If she closes her eyes, the sound of the Styx is like any normal bubbling stream, and not an odd out-of-place brook with black water, rushing through an island. She has to remind herself none of it, whether tree, shrub or even grass is real, that they're all just facsimiles of the real thing. She can't taste any oxygen on her tongue at all and even the deepest of breaths won't yield the smell of pollen and mud that she so loves.
"The ecology of your island is impossible," she informs Hades snootily and he laughs in response, which nearly makes her lose her footing on the soft muddy banks of the river. She's never heard him laugh. With that, it finally dawns on her what's different about him.
He's relaxed. Gone are the tense lines, the grumpy curl of his mouth, the frown on his forehead. His strides are lighter, his shoulders rolled back. There's a light in his eyes, and he even finds it in him to tease her about silly things ("are you sure you'll find your way around on your own Lady Persephone, you don't have a reputation for being good with directions").
It's because he's at home, she realises with a start.
They meet Charon, the Ferryman, who looks like another male model in a designer suit. "Have you instructed everybody to just look like the Italian mafia in this Cycle?" she asks snidely and Hades flicks her shoulder.
"Back to the house?" he asks smoothly, ignoring her question and bidding a non-verbal goodbye at Charon.
-
By nightfall, two spirits show her the second floor of Hades' mansion, which is how she discovers that he's had the entire floor remade and set aside for her. A long corridor joins a sitting room, a bedroom and even an office. The bedroom, she knows, is a polite consideration - not every God sleeps, it's not like they need to. He's just provided her a luxurious one on the off-chance that she'd want to sleep, just like the office has been provided as though she's got a briefcase of paperwork to tackle while on her sabbatical from the World of the Living. The decor is like something out of a magazine, stylish and modern, though it's dotted with fake flowers and fake wheat in vases, which she supposes is a nod to her father. At the thought of Demeter, she feels a little guilty; she hasn't thought of him at all. I'll try and contact him the moment it's safe, she promises to herself. Though surely he'll realise I must have gone into hiding? I wouldn't disappear otherwise.
Hades' spirits leave her, and she stands uncertainly in the corridor near the staircase. She could sleep, she does tend to take a nap every few days, but the entire place feels too fake and cold to be homey enough to settle into. She longs for her usual abode, a ramshackle house she shares with her father, messy and filled with more plant life than soft furnishings. Not that Hades hasn't pulled out all the stops to give her some semblance of home, she grants. He must have seen their home sometime because a lot of the furniture and plants look the same. The piece de resistance, however, is the entire second-floor corridor. Instead of just normal flooring, most of the passage is dedicated to a long flowerbed, which has been planted with pink rose bushes. The sharp thorns and the pink of the roses do a valiant job to convince her they're real, but to her eyes, she can see how they pale in comparison to the real thing.
"Is everything to your liking?"
If he had shrouded his presence, she'd have jumped. Fortunately for her reputation, Hades' presence has only grown stronger in the hours they've spent in the Underworld; she can feel him at all times, like a perfume that lingers around her. Not cloying or stifling, but kind of like the smell of vanilla in a kitchen, or wet mud after a rainfall. The moment he'd taken to the staircase to climb up from his first floor to her second, she'd felt the atmosphere change, like the very not-air around them serves him and moves to accommodate his presence.
"It's lovely," she lies, not looking at him.
"Good," he replies awkwardly. They hover around each other for a second, until Persephone finally gives up on the little propriety she's been trying to exercise.
"It could do with one tiny improvement," she admits, turning to him. He's changed out his clothes, now wearing just a soft sweater and tailored pants, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and devastatingly, hair let down across his forehead in soft waves. Hades smiles like he expected this response.
"Please, go ahead," he says politely. It's this civility that grates at her, and she is filled with the desire to shake him. She turns away from him, stalking resolutely to one end of the corridor, reaching out to place one hand over the roses. Closing her eyes, she wills for a part of her to unlock, the part she keeps tightly hidden until she's alone and doing her job every Spring. Opening her eyes, she feels a warm glow rise up around her. She begins to walk, gaze trained on the plants under her fingertips.
Slowly, the plastic-green of the stalks changes, colours deepening, as the leaves begin to unfurl from their manufactured curls. The roses seem to shiver and the tint on them deepens to a dark red. Crimson bleeds from each bud to the other, like ink spreading on tissue. There's a sharp intake of air behind her, but she continues down her path, stopping only once she's reached the very end of the corridor. She turns slowly, breathing in.
Oxygen.
Their eyes meet. For the first time, Hades looks stunned. As they look at each other, a dark hunger crosses his face, sending a warm tug around her middle like a siren call to her. The residual charm of what she's done combines with this heat from his expression and she feels her fingertips zing with a lingering warmth.
"There's more," she says almost wickedly, enjoying how he gulps at the sound of her voice. Leaning down, she breaks off one rose and crushes the bud in her hands then throws the petals to the sides of the walls, where they attach and begin to grow. The petals start to mutate and rush up the walls, growing roots and leaves for more rose bushes. In the blink of an eye, the entire corridor is transformed to look like a passageway wrought of only thorns, buds and leaves. At intervals, lights begin to pulse from certain sections where the original walls had light bulbs, except now the illumination is soft and warm, like a sunset shining through the leaves.
"What do you think?" she asks, approaching him. He looks at her with an unreadable expression on his face, though his eyes betray appreciation and admiration. Buoyed, reckless, thoughtless, she grabs his hand.
"I have one more idea," she says, ignoring the way their bond practically sings as they touch. His eyes linger at their intertwined hands as he nods. "Show me," he says encouragingly, voice almost painfully soft as though he doesn't want to shatter the heady spell her roses and oxygen and sunset have cast on them.
"Take me to the grapevines," she says.
It's a good thing he's awestruck about the roses because if Hades had insisted on her leading the way, she'd have had to betray her absolute inability to remember a single road. Having clearly just accomplished something that's made her rise in his esteem, she'd have loathed destroying that progress with her useless sense of direction.
They don't let go of each other's fingers.
-
The moonlight has filtered through the vines by the time they reach the centre of the sprawling vineyards. She finally lets go of his hand and moves towards the grapes, belatedly recognising the shiny colour that had caught her attention before. They're gemstones, roughly cut into the shapes of pomegranates and ornamental flowers. "This is Pan's work," she says in awe, ghosting her fingertips over the fruits. She turns to look at Hades, who isn't looking at the plants at all. "Do you know he's got the hands of an artist?" she asks, breathlessly, still reeling from the beauty of what she's seeing. "It's only something he's done in this Cycle, but he's cultivated a hobby of creating something out of practically nothing. It's like seeing a gifted tailor; give him any cloth and he'll make you the best shirt."
Hades looks intrigued finally, reaching out to stroke one fruit. Then, with a sharp flick of his hand, he breaks one of them off and slips it into his pocket. "You can change what you want now," he says encouragingly. The reassurance brings the warmth back, simmering around her ankles, pushing her to ignite her powers again. There are loud cracks that rent the night air, and Persephone feels more than sees the flowers and fruits around her shiver and come to life. She plucks a flower mid-change from its stem, and it freezes in her palm, half-velvety petal and half-gemstone. The scent of real life extends around them and she breathes deep, enjoying how it reaches every corner of her.
Finally, once she's had her fill, she turns to look at Hades again. His eyes are closed, nose lifted delicately in the air. "Recognise the smell?" she asks slyly while pocketing her half-gem flower, meaning to tease him about his lack of knowledge about real plants. His eyes snap open to reveal that they're darker than she's ever seen, like the Underworld's intrigues are storming within them, containing all the secrets and mysteries of the dead. She's got the strongest desire to reach out and pull them to her, to share them with him.
"Persephone," he says out loud, urgently, ardently, almost frantically, and it is better, so much better than when he said it in her mind. "Can I kiss you?"
The glow that had been licking at her ankles grows to giant flames around them. She nods, stretching her hand out to him, inviting him closer. One, two, two and a half strides, and he's in front of her, one finger crooked under her chin to bring her lips up to his. The moment they touch, it's like something settles in her stomach and the anxious knots from before vanish entirely. Her entire body relaxes into him, feeling a sense of certainty flood through her veins.
He deepens the kiss, large hands coming up to cradle her face, biting down gently on her lip. She feels a moan rise, unbidden, from the depths of her, and he swallows it, moving one hand to cup the back of her head like she's the oxygen in the air and he needs to breathe. Running her hands up his shoulders, she locks them behind his neck and stretches up as much as she can to meet him, eager to give as much as he can take. He kisses her like he means it, like he demands her entire being to submit to his, like he's a king whose birthright is her lips and her taste. He is a King, she remembers dimly, just as they break apart.
They gaze silently at each other for a few seconds, until she feels words rise unsolicited in her throat as his palms drop to caress her waist softly. "Lord Hades," she teases brazenly. His eyes snap to hers, growing wide at the sound of an honorific she's never used before.
She leans in for a second kiss, this time her chance to take from her king, feeling like an addict on a drug she cannot describe, demanding the same servility he asked of her mere moments (or was it hours?) ago.
With a groan, he submits.
Hades sits at his throne, scrolling half-heartedly down Thanatos' monthly report on the dead souls from across the world. He knows he should pay attention, but no matter the effort he exerts to stare at his laptop, his mind wanders to someone else entirely.
Sneaking a look to his left, he peeks at a new, modest vase on his desk. She's at least had the sense to avoid using something huge and ridiculous, opting instead for an unassuming squat pot. It's filled with the flawed, half-transformed bougainvillaea flowers from the vineyards, each bloom a mixture of gemstones and real petals. She'd confessed that she'd deliberately reverted the transformation of some flowers to create something so completely different from what she sees in the real world.
"They're like you," she'd added, impishly. "Or rather, your form. Half of two things."
He'd scoffed at her, but now, in the privacy of his throne room, he can admit that he's charmed with the addition to the decor. At first, the flowers had seemed loud and honestly, too much; now they've fit into the room's atmosphere of dark wood and glass, with the sunlight from the window outside bouncing off the petals and throwing light on the walls.
There's a knock on his door and Hades straightens up with a cough, attempting to look like anything but a teenaged human being caught daydreaming. "Come in," he calls.
"Lord Hades," Charon says as he walks in, formally bowing before making his report. "I have news for you on Prometheus. Your Epimeliads have sent word; they sighted the Titan at a beach in a small seaside town in the United Kingdom."
Hades stands, happy to find a reason to ignore both the (very drab, if he's honest) report and the vase. "Was he with anybody? Did we find out anything new?"
Charon hesitates, then steps closer and lowers his voice.
"He met with Lady Hera, sir."
It takes a moment for Hades to understand the words spoken, having never expected to hear them in that order. "Lady... Hera?" he asks blankly, mind conjuring the vicious, upright Goddess who usually sits on his brother's right. Sure, she's unhinged and he's always thought so, but she's frankly too important to mess around with the likes of Prometheus or to plot the murder of nature Gods. His puzzled gaze is met with a shrug from Charon. "Your spies have said they did not have any luck hearing their conversation, for she is too great an enchantress by her own right and knew how to avoid being overheard. It's a matter of luck they even saw the two together."
As Charon speaks, Hades' mind is still struggling to align two mental images, one of the majestic and solemn Queen Hera, the other of some kind of shady character meeting a Titan in a corner. He doubts she'd be cheating—having spent every Cycle since the Dawn of Time being vociferously against her own husband's adultery—which means she's wrapped up with Prometheus because of a decidedly more sinister reason.
Shaking his head, he turns to grab his coat off the back of his throne and walks out. It's time to visit Zeus for an update on his decisions to bring Hades' powers back to full force and if he meets Hera while he's at it, it would just be a convenient coincidence. Charon mutters that he'll get Hades' car ready out front, not needing a verbal command from him to know what he's thinking. They split up at the staircase, Charon heading downstairs, but Hades moving up to find Persephone.
She is not in her rooms, and no sign of her has been left behind to betray that she may be returning soon. Over the last week of her stay in the Underworld, she has developed a habit of roaming the vineyards and the mansion, growing a disturbing amount of flowers or just exploring the island itself, befriending his spirits and lieutenants. Almost all of them, he's been amused to see, have grown some kind of grudging respect for her.
His train of thought breaks as he sees a flash of colour from outside the window, recognising a powder blue shape at the edges of the vineyards just where they start fading into his front garden.
His heart sinks. There's something uncontrolled about Persephone when she's around blooms—or specifically, blooms she's had a hand in creating—and he's usually unable to extract himself from the atmosphere her powers create. It's like discovering the air is honey, and he's a hapless fly, unable to wriggle free (and invariably unwilling to).
By the time he tracks her down, she is flitting from one vine to another, hidden by the creepers, looking like a cross between a butterfly and a photoshoot model framed against the purple of his grapes and pink of her pomegranates and flowers. Lady Persephone, he calls out to her mind politely. She must have felt his arrival anyway, as he does whenever they're within a certain radius of each other. Her presence feels like a sharp, cold breeze in January blowing past him, stinging his cheeks but making his lungs want to gulp the fresh air down like he's a parched man in search of water. However, he is still her host, no matter the revelations of the past week, and manners are manners. She turns to smile at him, making his breath catch in his throat, the notion of manners ready to fly out the metaphorical window.
You came here for a reason, pull yourself together, he tells himself sternly. Keeping his distance, he fills her in on the news, before her smell can assault his senses and throw a wrench in the workings of his brain. He's already fighting the now-familiar temptation to ignore the rest of the world and dive into her arms. It's been growing stronger with each day she spends in the Underworld.
Persephone comes closer to him because she doesn't care about minor issues like what one should do. He's beginning to suspect she's a little mad too.
"How long has it been since we arrived?" she asks him, tilting her head, seemingly unperturbed that Queen Hera might be up to no good.
"A week," he replies, watching apprehensively. When she is this close, he can feel his body begin to course with heat again, making his vision tunnel down to focus on the red of her lips or the creamy expanse of her neck.
Her eyes widen imperceptibly before she schools her features back to looking calm and collected like she doesn't want to betray not knowing something. Hades' heart constricts briefly, which baffles him more than the temptation to kiss her neck. She's cute, he thinks, before groaning internally at this new discovery. Frequent kisses are one thing, but thinking her cute is a far more troubling sign.
"My father must be worried," she says quietly, fingering the leaves near them. So that's what this is, he thinks, a little surprised. She's more family-oriented than he'd originally pegged her; or at least, she's more Demeter-oriented than the rumours said she was.
Turning back to him, she reaches into her pocket to pull out a heavy cream envelope. "Please give this to him?"
He takes the letter, careful to avoid brushing his fingers against hers, then spins away, leaving his extraordinary flower Goddess entwined in the vines once more, denying himself the ability to explore when exactly he started thinking of her as something he could claim.
_
They'd broken apart, breathing heavily, though still close enough for him to count her eyelashes. He stroked a thumb carefully across her cheek, enjoying the dark look in her eyes, tempted to lean back in for a third, fourth, fifth kiss. Instead, the logic in him started rushing back, like a hangover after a long drinking session.
"Cycles are powerful," he'd muttered softly, still cradling her face.
"So you cottoned on?" she'd replied softly, seemingly just as unwilling to step away. He'd rolled his eyes a little, mind now occupied with the awareness that they were pressed into each other, her body lined up against the planes of his.
"How am I supposed to not notice when Demeter, Lady Hegemone and Lord Pan all make snide remarks? Besides, this," he punctuated his words with a somewhat rough movement, selfishly bringing her body closer to his, "is not how I would usually go about dealing with attraction to another being."
Her teasing expression had returned at that, betraying the same gleam in her eyes when she'd called him Lord Hades just moments before.
"So now what?" she'd asked casually, one hand playing with the strands of hair at the back of his head, sounding like this was a conversation between two humans in the aisle of a grocery store and not two Gods desperately intertwined because of an inescapable bond.
"It feels like this was inevitable," she'd continued. "The moment I reached here, I could feel you around me much more - though of course, this is your domain and that is somewhat to be expected."
He'd agreed, leaning in for another kiss, helpless before the temptation their bond demanded. Just short of her lips, he'd stopped, an unwelcome thought invading his mind. "What if the reason you and I both have no recollection of this is that it's such an important pattern of our Cycle that it is actually world-changing?"
"What if this," he'd looked down at them, running his hands up slowly on her back, "will result in us burning the world down?"
Neither answered, opting for silence, though he was sure she wasn't thinking the one selfish thing he was, in the face of the dizzying connection between them: so be it.
_
Usually, when Hades leaves the Underworld, he uses a personal and discreet private gate. But every so often, he has to visit the Gates of the Underworld to check on his single, most loyal lieutenant.
Cerberus.
Parking just short of the tall, foreboding Gates, he slips out of the car and whistles softly. Within moments, there's a soft thumping sound, and a large black dog comes into his view, running up to his master.
Hades smiles and takes his time petting each of the three heads, currently all giving him the usual happy, dumb dog grin of a satisfied pet. "I'm leaving for a while," he murmurs finally, and Cerberus straightens up like a soldier commanded to salute.
"I should be back soon, but you need to be strict while I'm gone. It's not just about stopping the dead from leaving this time. There are three nature Gods inside, and one is very much alive. Protect them."
At the mention of the Gods, Cerberus barks and jumps, raising his left paw - his ribbon-adorned left paw. Frowning, Hades reaches for it and bends to check; it's the same powder blue as her jacket and the ribbon has a subtle design of petals. He rolls his eyes and pokes one of Cerberus' snouts.
"Looks like you've made a new friend?" he asks dryly, as the dog wiggles like a shameless puppy and not a feared guardian of the Underworld. "She's got a knack with monsters, doesn't she?" he murmurs softly, fingering the blue ribbon, talking about more than just the three-headed monster in front of him.
Cerberus barks.
With a sigh, Hades stands up. "You better repay that with loyalty," he warns, pointing to the ribbon, before returning to his car. As he drives out the Gates, he checks his rearview mirror and sure enough, Cerberus' form has grown to its real size, rivalling the Gates themselves.
-
"Are you avoiding me?" He'd jumped, turning to see Persephone hovering at the door to his throne room.
Honestly, he was. His reaction the previous night had been so strong, he'd needed a few moments to himself to recalibrate. He wasn't sure what he felt for her, and how much of it was influenced by the usual freedom he felt when he was in his own kingdom. It startled him, though, to know that even in the face of this logic he was in no mood to walk back his non-verbal allegiance to her from their tryst in the vineyards.
"Of course not, I'm just busy," he'd responded smoothly, like a liar. She'd raised her eyebrows at him like she was branding him one in her head too.
"Stop overthinking," she said after a moment's silence. "I came to ask you if you'd be able to join me for lunch. I was going to ask one of your staff to get me food."
"Don't!" he blurted before he could stop himself. She looked affronted, and he hastened to explain himself. "I mean, I'd be happy to join. Just... I'll handle the food."
"Why?" She'd come closer as she asked the question, leaving him breathless. Casually, he sat in his throne, noting that her eyes lingered for the first time on it, like she'd not even noticed the imposing dias upon which he sat until that moment.
"Food functions a little differently here," he said slowly. "I will inform the staff to get food from the real world for you."
"Why?" As she asked, she reached out to trace the gold filigree inlaid into the ebony armrests.
"Just promise me you'll never eat something from the Underworld," he insisted, knocking the back of his hand against hers softly, intending it to be a simple gesture.
A mistake. Before he knew it, she was leaning over him, one hand on either side of the throne, lowering her lips to his.
-
The Peak Tram is made for tourists, but every so often, there will be a ticket bought by someone aiming to travel higher than Hong Kong's Victoria Peak. Mount Olympus lays nestled above the cloudy overhand of the peak, home and office to the Greek pantheon. Not that any of the Gods frequent it much, instead preferring to find their own spots dotted across the world. The only outliers are Zeus and Hera, who still favour ruling from their old-school thrones.
Hades wouldn't mind any of this, but he hates that he has to take a stupid tourist tram up every time he needs to visit Olympus. Zeus' idea of a joke, maybe. He knows Zeus has a hotel somewhere in the world that functions as a shortcut to the Olympus too, but he likes to change the location around just to fuck with his brothers.
Asshole.
Hades endures the ride, looking and feeling out of place amongst tourists in bright clothing, standing out in the crowd like a black thumb.
Still, the weather is cold, unseasonably so, and he is pleased to be warm and comfortable in a heavy coat and suit. Better than the shorts and t-shirts the tourists wear as they shiver and ignore the abnormal cold. Classic human behaviour.
The seat next to him is empty, so he's surprised when a figure drops down to sit just as the tram starts. Human beings usually avoid direct contact with him, indulging their gut instinct, not realising their bodies were telling them to avoid proximity to death.
"Hades," the person says, lifting a cap to reveal simple spectacles and a haggard face. Of course.
"Demeter," he replies, relaxing again, though his mind races at the implications of having been tracked down so easily by... Persephone's parent. His skin crawls as he tries to banish the memories of her kisses from his mind, as though Demeter is his father and he's a youth caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar.
"Is she with you?" he asks urgently and Hades sighs.
"How did you know?"
Demeter sinks — looking like he's run a marathon — into their seat.
"Every Cycle, it's always you two, together," he mutters, giving Hades the confirmation he needed. He turns to look at his companion. "What happens next? Do you know the pattern?"
Demeter shakes his head wearily, bringing a hand (which shakes slightly, Hades observes) to wipe his face briefly. "My own awareness dips in this part, but all I ever remember is that you and Persephone are intrinsically bonded, like bees attracted to flowers in summer."
Nature metaphors aside, Hades takes a moment to digest this new information. If Demeter's memory is foggy in this respect, it means even he has a part to play in whatever is to happen.
"Do you know what her job is?" Demeter asks abruptly, just as the tram starts its incline on the steeper part of the hill, bringing the passengers to be perpendicular to the ground very, very far away beneath them.
Hades shakes his head mutely, trying to hide how interested he is in any new information about Persephone.
"She needs to travel the world constantly to awaken the buds and blooms, reminding each plant when they have to live, unfurl, awaken to the Spring," Demeter reveals, eyes unfocused, like he's imagining his daughter running her hands lightly over plants the way Hades had seen her do to his fake roses.
"Without her, there is no season," her father continues. "She roams the world to maintain the balance, while I focus on crops and agriculture, to support the chain of life. Without her..." he trails off, then shakes himself and sits up.
"Thank you for saving her," Demeter says, looking Hades in the eye.
Hades reaches for the inside of his jacket, slipping Persephone's letter out of his pocket.
"She sent you something."
_
"We'll pretend I died," Persephone said suddenly.
Hades raised his head from where it had been buried in her neck, blinking at the Goddess under him, looking decidedly uninterested in their activities.
"Excuse me?" he managed to muster, trying not to feel insulted that his ministrations were going wholly ignored.
She slipped a hand from his hair to his collar, tugging him up to eye level. "Whoever the murderer is, they're trying to create massive instability, and by murdering me , that's happened. Now they know they didn't actually kill me, but for whatever reason, I've gone missing and the Gods will blame them. So we've actually helped their agenda."
Sitting up, he pulled her hand so she could sit up as well, relishing the rumpled look of her clothing and hair.
"Not that I mind you being crafty, but is this all you've been thinking of?" he asked. She'd flashed a grin at him, leaning forward to press her lips on his. They were distracted again for a while, but his mind was racing along the lines she'd drawn and he slowed down. "What is it?" she asked, pulling back.
He shook his head, but she poked him, so he picked up her monologue where she'd left off. "Whoever they are, they'll keep quiet because your death would actually bring some widespread chaos to the Earth and to the pantheon. I don't know if you've noticed, but Demeter can be a little possessive."
She nodded. "Which means this might be a way to make them stop the killing, while we track down Prometheus and figure out who he's working for."
_
Olympus is cold as well. Across the table, Zeus looks a bit worse for wear, smoking a cigar heavily, looking irritated, wearing two scarves.
"You work with Demeter, can't you tell him to stop playing with nature? Nothing's growing anymore, and the wind Gods have matched his mood to send cold wind all across the world," he gripes, taking a gulp from a tumbler of whiskey.
Hades suppresses a smile. "Shouldn't the Lord of the Sky be able to control these weather fluctuations?" he asks innocently and Zeus throws him the stink eye.
"Shut up," he warns. "Especially because I know exactly why you're here."
Hades stares blandly at Zeus, who finally relents. He's never had much patience.
"I'm still considering whether to break the rule or not."
Hades stands up, moving to look outside the window of Zeus' personal office, checking the view of the Earth from their vantage point. He's never liked it, being this high up. It's better than having to keep looking at his brother's face, though.
"If we don't find out who her murderer is, Demeter will never return the Earth to normal, and we'll lose all semblance of seasons," Hades says softly, egging on his brother.
Zeus begins to fight back, irritated at the unspoken ultimatum, but a different voice distracts them.
"I agree with Lord Hades, my lord."
Swiftly, Hades turns to see Hera standing at the door. She's dressed casually for once, wearing workout gear and sneakers, curly hair tied back into a ponytail and spectacles on her nose. He bows to her, and she nods imperiously.
"I haven't seen you since our meeting, Lord Hades," she says softly, eyeing him like he's the one with a big secret and not her.
He thinks of Persephone, Demeter, their plans, his spies, and has to admit that he does have a fair share of them.
"I find myself caught up with the sudden influx of deaths across to world due to increasing natural disasters, Lady Hera," Hades answers politely, as she sits on a couch and unlaces her sneakers.
"My love," Zeus begins, then stops.
"I didn't take you for the justice and world balance-type," she says to Hades, ignoring her husband.
He tips his head in acknowledgement. "I'm just looking out for my realm. It does me no good to have to pick up the pieces after a mass murderer's work."
She turns to Zeus, who has been watching the two of them, puffing on his cigar. "I agree with Hades on the rule to be broken," she says softly.
Zeus sighs. "I've told you both, I'm worried how these powers could be misused."
"Excuse me?" Hades asks, narrowing his eyes and approaching his brother's desk. "If you have to accuse me of something, Zeus, say it outright."
Zeus stands up too, glaring. "I'll say what I want to say, brother. You'd do well to remember you're still talking to the Lord of the Gods, and I can say what I want."
Feeling his lips twist into a snarl, Hades opens his mouth to retort when Hera sighs. Zeus deflates at the sound and sits back down, waving at Hades to stand down too.
"I can't just undo this for you. If we break the rule, it extends to all three of us," he says. "You, me and Poseidon."
Hades raises an eyebrow. "So you're worried about Poseidon having more power too?"
Zeus glares at him some more, and Hades stands up to leave, tired of Zeus' self-esteem issues. "Decide for yourself, brother," he says wearily. "As you like to remind me so often, you're the Lord of the Gods." He'll figure out a way to stop this nonsense without Zeus.
"You need to pledge me your loyalty on this, Hades," Zeus says, just as Hades reaches the door.
He laughs sourly, turning to give both the Lord of the Sky a sarcastic smile. "Unfortunately, I can't find it in me to be loyal to someone I don't respect."
-
Demeter agreed to their plan half-heartedly. "I don't like it," he grumbled at Hades, as they walked past tourists and headed deeper into the wooded area of the Peak. "It'll be like an extended winter. People could die."
"If you do any less, nobody is going to fall for it. You would not be calm and collected if your daughter was truly murdered."
Demeter sighed, coming to a stop just short of the entrance to Olympus. "When there are monsters at work, we must fight them as monsters," he muttered reluctantly, before shooting Hades a look.
"Protect her, and I'll do my part."
He vanished before Hades could explain that he didn't think Persephone needed much protection. Fingering the cold pomegranate gemstone in his pocket, he cast his mind to the determined way Persephone's powers had been growing over just a week in the Underworld.
He tried not to think of how well it suited her.
Hades enlists Hestia to track down Prometheus and wheedle information out of him, which baffles Persephone. Sure, they needed someone Prometheus didn't recognise, and Hestia was smart enough to disguise her presence so he wouldn't cotton on to her Godliness, but...
"She has a way of being unassuming enough to incite trust," Hades says, leading her to his throne room as they talk. They've decided, since Persephone is stuck in the Underworld, to just do their collective plotting in one place. He's made considerable changes to accommodate for her. Instead of the original desk in the corner near a window, there is now a large conference table of heavy, polished wood in the centre of the room, flanked on one side by his throne, resplendent in its imposing glory, and by a simpler, comfortable-looking office chair that she can see is meant to be hers. Her gift of half-gemstone flowers sits squarely in the middle of the table, like some kind of squat mascot of this new partnership.
She flashes him a smile of approval before walking to her chair and settling down, noting the tiny twitch of his lips that betrays his pleasure at a change well-received.
"Nobody," he continues, as though nothing's happened, "realises the importance of home until it's taken away from them. That's why Hestia is a good spy for me; she is taken for granted until it's too late."
Unbidden, she thinks of her own home, surrounded by trees and plants and filled with knick-knacks collected over centuries. It hurts her heart a little, which probably shows on her face because he looks pained. Guiltily, she schools her expressions back into blankness, sure that he's now blaming himself for her exile from the real world. Keeping aside that the exile saved her existence, she's not sure how to put into words that she's come to enjoy every moment in the Underworld.
Something is happening to her here, and she's not sure what, but it's awakening dark sides of her that she didn't even know she had.
"More decor changes?" His amused question breaks her reverie, and she blinks at him before looking around to realise that she's unconsciously sprouted vines and carnations around the armrests of her chair, and they're still shooting up and down, intent on covering the entire thing.
"Now I have a throne too," she says cheekily, unwilling to tell him it was an accident. Silence falls, and she kicks herself.
"Not that I'm saying I'm anything like you," she says hastily, wondering what the Godly rules are about a minor God accidentally implying that they're somehow equal to one of the Big Three. Probably never had to be written, you fool, she thinks.
He chuckles, leaning forward to press the button on his intercom machine. "Send them in."
While they wait for Hestia to report back, she watches him as he takes his meetings, chiming in unnecessarily with her opinion as folks like Thanatos and Charon report issues and updates. She keeps waiting for Hades to tell her to shut up, but he doesn't, instead he listens to her opinions before making final decisions.
Finally, the three Furies, or the Erinyes as they're officially known, walk in and Persephone sits up straight. Allecto, Tisiphone and Megaera are Underworld Goddesses of justice and vengeance. She's heard they're hags, but is almost disappointed to see that they're normal-looking middle-aged women, wearing sensible flat shoes and high-waisted jeans. They each wear black t-shirts tucked into their pants and she can see snake tattoos extending on their arms like they're some kind of biker gang from the real world.
They bow to Persephone and Hades, seemingly unconcerned at Persephone's presence.
"A man has been brought to the Underworld, Lord Hades, whom we wish to punish on our own terms," Allecto says formally.
He gestures for her to proceed, running his eyes down the form one of her sisters hands him. Persephone gets up to walk to his side and reads the page from over his shoulder as Allecto recounts quickly the crimes of the human in question.
He is vile, she realises. A petty contract killer and rapist with many murders to his name, his last murder was of a recovering cancer patient, strangled in cold blood for cash, as a part of some human battle for power in Asia. He had no vested interests for or against the battle itself but had gone ahead to murder the mother of one of the men involved, killing others who'd attempted to protect the dying woman. Tisiphone outlines the punishment they have in mind and Persephone feels rage spiral inside of her.
"That's not enough," she snaps. Hades turns to look at her, raising one elegant eyebrow, but she's too angry to shut up. "You need to make him pay."
Hades nods slowly, pressing his lips tightly together before turning to the three Furies who wait calmly for their orders. Grabbing a pen, he makes some notes on the paper, adding three particularly excruciating amendments to the list of punishments.
"Make that hot wax," she murmurs, pointing to the second and he hums in agreement, obligingly making the change before signing the bottom of the form and placing it back in Allecto's hands.
"You may proceed," he says.
The rest of their morning passes by in a similar manner, with the notable addition of Hades breaking out bright yellow mugs that vaguely remind her of mugs she has at home—she really needs to find out how many times he's visited, it's clearly been enough to remember key kitchenware items—and coffee sachets for her to drink. When she offers one to him, he shakes his head, indicating the large espresso machine waiting for him in the corner.
Hestia's word eventually reaches them through a video call on his laptop.
"Prometheus knows no home," she begins without preamble. "He has spent this Cycle following his patterns on his own and being punished by Zeus for it, but seems to only care about helping out human beings and immersing himself in studying what he calls 'social sciences'." Hades and Persephone exchange looks at each other, and she remembers dimly that he'd been reading a textbook when they'd met.
"He made references to having a 'new boss' who can protect him from his biggest enemy," Hestia continues, looking at notes she's scribbled down, "but it sounds like this new boss terrifies him." She slips her notebook shut and looks at them.
"It doesn't sound like he's the assassin himself, but he's definitely been helping with the planning. He's not particularly loyal - I think he's more interested in being safe."
-
That night, Persephone tries to sleep. Her room is vast and comfortable, bed luxurious. Even the smell of the place is reminiscent of one of the many flowers she's gone and planted in the Underworld, which means he's kept tabs on what she's done and filled her quarters accordingly.
Unfortunately, she is too wired to sleep. In the distance, she can hear Cerberus barking and digging, and wonders how she can hear so clearly when she knows he's usually stationed at the Gates of the Underworld and not near Hades' mansion.
He barks again and she frowns. That's definitely too close. She clambers out of bed and moves to the window, eyes widening when she recognises Cerberus playing in the front lawns, circling the fountain Hades had stationed at the entrance in front of the door, prancing around... the Lord of the Dead himself.
Even in the moonlight, she can make out that's dressed down again, looking deliciously comfortable in a pullover, t-shirt and pants, hair down across his forehead. Before she can think twice, she checks her appearance in the mirror and then walks out, practising how to seem like she's just happened to cross paths with the two.
As it turns out, there's no need. His back is to her, watching Cerberus dig at some part of the grounds when she reaches the fountain, but he turns his head casually in her direction as she approaches. "I was thinking of heading to the real world for a quick walk, care to join me?"
She reaches him and tilts her head. "Is it safe for me to go up? We've been so careful..."
He shrugs. "I don't think anybody will be looking out for you where I'm going and besides... your presence next to mine can easily be explained away. Even for someone like Hera."
She's not going to ask twice.
Soon enough, they're walking down a deserted beach in Jeju Island in South Korea, watching Cerberus bark joyfully and bound ahead. If she concentrates, she can see him the way humans will - one head instead of three, looking like a normal dog running ahead of his owners.
She sneaks a glance at Hades, who is looking out at the sea, lost in thought. She tries not to think of Cerberus as her own dog, just as she tried earlier to not lay claim to her chair as her throne. It's disconcerting how quickly they've adapted to this partnership. It helps, she thinks, that we kiss a fair amount between moments of brainstorming.
"Why do you care this much about helping?" she asks suddenly, finally putting words to the question she's had in the back of her mind for weeks.
He looks thoughtful for a while, measuring his words. They're outside the Underworld, she remembers, so he's back to being careful and contained. "I wasn't planning on it, beyond wanting my unrestricted powers back. But when I saw how determined you and Demeter were, I thought it best that I help. It felt obvious that you'd both run yourselves ragged trying to track down the culprit, and that battle wouldn't be easy, since they were clearly someone of immense power."
He turns to look at her. "It is altruism," he says teasingly. She rolls her eyes, shoving him slightly with her shoulder, and they playfully tussle for a bit before resuming their walk, now hand-in-hand.
He points to a secluded area and they settle down. Immediately she takes off her shoes and sinks her toes into the cold sand, enjoying the feeling of being one with real Earth again.
"I'm sorry," he says suddenly, eyeing her feet. "I know it hurts to be stuck in the Underworld."
She shakes her head. How can someone this smart be a fool?
"Geogjeong hajima," she says easily, eyes closed, slipping into the tongue of her appearance, indulging it since they're in South Korea. "Ever since I set foot in the Underworld it's like I'm attending university; I keep learning new facets to my powers I didn't know I had. And meeting your wraiths and Thanatos and even Charon has shown me sides to your world I didn't know existed."
She opens her eyes to look at him. "I told you before, I'm selfish. Maybe being around the dead might have unsettled my stomach sometimes in the beginning, but I wouldn't want to be anywhere else right now."
He is solemn, moonlight glinting on the high cheekbones of his face, but some tension in his shoulders eases. "Besides," she says, extending her fingers to lace through his again. "I've been fixing the ecological disaster that was your island, so at least now you have trees and plants that make sense together."
He laughs, a rich, deep thing that thrills her, then turns to kiss her soundly. She's pleased - a part of her had been worried this was only something to be enjoyed in the Underworld, when his defences are down, but it seems like he's thrown in the towel when it comes to her. She wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him down, adjusting them so they're lying in the sand, enjoying the feeling of his body on top of hers. The sea breeze, moonlight, and feeling of being up in the real world all mix with his scent, a heady thing she associates with wood and wine, fogging up her brain deliciously in ways she hadn't anticipated. She bites his bottom lip a little, enjoying the moan it wrenches out of him, and does it again, before pushing him gently off her, relishing the sight of his legs bracketing around her hips, lips red from her bites.
His eyes widen when she lifts the hem of her t-shirt and pulls it off, beckoning him to her once more. "Persephone," he starts uncertainly, eyes tracing the skin she's put on display. There he is, she thinks in amusement. There's the cautious, calculative personality.
Before she can say something, he stills, eyes growing alert. For a second, she is lost, and then feels the same thing he has - there's someone powerful nearby, powerful enough that she can practically taste it in the air.
He scrambles up immediately, casting shadows to shroud them and their presence as she reaches for her shirt and slips it back on. "Hera for sure," she hisses, as they make their way towards a rock outcropping near where they'd been. She thinks she recognises the second presence but doesn't want to say it out loud out of sheer shock.
Hera comes into view, wearing her customary white, standing opposite a tall figure in a hoodie.
"Is that Poseidon?" Hades asks quietly, squinting at the man. With rising dread, Persephone nods. She recognises him from their coffee shop meeting, though it's a more final form than the one he'd been melting into.
"He'd begun changing to that form after our first hotel meeting with the entire pantheon months ago," she whispers. "That's him for sure."
They both turn back to look at the broad smile on the man's face. Whatever they're talking about, he's happy. Their words are unintelligible, but they're close enough to hear voices, and his is now a smooth one with an accent, something of a cross between two countries. His eyes crease as he smiles, hair now neatly parted and half combed across his forehead in a modern style.
"He's Korean," Persephone grumbles.
"No," Hades says, shaking his head, almost pettily irritated at this new revelation. "He's half Korean and half... something else." She knows it's the least of Poseidon's crimes, but it must be incredibly tiring to have two brothers who have, at this point, chosen to pick up similar forms to his out of literally the billions of choices at their fingertips. Do neither of them have any imagination?
Suddenly, a thought strikes her and she smacks his shoulder.
"Did you know they'd be here?" she asks him crossly.
"I... had suspicions," he admits, rubbing absent-mindedly at the place she's smacked. "I heard from the Epimeliads that Hera'd been sighted in Jeju, and I realised every sighting of Prometheus has been near seawater. It wasn't a hard jump to make, though I was hoping I was wrong."
"You should have told me," she grumbles.
"It was just so unlike him to go into hiding under the pretext of his wife being upset," Hades continues, ignoring her.
"But why is he the one behind all this?" She wonders out loud, one hand gripping Hades' shoulder to peer closer at the pair in the distance. "He's lost as much too, his own son was..." she trails off, thinking of the very-much dead Triton. Horrified, she looks at Hades, who nods grimly.
She feels a now-familiar rage lick at her insides again. It's new, this feeling, having begun cropping up only since she stepped into the Underworld. "How dare he murder so many other Gods for his own reasons?" She seethes. "And his own son, his own family, like it doesn't even matter." Under her feet, grass suddenly sprouts in the sand.
Alarmed, Hades puts a calming hand on her shoulder. "Persephone, control yourself," he says quickly, but it's too late. Poseidon has stiffened, turned in their direction like a bloodhound. He cannot see them, but he's definitely aware that someone's there.
She's baffled. Her powers shouldn't be this strong, this uncontrolled. They're definitely not potent enough to make their presence known the way Hades' powers are.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she says, shrinking into him. "I have no idea why that happened!"
"It's fine," he says automatically, arm slipping around her shoulders, looking around them for a way out without detection. Meanwhile, Poseidon signals with his hands and they see the waves on the beach recede, building into one larger wave in the distance. "We have to leave now," she hisses, eyeing the small tsunami the Lord of the Sea is creating. It won't hurt them too much, but it will reveal them, and she's not interested in a God-brawl.
There's a bark in the distance and they freeze. "Cerberus?" Hades whispers in wonder. Before they can blink, there's a pack of stray dogs who run into view, making their way towards Poseidon and Hera, who are—understandably—distracted.
Hades and Persephone run, backing away quickly to his car, slamming the doors shut and driving away, the surroundings outside the window melting rapidly into a now-familiar limbo.
"Will Cerberus return on his own?" Persephone asks breathlessly. There's a bark behind her and she jumps, turning to see the three-headed dog perched on the backseat.
-
Demeter is not pleased. "What's wrong with you Three?" he snaps at Hades, after they fill him in about Poseidon and Hera. Hades looks offended. "What did I do?" he objects, looking askance at Persephone like he wants her to back him up. "You know what you did," Demeter responds darkly, eyeing her as well, his meaning clear.
"Abeoji!" She snaps, as Hades huffs in childish irritation next to her.
Next to Demeter, across the borderline of the private Underworld back-gate Hades uses when he wants to be discreet, the nature dryads and Epimeliads shift uncomfortably, aware that they're being treated to reality-show worthy moments between the three Gods. On the Underworld side of things, Lade Hegemone, Lord Pan and Charon all look equally awkward.
Demeter subsides into silence and Triptolemus pipes up. "So what do we do now? Needless to say, Poseidon and Hera together isn't a pair to be trifled with."
"I've never liked him," Pan mutters and everyone turns to look at him, waiting for a while before realising that was the entirety of his contribution to the conversation.
Sighing, Hades pinches the bridge of his nose. "We need to unsettle them. I have no idea why Poseidon's decided to do all this, but he's currently under the impression that everything's going his way, and he needs to know that someone is aware of both his and Hera's involvement."
Persephone thinks of how relaxed and happy Poseidon had looked the night before, and nods. "I agree. But what do we do?"
The group looks at Hades, who rolls his eyes. "What, am I the one who has to think of all these plans?"
The group says yes in unison.
-
In quick succession, news reaches the Underworld over the next few days of two attacks: the first, where a library off the coast of Japan burns to the ground (with no human casualties). She knows the fire was accompanied by a mysterious letter in Prometheus' pocket: If you want true freedom, you need to look in a third direction. It was signed with an H written in red ink, looking almost bloody.
The second, more difficult to pull off, was a number of cows in the Western United States infected by mad cow disease. Hades had apologised sincerely to her for it (and brusquely to Pan, who'd raised many objections before telling him how to do it), but it was done, and Hestia had reported that Hera had been sighted at the scene, though she'd not breathed a word of it to anybody. Probably because of the H branded into the ground near the cows.
There is no news after this until one day Charon comes tearing into their throne room. "You have to come to the back-gate," he says urgently.
Demeter is propped up against the iron gates, holding his hand to his chest, where golden ichor, the blood-like substance in a God's veins, flows freely. There's a buzzing in her ears as she abandons Hades' side to race to her father. He stirs at the feeling of her flopping down next to him.
"Shh, don't be dramatic," Demeter says weakly, raising a hand to cup her jaw. Dimly, she realises that she's screamed his name. "I'll heal, it's not too deep an injury."
The buzzing dies slowly and she controls her tears. Hades' hand grips her shoulder, gently pushing her aside so he and Charon can pull Demeter over the borderline into the Underworld.
"I don't, unfortunately, have medical supplies here," Hades says helplessly. "But at least you won't be detected on this side. Sorry, I don't usually have the opportunity to stop someone from dying in this realm."
Demeter laughs at this, which infuriates Persephone. "Don't laugh, old man," she snaps, feeling the rage grow again inside. Hades has been teaching her to control it, lessons she'd never needed as a minor Goddess, which are now clearly required. She thinks of what he'd told her and channels her rage to her hands hovering above the gash in her father's chest. Calendula flowers wink into existence, falling into place neatly over his wound, covering the golden ichor with sunny yellow.
"How can you do this?" Demeter asks her, frowning. "Focus on yourself for once," she snaps again. He opens his mouth to argue, but she coldly raises her hand to stop him. "What exactly were you doing to have this happen to you?"
"Nothing, that's the best part," Demeter says, sitting up a little as her calendula flowers do their job, knitting his skin back together. "All my usual activities have ceased since you two have so kindly asked me to enforce a winter with no growth on the world. I was merely touring a mountain when the ground began to shake and a tree fell." She can sense anger bridling under the enforced calm he's wearing for her benefit.
"Can you imagine? He used a tree against me."
"He?" Charon asks from behind Hades.
"God of Earthquakes," Hades reminds him. They all fall quiet at the sound of a phone ringing, and Hades pulls a slim cell phone out of his pocket, then shows them all the screen.
It's Zeus.
-
She's taken the form of a tiny fruit bat and sits comfortably on Hades' shoulder. I look ridiculous, he grumbles at her.
She snorts. They'll just think you're leaning into the gloomy stereotype, Your Deathly Majesty.
He raises one finger and flicks her little bat self lightly and she sways. Stop it!
They're in the main Throne Room of Mount Olympus, where the twelve thrones of each of the major Gods sit. Opposite him are Zeus, Poseidon and Hera, who is eyeing Hades with barely concealed hatred. Poseidon, meanwhile, is smiling widely, looking like some kind of goofy, fun-loving trickster instead of a lethal God-killing traitor.
"I heard Demeter was attacked today," Zeus says. Hades stiffens, and she feels cold all over. How does he know? She asks Hades urgently.
Look at Poseidon. He must have told Zeus immediately, making it sound like news.
"I hear Demeter's gone to ground, but I think enough is enough. Things have gone on too long," Zeus continues, self-importantly. He approaches Hades (eyes lingering distastefully on her) and claps the other shoulder. "We'll lift all the Big Three restrictions, so you can gain full awareness and see who attacked the assassinated Gods."
Over Zeus' shoulder, she sees Poseidon's face morph from the goofy grin into a sharp, cunning one, and the pieces click into place.
Hades, he wants the restrictions gone, she says urgently.
"I think, brother," Hades says smoothly, shrugging the pale hand off his shoulder. "I'll pass."
The Lord of the Gods and his queen were glaring daggers at him, his other, murderous brother looked like someone had asked him to eat food that was too spicy, and there was a fruit bat on his left shoulder, chirping in his mind like some kind of relentless alarm, egging him on to throw fat in the fire.
For a quick moment, Hades let himself enjoy the feeling of Persephone's voice washing over his mind, akin to a cold glass of whiskey down his throat. Then, to business.
"What are you doing, Hades?" Poseidon muttered, taking a step towards him. Instead of grimacing, he put on a friendly smile and clapped Poseidon on the shoulder in what he hoped was a brotherly fashion. The movement shook Persephone, who clawed deeper into his shoulder to avoid falling off. Mentally, he promised himself to let her turn into a monkey or ram the next time she wanted to disguise herself as an animal. It would look only half as ridiculous as a tiny bat swaying on his shoulder.
"Demeter being gone means his job is up for grabs, isn't it?" he asked brightly, turning to Zeus, who looks positively apoplectic.
"Are you - excuse me?" Zeus asked, flabbergasted.
Hades fixed his most angelic smile to his face, stepping forward towards the three angry Gods, sliding his hands in his pocket and leaning into what he hoped was a nonchalant pose. "Forget agriculture and all that, but I would like to submit my name for consideration to take over being the God of Sacred Law and the Cycle of Life and Death," he continued. "You can give the harvest stuff to Triptolemus, I could care less."
In his mind, Persephone squawked indignantly at that bit.
"Are you... you can't take Demeter's job unless he's dead!"
Hades shrugged like they were talking about the weather. He knew it would drive Zeus further up the wall, which was exactly where he needed to be to avoid noticing inconsistencies in Hades' personality and question why he'd want to steal another being's powers all of a sudden. Thankfully, his brother wasn't the smartest crayon in the box.
"Ah, yes. You seemed so sure your tip-off was right, so I thought I mistook someone else for Demeter when I saw him cross the entrance to the Underworld."
Nicely done, Persephone whispered, hints of pride leaking through her words. She'd noticed his evasion by wordplay.
Hera opened her mouth to argue, then shut it immediately, looking furious. She knows Demeter should be alive, he told Persephone. Meanwhile, Poseidon didn't seem as surprised as he would be if he'd been the one to attack Demeter.
This means she probably knows more about the attacks themselves than he does, he continued mentally to Persephone, who agreed.
"You just want more power," Hera finally said sneeringly, so he grinned and nodded. "Yes, that's true. And since we're one God short, Zeus, I don't think you can deny my application."
Bending slightly, he aimed a sarcastic bow at them before walking out of the Throne Room, relieved at his quick thinking getting him out. He needed time to process what had just happened.
Why did Poseidon suddenly want to unleash all the Big Three powers?
-
Before heading back to the Underworld, Hades and Persephone drop by another library for lunch, this one much closer to the sea, nestled into an English town nobody pays attention to. They pause to enjoy fried fish and chips from a shop, ignoring the looks the locals shoot them. They'll forget about the strange Korean couple the moment they're out of sight anyway.
For a while, he is content to follow Persephone as she explores, conversing solemnly with stray cats and running hands rapturously over even potted plants. He supposes there's a difference between these and the ones she's brought to life in his realm, feeling a spike of something hot in his torso before shaking his head. He's the Lord of the Dead, why is he jealous of plants?
"For someone so obsessed with imparting the sciences, he's not the brightest," Hades mutters when they finally pick up on the tell-tale presence of Prometheus outside the library.
"Mm, you'd think by now he'd realise he's being a bit predictable," Persephone agrees. Her hair is tied up in a messy ponytail, usual suit jacket discarded who-knows-where, revealing a white cotton shirt tucked neatly into pants. And yet, he muses, she still looks like an effortless supermodel.
But then, he always thinks she does.
They throw their paper bags of finished food in the trash, before shrouding themselves and stepping into the establishment. He stalks behind the humans in the library, letting his shadowy presence unsettle them. They exit the building quickly, each wondering out loud why they felt creeped out. Persephone, of course, looks very amused at this, though her attention is mostly trained towards the librarian at the desk wearing a riot of colours, like some kind of 90s birthday party rolled over his closet, calling attention to himself without even realising it.
Hades moves towards Prometheus, but Persephone places a soft hand on his arm. "We need to give him real incentive," she says, eyes trained on something far-off, looking calculative. "And a visit from you would undercut that." She snaps out of her reverie, deciding on her game plan. "So let me do this."
Before Hades can acquiesce—far be it from him to fight for a chance to make a spineless Titan cower in fear—she is already raising her hands, and he prepares himself for the onslaught of what he now knows is sheer beauty and terrifying energy. At first, he sees nothing, though her presence swells around them, pushing the oxygen out of the room and taking up every crack and crevice available. Prometheus, who had been reading a book, drops it and starts backing away from the desk, looking around in panic.
"Who's there?" he yelps, tripping on the chair he'd been sitting on and falling to the floor. The moment he touches the ground, a sinister green moss that Hades hadn't noticed starts to creep up his hands and legs, as rose thorns and grapevines start sneaking out of the shadows in the library.
Grapevines? He thinks sardonically, shooting her a look. She's not paying attention, eyes steely and hard, trained on Prometheus. He's reminded irresistibly of that first night she'd spent on his island, when she'd transformed non-living plastic into a riot of colours and rigid gems into breathing art, skin glowing with the power of something far, far more potent than anything she'd been famed to control.
Prometheus tries to run, but the vines and thorns solidify around him, twisting around his ankles like shackles. Slowly, Persephone approaches him, smiling as Prometheus recognises her with dawning horror in his eyes.
"She told me you died!" He gasps, straining against his green shackles. A long, lethal thorn extends itself till his neck, looking sharper than a needle. Hades winces in sympathy as Prometheus freezes.
"Who did?" Persephone asks, tone gentle and beguiling like she's merely asking Prometheus to join her for a glass of makgeolli after work.
"Her... her . She's in charge of all the killing - she swore up and down that she killed you, that's what she told him !"
So, that explains it. Poseidon thinks Persephone is dead, trusting Hera's word instead of asking for proof. To be fair, she's been holed up in the Underworld, and only no God but him can sense a godly power inside the land of the Dead, not even if they stood at the gates and cocked their ears.
"Who attacked Demeter?" she asks calmly, though there's a shiver of rage that shivers through the plants, betraying the simmering anger underneath. Things slide into place, and he understands now why she's taken the lead. He should have expected it; she's been steely cold ever since Demeter showed up at his doorstep and she's not the kind to take lightly an attack on her own.
"It was Hera."
She stares quietly at Prometheus for a while, as the Titan gets paler and sweatier, eyeing the thorn at his neck with trepidation. Finally, she sighs and the thorn retracts as she raises one hand to gently rest on his shoulder.
"If you want to stop running from those you fear, it may be time for you to use your brain and not just study textbooks," she says.
"Lord Hades," Prometheus whispers. Hades is almost insulted at the look of resignation in his eyes. I'd be glad not to help, he says snarkily to Persephone, whose lips twitch.
"You know what you need to do, Prometheus," she insists, then stands up and turns away, the thorns and vines parting way for her like adoring crowds for a leader.
"How did you know that would work?" He asks her, as they head towards his car. She shrugs delicately. "If there's anything that incentivises someone, it's money, power or fear. What you did with the fire should have been enough, but it didn't make him budge. So, I decided the only thing to do was... Make him dread what would happen if he stayed on the wrong side."
They walk peacefully to the car, hearing the cries of seagulls overhead, and he wonders what part of this, the instilling of fear, the murdering, Persephone's presence in his Underworld, is within their usual pattern every Cycle. He knows, bone-deep, that Poseidon's betrayal is not, that something else has made his brother decide to throw the usual rules out the window and wreak havoc. Could it be merely that he, like humans, has been corrupted with the desire for power? Eyeing Persephone’s brightly-coloured suit jacket bobbing ahead of him, he wonders about Persephone's actions and her dramatic change in powers; surely this must be something that connects to their shared Cycle too. He tries to shake off the thought, avoiding introspection about their bond and attraction because it inexplicably bothers him to think that she's merely acting off a sub-conscious connection and not a conscious desire.
We're not human teenagers courting each other, he reminds himself. Just two Gods who see no reason to deny themselves an indulgence. But even as he says it, he knows it's becoming more than that with every passing day they spend plotting together and honing her newfound powers.
"Are you coming, partner?" she calls cheekily to him from the car, and he realises he's slowed down many steps behind her.
Partner, he thinks, is not a bad word.
As they're driving back to the Underworld, he takes the scenic route, just because it's nighttime. Human street lamps bathe them in golden light as they talk quietly about his job, her work to ensure Spring happens 'the right way', and whether Demeter would have terrorised Charon by the time they return.
She subsides into silence, staring out the window, looking like leaves wilted from neglect, as though all the rage that's been powering her has finally left her body. It worries him a little, but he refrains from saying anything. Persephone has already undertaken much more than a Spring Goddess should have to, and he knows better than anyone that the rush of power, manipulation and bribery can exhaust you from inside-out.
"Can you actually take his job?" she asks suddenly, turning away from the window to look at him. He knows immediately what she's talking about, had been waiting for her to ask.
"Yes. It's easier for me or Poseidon or Zeus to, well, take powers, but the rest of you can apply in extenuating circumstances."
"Like the death of a God," she says quietly. "Or just if someone’s punished," Hades adds on helpfully. "And then there are times when powers can naturally pass to another; like Apollo and Artemis, or you and your father. They'd have assumed that's what happened when you 'died', for example."
She nods, absorbing the information, then closes her eyes and leans against the window. "Let's just go home."
He doesn't comment on the use of the word, but it does odd things to the insides of his chest.
-
He accompanies Thanatos the next morning, who has to supervise a mass transfer of dead souls to the Underworld because of a gruesome highway road accident. After Thanatos finally departs, promising a detailed report, Hades steps into a bar to grab a drink for himself, wondering if he should order Persephone's favoured makgeolli to bring home.
He's on his last gulp when he feels a strong presence in the air, which makes him smell pomegranates and grapes. Something, however, is wrong with the smell - like it's bottled and sprayed, not natural. He looks up in time to see a stunning woman drop into the chair next to him at the bar, flipping shiny black hair over her shoulder.
"Lady Aphrodite," he says politely, toasting the last of his drink to her, wondering what he's done to warrant a visit from the Goddess of Love.
"Lord Hades. Looking delicious as ever," she says flirtatiously, as the starstruck bartender hands her a cocktail of some sort. They sit in companionable silence for a few minutes until he finally cracks.
"Are you going to tell me what you want?"
She smiles a smile that reminds him of someone else's, of thorns and roses and teasing jibes.
"Oh, I just came to check in on you. This is my favourite part of every story - just as the main couple falls in love."
The air momentarily leaves his lungs, but her words are surprisingly easy to accept - as one would accept a diagnosis of an illness they've suspected they've had for some time. "So it's not just a bond," he says, rolling the glass between his hands.
She waves her hands impatiently. "Every kind of love is a bond, if we're being pedantic. But to answer your question, no, Lord Hades, I do not tend to make personal visits when it's mere fatalistic attraction."
He pulls out a wallet and pays the bartender, then stands up. "If that's all, then, Lady Aphrodite-"
She grabs his hand, gaze turning sharp and he's reminded that Aphrodite is more lethal and intelligent than she lets on. "Don't ignore the signs and don't fight it," she warns, turning fully to face him. "There's quite a lot happening this time to change things around, but you and Lady Persephone have been constant since humans dreamed up the notion of worship. There is far, far more to you two than you think, and the world's balance needs this."
He raises his eyebrows coolly, though every word she says washes over him like they're sounds he'd once memorised and had forgotten. She is right, he knows, and she's extending him support because she knows he needed reminding.
"Thank you," he says quietly, and she leans back, satisfied that her point's been heard. "One more thing," she says, pulling a cherry out of her cocktail. "And I'm only saying this because I like you," she adds, shooting him a look. Amused despite himself, he leans against the bar and motions for her to continue. "What is it?"
"Love when claimed is stronger than something secret, unheard and hidden," she says gravely. It would sound trite had they been anybody apart from the Goddess of Love and the God of the Dead, but he can hear the wisdom in her voice, the surety of her words, the knowledge of a deity far older than the materials and mortals around them. Before he can answer, she holds out her hand. Puzzled, he stares at her uncomprehendingly.
She rolls her eyes.
"Show it to me," she demands and he feels a sinking in his chest, because there's only one thing she could mean.
"I don't know what you mean," he says, like a liar.
The teasing expression returns. "Lord Hades. I can feel a token of love from kilometres away. Show it to me ."
Reluctantly, he fishes his hand into his jacket pocket and pulls out a small pomegranate, cold to touch and beautiful. "It was just a gemstone at first," he says lamely, handing it over. "But over time..."
"Over time, it was infused with your feelings," she finishes with a relish, inspecting the gem. It no longer looks like a normal stone, but pulses with a gentle lustre that no amount of deliberate handiwork could bring to a gem. "You know, love tokens are powerful enough on their own, but you've gone and imbibed it with the emotions of two Gods, just by carrying it around with you," she continues, running her fingers delicately over it. Uncomfortable, Hades puts a hand to his neck and shuffles, unsure of how to react. Aphrodite says it like it's a beautiful thing, but he can't help but think that he's being foolish.
She closes her eyes and to his horror, the pomegranate begins to contract. When he protests, she raises one finger to her lips, closing the palm of her other hand over the shrinking gem.
A moment later she opens her palm again and nestled in the centre is a delicate pendant hanging off a gold chain. He takes it from her, imagining sliding the chain around Persephone's neck.
"Never say Aphrodite doesn't look out for the world," she says with a wink, before turning away to hail the bartender for another drink.
-
"You need to prove to Zeus that Hera and Poseidon have teamed up," Demeter said sensibly, as he accompanied Hades on a walk near Elysium. At this point, it had ceased to be the "Isles of the Blessed" and turned into God-quarters instead, so he'd been trying to think of alternative places to house one very-much-alive God of Harvest.
"We can't unless we go striding into the Throne Room and make claims over the hearth," Hades reminded him, referring to the crackling hearth that Hestia kept burning at Olympus. When the fire died, so would the Gods, and therefore any vow they made atop it was considered sacred. The only thing to keep the Gods honest.
"And it's not that simple a matter to just implicate Poseidon," he continued as they trudged along, him leading Demeter down a new path of rose bushes that Persephone had taken to planting across the Underworld for the sake of remembering the track from one place to another.
"Hera, however, is not impossible. From what you've told me, all you need is Prometheus as witness."
“Maim the right-hand before going for the heart,” Hades mused out loud, only to receive a disapproving frown from Demeter for the graphic metaphor.
-
Persephone sits on her throne of leaves and flowers, typing at her laptop with a slight frown, as Hades reads through reports of wraith behaviour and malevolent spirits in different parts of the world. He glances up at her intermittently, spying the bare spot between her collarbones, trying not to imagine slipping a necklace there, or the words that were on the tip of his tongue.
I think I'm in love with you, here's a token of my love, and just by the way, do you want to stay here with me forever and ignore your duties as a Spring Goddess?
Just as he's contemplating what language she'll use to curse at him for suggesting to take her away from her precious trees and cats and flowers, his phone vibrates.
"It's Poseidon," Hades says, only a little surprised.
"See what he wants!" she encourages, snapping her laptop shut. Obligingly, he answers the call and sets it on speakerphone.
"Dongsaeng," greets Poseidon, using a Korean word to call him little brother.
"We're the same age," Hades snaps, mostly to entertain Persephone.
"Right, right," Poseidon says glibly before his tone turns serious. "I'm just unsure of where we stand now because I could have sworn I met someone else a short while ago on Olympus."
Hades rolls his eyes at Persephone. He's clearly fishing for information.
Fish back, she suggests, uselessly.
Oh, thank you, I thought I'd discuss salmon migration patterns, he says sarcastically, which makes her ball up paper and throw it at his head.
"I've just come to realise that playing by the rules is a waste of time," Hades says cheerfully. There's silence on the other line like Poseidon is weighing his response.
"They're definitely restrictive, aren't they?" he says softly, which makes Persephone and Hades raise their eyebrows at each other.
"But I thought you'd like the extra power, brother," Poseidon continues, unaware of the reactions his words have elicited.
"I have enough of that, I don't much care for more."
"Ahh, I see. Just the search for a Queen, no?"
It's Hades' turn to be silent, not daring to look at Persephone's face. Poseidon's question has revealed two things: one, that he is also aware, to a certain extent, of Hades' partnership with Persephone; two: that he's not interested in hiding his innocence.
"Yes, I have a bone to pick with you about that," Hades says, taking a chance. "I've been informed by enough reliable sources that you've cut something short for me," he continues, risking one look at Persephone. She's staring at him, an unreadable expression on her face. He looks back down at the little phone screen.
"I have no idea what you mean," is the response.
Culpable deniability, of course .
"But I will say, Hades," Poseidon starts again, clearly in the mood to be talkative, "that you should rejoice in freedom from the chains of our repetitive Cycles."
There's a loud gasp in his head, which makes him jump and glare at the Goddess opposite him. Urgently, she tells him about the conversation she'd had months prior with Poseidon in a coffee shop.
"When you're as powerful as I am, the idea of having to match with something I did millennia ago is irritating." That's what he'd told me!
"Brother?" Poseidon asks.
"I think you and I have different perspectives on what our power means to us, Poseidon," Hades replies finally, doubtful of what to do with this understanding of what Poseidon's motive could be. "I'm happy enough with following my previous self. And honestly, power is a relative term."
Neither says anything and the line is cut after a minute of silence.
-
If there's anything Hades has learned in his experience of being a God, it's this: When making a point, make an entrance . You will be ignored and forgotten for weak stage presence, but true impact comes from being eye-catching.
They drive up to Olympus in a gaudy sports car, dressed to the nines. Instead of taking the back entrance or shrouding themselves, the two walk into the hotel, striding confidently to the elevators. Around them, Hades can hear whispers and the presence of deities and spirits increases around them, as word spreads like wildfire across the hotel.
"Are you ready for this?" he asks, and she grins confidently in response, raising one fist for him to bump with his own.
"Ten times over," she assures.
By the time they reach Olympus and are heading to the Throne Room, there is a sizeable crowd near the doors, growing as spirits and demigods hear the news and magically arrive at the spot. Nobody wanted to pass up the opportunity to gossip. The crowd parts as they walk down the hallway from the elevator to the Throne Room, making way for not just the Lord of the Dead, but the statuesque, impressive figure of a Spring Goddess everybody had assumed was dead. There are whispers around them, some of which point out her outfit, which he tries to pointedly ignore lest he gets distracted.
She's worn black for the first time he's seen her, a fashionable dress with gold accents that matches the dark grey and black of his suit and coat. In her hair, she wears a circle of flowers, simple and small, the same colour of gold as the buttons on her dress. But his favourite part is the chain resting around her throat dropping a pomegranate pendant gently between her collarbones, looking for all the world like it had always meant to be there.
-
"It's yours if you want it," he'd offered it to her anxiously, afraid of her reaction, of what she'd say the moment she touched it and felt what it was. But she was Persephone, as ruthless as she was warm, impulsive as she was smart, and her fingers were lifting the chain before he could finish the sentence. "Of course I want it!"
Relieved, he'd leaned forward to clasp it around her neck, then placed a soft kiss on the column of her throat before stepping back. "Aren't we going a little too far with this for one ambush?" she asked, though her face looked enraptured, fingers grazing the jewellery. The moment it was clasped, he was suddenly aware of her every breath she took like it was a conduit to her very soul. From the look on her face, she'd felt the same.
-
There are twelve Gods and one Titan in the Throne Room, ranging from looking bored (like Artemis), curious (Dionysus), indecently excited (Aphrodite) and angry (Zeus, obviously). Normally it would have been thirteen, but Demeter has been asked to stay behind, to give Hades one final ace up his sleeve. Poseidon looks like he's waiting to see what Hades has planned, but there's an angry set to his mouth. Satisfyingly, Hera is enraged at the sight of not just Persephone, but the cowering form of Prometheus behind them.
"How dare you accuse me of murdering other Gods and attacking you," Hera shrieks, disregarding Prometheus' damning testimony and Hades' offer to swear his words over the hearth. Instead, she glares at Persephone, advancing on her like she thinks she's found her opponent's weakest link.
"How can you dare to lie and accuse me ? You're just some minor Goddess whose words have twisted one of the Big Three," she says. There's a pause, then she sneers. "I am the Queen of the Heavens. It would do well for you not to make me your enemy."
There's a murmur, as the Gods are reminded of their favourite thing: their own egos.
But Hades had been prepared for this too, knowing as he did that seniority would be everything to temporarily destabilise Hera.
"I should have introduced you properly, Hera," Hades says smoothly, lifting one hand to rest gently at Persephone's back while consciously dropping Hera's title.
Go ahead, he tells Persephone, who draws herself up regally and turns to face the rest of the pantheon, ignoring Hera.
"I am the Queen of the Dead," she says, lifting her left hand to show off a ring of ebony. "And it would do well for you not to disregard my words, for we have a murderer in our midst."
"Why do you not like him?" Persephone asks her father as they stare silently at the Asphodel Meadows, sharing a bottle of makgeolli. They haven't bothered with cups, they just stand and take swigs as they look at the grey expanse in front of them. For some reason, it's become their secret hideout when they're in the mood for twisted father-daughter time.
Demeter looks startled, glasses slipping slightly down his nose as he stares down at the milky contents of the bottle in his hand.
"It's not that I don't like him. In fact, I can think of no better suitor for you," he admits quietly to the bottle like it's going to swallow his secret and hide it in its pearly depths.
"What's the issue, then?" She asks, snatching the bottle to drink the makgeolli, secrets and all.
He smiles, a small twisted, regretful thing. "Call it an old God's prejudice. You both have been the source of much pain for me through each Cycle, and while I never remember too much of it, it is enough for the hurt to carry forward."
She doesn't know what to say, so she settles for staring at the grey fields again, trying to see if she can recognise wandering spirits.
"You..." he starts, then trails off. She hands him the bottle once more, smiling encouragingly. He shakes his head at her but accepts, taking a fortifying sip.
"You never believe me when I say it, but I am an old, selfish God. I do not disapprove of him, I disapprove of having to share the attention of my Persephone with another."
Her breath catches. She has the stupidest urge to throw her arms around him and weep, like a little girl.
"It doesn't matter what form I take in any Cycle," he continues, clearly intent on spilling all his fears now that the original dam has burst. "In the forefront of my mind, I am always worried about having to see you turn your back and leave me."
"I must always come back, though," she says gently.
He has the most patient and understanding expression she's ever seen on his face (or at least, the most understanding one he's ever trained at her) as he raises one fatherly hand to rest against her head.
"My unfilial brat," he says affectionately. "Yes, you do. So, this time too, promise me you'll do the same."
It is only later when she is walking down the corridors of Hades'—and hers, now, she supposes—mansion, that she lets herself wonder how the Queen of the Underworld can actually return to that of the living. As she enters their throne room and Hades looks up to greet her with a tender smile, she's not sure if she wants to.
It's why she hadn't promised.
-
A God cannot be killed for their crimes, but one can be tried and punished by means of imprisonment, which is why Hera is locked away in Mount Olympus' idea of jail, awaiting trial. The rest of the Gods had been in the mood to vote and kick her out of the pantheon the moment they finished hearing Prometheus repeat his witness testimony over the hearth, impressed by Persephone and Hades' insistence, but Zeus had stepped in and inexorably pushed for deferment.
No matter. It was only delaying the inevitable.
For Hades, however, it was a greater concern to know Poseidon was still free, roaming the world, aware that his brother and new wife were plotting against him, stripped of his right-hand murderess.
He sits, now, at his throne, listening to Prometheus babble about his new sleeping quarters in the Underworld and how Charon's (reluctant) welcome had included showing him how to lead the Dead across the River Styx. The Titan is surprisingly enjoyable to listen to, like a radio programme Hades can keep switched on as he works.
All the while, he wonders about what his next steps are to be with Poseidon. Unlike Hera, Poseidon wouldn't be trapped by pomp and circumstance, nor would he be easy to take down through public confessions and imprisonment.
"How would you stop me, if I was a murderer?" he muses out loud, stopping Prometheus' monologue and making Persephone look up from a complicated knot of vines in her hands. She's been working on some kind of wreath with them, trying to imbibe them with an unknown power. Through her pendant, he can feel the energy she exudes as she does this, just like he can now feel her every breath, the spikes in her emotions, silent only when she's taking a nap. Even then, it's like the pendant is only temporarily hibernating, and he is vaguely still aware of her presence.
When he'd asked her if she'd felt the same thing, she'd nodded, and described in detail the emotions he'd felt since he'd slipped the pendant around her neck. Even when he was across the island, speaking to the guards patrolling near the Gates, she'd said she could feel him, like a constant buzz of electricity was always under her skin.
"I don't think I'd be able to," Prometheus says unsurely, looking towards Persephone as though to find out if he'd said the right thing. "Stop you, I mean," he adds needlessly.
She looks contemplatively at Hades, then leans back carefully, weighing ideas in her mind. "I'd have to try and trap you..." she starts to say, gears in her brain whirring. "But there are only a few places a God can truly be trapped. Like Calypso's island, or..."
Light shines in her eyes, and she looks up at him triumphantly.
"Tartarus!"
-
Hades is like a jaguar, she often finds herself thinking, imagining the melanistic jaguars she's seen in the wild. Wiry, he moves with purpose, power and energy rippling under his clothes and muscles, ready to strike down prey faster than any other species can blink. Like any cat—whether wild or a mere house cat—he also exudes an aloof charm, balanced perfectly with a gentle demeanour she hadn't expected.
Unlike her, he does not take every moment to show off his obvious power, apart from the constant use of shadows to hide from the world, sinking into the darkness to be alone. When he's around her, his control both slips and gets tighter; he talks more, laughs more, touches more but at the same time, he is rigid and careful and she never sees a peep of the rippling strength she can sense. She wonders, sometimes, what it would take to have that control snapped.
As they brainstorm ways to trick Poseidon into a trap, she's not sure if she actually wants to see him lose his restraint. The thought sends anxiety fluttering through her chest, sharp enough to make his hand unconsciously press at his own chest like one would if they had a bad cough. He sends her a questioning look, and she shakes her head with a smile.
It's nothing.
-
A marriage between two Gods should ideally be one of pomp and circumstance, he thinks regretfully. But instead, theirs had been a hurried affair, attended by only a few, marked by the exchange of two rings and a kiss. Probably more romantic than anything the rest of the pantheon combined has ever indulged in, he knows. Nevertheless, he wanted to shower Persephone with gifts, not a visit to Olympus and back to engage in light politics.
Now, as they walk together down one of her flower-bush pathways, her hand wrapped delicately around his bicep, he wonders what he can do to make it up to her.
"You're overthinking," she says brightly, leaning down to pluck a white flower out of a bush. He pauses obligingly for her. "Am I?" he teases, even as she reaches up to hook the flower carefully behind his ear.
"You have a specific look on your face when you're overthinking," she replies, eyes twinkling, hand falling down to hover at his chest, just above where his heart beats.
"Tell me what you want as a wedding present," he says, capturing the hand in his own and putting it back against his heart. He feels like he's floating, happier than he's felt in a while, as though her mere teasing presence is enough to erase his cynicism.
She widens her eyes and tilts her head. "A present too? Wasn't a token of love, a ring, a gold circlet and the chance to embarrass that bitch Hera enough?"
He shakes his head, leaning down to capture her lips briefly. It's difficult to dwell on the considerably serious matter at hand when she's in front of him proudly wearing his ring and necklace, surrounded by the flowers she's grown across his - their realm.
"What do you want?" He insists, before cupping her jaw with one hand and brushing her cheek with his thumb. Her eyes darken satisfyingly as she shuffles closer to him.
"A private celebration would do," she whispers, leaning up to continue their kiss. With a groan, he pulls her as close as he can, pulling her bottom lip between his teeth for a gentle bite, one hand wandering down to her thigh. They hadn't had the time earlier to do anything but head to Olympus, foregoing the one activity one would arguably suggest was the most enjoyable for a newly-married couple to partake in on their wedding day.
There's a loud cough and they break apart, panting, to look at Charon, who is standing half-turned to them, looking like he very much wants to be standing anywhere but here, watching his King and newly-minted Queen kiss each other.
"You have a visitor, sir," he says, without meeting Hades' eyes. "They're waiting at the gate for you."
-
Dolos looks like an average human man, skinny and bespectacled, wearing a suit and tie and carrying a smartphone. It would be difficult to pick him out of a line-up of human beings, Persephone tells Hades mentally, whose face does not shift out of his patented Lord of the Dead stare of doom, though she feels her chest warm at his amusement. They both wait as Prometheus greets Dolos, shaking hands gingerly over the border of the Underworld. One of Dolos' feet come perilously close to crossing the border making Cerberus immediately bark, resulting in Dolos yelping and jumping backwards.
"What brings a trickster to my doorstep?" Hades asks, raising his eyebrows.
Dolos bends towards Hades, a deep bow at the waist, and somewhat insultingly only nods at Persephone, like she's merely an extra.
"I have worked, on occasion, with Prometheus previously, and came to pay my respects to him and to pass along some information I thought you might find interesting," he says, trying to look and sound trustworthy, but achieving only more sliminess.
"Do you trust him, Prometheus?" Hades asks softly.
The Titan in question looks surprised at his opinion being sought out, but to Persephone, it slides neatly in place with the behaviour she's seen thus far. Ever since he fulfilled his promise to switch sides, he'd somehow won her and Hades over just by being an overeager charmer. It helped that he'd capably started doing research for Hades, jumping into books and old texts that could help arm him with knowledge about Tartarus and Poseidon.
"Of course he does!" Dolos pouts, which isn't a good look on an adult face. The Titan looks like he'd very much like to disagree, but he uneasily smiles and nods politely, shooting Hades a look that she understands as the universal sign for help.
"That's great," she deadpans, examining her nails. "But more importantly, it would be even nicer to hear this so-called interesting information."
Dolos looks slightly offended but attempts to cover it up. "I can tell you if I," he begins to say, tentatively creeping near the border again. Cerberus growls low and Dolos hastily steps back.
"I can always tell you from here," he amends.
"Get on with it, Dolos, I'm busy," Hades snaps.
"I heard from Amphitrite, Poseidon's wife, that she is expecting him near South Korea again today evening, after a land visit to the fields growing wheat. I do not know why, but she says he said something about revenge."
They all continue to look unimpressed at Dolos, though a wild conversation rages between Hades and Persephone in their minds.
Triptolemus will be guarding wheat, she tells him urgently. It's the winter, it's his job to bless the crops.
Don't you think it's too convenient for this information to just drop into our laps?
We should still go check it out! What if he's in danger?
'We' aren't doing anything. It's been only a week since we announced ourselves, the moment you step outside you'll be a sitting duck once more -
Hades, I do not care, Triptolemus is practically family.
He sighs, shooting her a dark look, but she knows he's relenting.
"Sir," Charon says confidently, stepping up from the side to come close so Dolos cannot hear. "Let me go and investigate this with Queen Persephone. You know I can hold my own in battle."
"I know he's a trickster," Prometheus adds as a whisper, joining their impromptu huddle, "but he's usually advised me well. In fact, he's the one who egged me on to switch loyalties to you."
"Infallible logic, good job, Prometheus," Persephone says, clapping the Titan on the shoulder, feeling the urgency settle into her veins. Trap or no, she needs to warn Triptolemus.
Hades gives them both a dirty look before turning to study his trusted lieutenant. He'd once told her Charon was to him what Triptolemus was to Demeter, which means Charon had unwittingly just helped her by acting as a reminder.
"We'll have each other's backs," she says, inspired. Through their bond, she can feel irritation rolling off Hades in waves at the suggestion, though there's a note of reluctance and resignation.
"You can't come with me anyway," she says reasonably, feeling his resolve waver. "You have..." she turns to look at Dolos, who is trying and failing to act like he's not attempting to eavesdrop.
"You have enough to protect down here," she whispers, thinking about her father. "Besides, we don't want to go to see Poseidon, I just want to make sure Triptolemus is safe in his fields."
"I still think this is a trap," he mutters, waving his hand to gesture that they go ahead.
Turns out, it's a trap.
They arrive at the fields Demeter had told her Triptolemus would be at, basis the schedule they'd drawn up, and she lets out a call that only other nature gods can hear. They wait only a few minutes before she hears a panicked response hit her mind like a truck.
Run, my lady!
She feels arrows whiz past them and they turn to see a naiad rise from an old well in the farm, shining an unsettling neon.
"She's been poisoned," Persephone says, stopping to study the thin, almost skeletal form hover over the lip of the well, pulling more arrows out of a holder behind her back. "My lady, we need to leave," Charon says, tugging at her sleeve. "Not without my family," she says through gritted teeth, reaching inside of her for the black rage she's been harnessing, raising one hand—the one adorned with her wedding ring—towards the poisoned naiad. "Go find him," she tells Charon. "I'll hold her off."
With that, the crops around her grow taller and start building into a wall, covering her and Charon, who takes off into the field, in the direction of the presence she knows he can feel. It's weak, so her father's lieutenant must be injured, but it's strong enough to track down. The naiad lets out a wail as her arrows fail to penetrate the wall, and water begins to rise from inside the well, slopping out and turning into large waves.
She immediately channels the crops to create a platform for her to stand on, though she knows it's only a stop-gap. Water will soon decimate the plants.
"Found him!" Charon hollers from somewhere, and she turns to see him racing towards their car, Triptolemus on his back. In that split second, as Persephone's attention is diverted, the water glows neon and grows into a larger wave, crashing against her platform and sending her careening to the ground. There's a slam of doors and she sees Charon jumping into the driver's seat. "Queen Persephone!" he calls, throwing the passenger door open for her as he starts driving towards the main road slowly.
Torn, Persephone turns back to the poisoned naiad. She must have been an innocent spirit just a while ago, who had unfortunately been at the wrong place at the wrong time. Poisoning a waterbody is an easy task, but it does considerable damage to the spirits of the waterbody, driving them to insanity, leaving them to rely on their basic instincts: to protect themselves.
The contaminated water around her is beginning to sting, so she gets up, raising her hand once more towards the latest victim of the Lord of the Sea's crimes. Ropes of wet wheat wrap themselves around the nymph's neck and Persephone turns to run, jumping into the car and slamming it shut. In the rearview mirror, she sees the ropes of plant life cover the nymph's throat, and she tilts her left hand sharply, the reflection proving that the movement has been mimicked by her battalion of ruined crops.
-
Click.
"It doesn't matter if it was a trap or not," Persephone is trying to tell him, using a sensible tone of voice that he thinks is completely out of place for the situation.
Click.
She is sitting in the middle of the fountain in front of his home, getting drenched in the waters from it, washing away the shiny green substance a murderous nymph had managed to leave on her. Next to her, Charon sits in the water too, looking more appropriately miserable.
Click, he snaps his lighter open again, waiting for the sound to calm him as it usually does.
"If we hadn't gone, Triptolemus would have died," she continues calmly, wringing out her hair, as though they're discussing brunch plans. The pendant at her neck glints, and he's reminded painfully of the sudden moment of absolute panic and fear that had coursed through his body earlier when she'd first been attacked.
Click. The peace does not come to him.
"He may still die," Pan says unhelpfully. "Demeter, Prometheus and Hegemone are seeing to his injuries inside."
"See?!" Persephone cries like she's proven some point in a court case before a judge. Across Hades' body, he feels sharp stinging pain on his skin. He knows it's only a fraction of what she's feeling, though she insists on pretending like she's absolutely fine.
Click.
"Persephone," he begins as calmly as he can, but she cuts him off. "And you should have seen what he did to that poor-"
"Persephone, I do not care."
He snaps his lighter shut again. Furious and frightened, Hades lets her feel the full brunt of his emotions through their bond, and her eyes widen as she falls silent. Charon and Pan stay quiet as well, not needing a sacred bond to see that the Lord of the Dead is enraged.
"Nobody," he says through gritted teeth, pulling himself to his full height, allowing the darkness around him to gather at his feet, "can attack my wife and my subjects, hoping to tell the tale." He lifts a hand and plucks a gun, black as the River Styx, out of the shadows.
He turns to go, intent on finding Dolos, when there's a splash and he hears squelching footsteps following him. He rounds on her, one hand reaching for where he knows her shoulder will be.
"You stay here," he insists darkly, unwilling to be around her forced composure while he's in no mood to be restrained and careful.
She's sopping wet, but the poison has finally washed off her, and he can feel the pain subside on his own skin. Impatiently, she reaches up to grip his hand and opens her mouth.
"Persephone, I will not have you risk your life again, so soon after you've been attacked, so please, stay here." By the end of his sentence, he's whispering, a rough, desperate sound that he hates, can't bear to hear out of his own mouth.
Something shifts in her face, and she looks more like Demeter than he's ever seen, a painfully understanding expression on her face.
"I just wanted to say I'm sorry I worried you," she whispers in return. "I was reckless."
She lets go of his hand. "But I will not apologise for saving those I call mine, just like you won't forgive those who hurt whom you claim as yours." He closes his eyes for a brief moment, then opens them to meet her determined pair. Leaning down, he kisses her roughly.
"I do not need you to apologise," he mutters, letting up. "I do not control you and have no desire to. You had every right to go."
"And you have every right to do what you must now," she replies.
She knows him well.
-
It is ridiculously easy to find Dolos, sipping a drink at a beachside bar next to Poseidon. He walks into the crowded establishment, waving his hands so the humans inside freeze. Immediately, Poseidon looks up, feeling his presence. Hades takes aim and fires once, twice, at Dolos.
The trickster falls to his knees, both shins shattered beyond repair for even a minor God, bleeding ichor on the floor.
"Brother," Poseidon begins carefully, but thorns begin to grow out of the floor under his feet, pushing past the luxury establishment's wooden panelling, past the humans, piercing Dolos' body as he writhes in pain. They're not real plants, merely the dead remains of plants torn down to make way for human construction, infused with Hades' own cocktail of rage and darkness.
Persephone isn't the only one who's picked up new tricks.
Taking aim, Hades shoots one last time and Dolos falls silent.
Poseidon and Hades stare at each other.
"Just because I hadn't done anything yet," he says, backing away to the door, "didn't mean I would remain silent as you continued to toy with the beings in this Cycle. Especially not those under my protection."
Poseidon moves to get off his chair, but the thorns, sharp and deadly, extend further, and he's forced back into his seat. Some prick him in the sides of his face, some in his neck and drops of golden ichor begin to spill.
Hades smiles, cold, empty. "You have declared war, brother."
He leaves. Poseidon can clean up the mess and deal with the humans as he sees fit.
-
Persephone waits for him in their throne room, having dispatched extra wraiths to man their gates, finished reassuring Prometheus it wasn't his fault for trusting Dolos and waving away Pan's acerbic concern and Demeter's more paternal queries. Changing out of her clothes, suddenly not in the mood to be weighed down by the day, she'd slipped into a silken robe, stealing it out of his personal closet.
She knows when he arrives, but forces herself to wait, standing at their shared table. Moonlight streams in from the window, bouncing off the flowers in the centre, sending dazzling rays of white across the room. Their thrones face each other silently, hers inviting, his imposing.
"I'm here," he calls hoarsely, walking into the room, one hand still gripping a gun. They look at each for a moment. For only the second time, she feels the full brunt of his powers shining through his iron-clad reserve, sees shadows curled around his feet, and the glow of surety—a confidence that comes only with unleashed, undulating power—illuminating his face.
He is more beautiful than she'd ever thought.
He drops his gun and strides towards her, just like he had the first time they'd kissed, back when they'd simply acted on autopilot. Stretching up, she kisses him back, locking her arms around his neck and blindly stepping backwards to lean against the table. He bends his knees to lift her up so she's perched against it, prising her thighs apart to step between her legs, wrapping them around his hips.
She gasps at the feeling of him, hard and straining against his clothing. One of his hands slides smoothly from her jaw to her neck, fingers encircling it as one thumb extends her jaw further up to him, demanding more than he's taken so far. The other hand is on her thigh, inching upwards, the movement loosening the robe. She pushes him away, then slowly drops her hands to where the robe is gaping at her chest and loosens it further, heading down to the belt and releasing it. His eyes are dark, flitting across her face and down the creamy expanse of skin she's revealed. She yanks him to her, hand on his belt buckle, nimble fingers making quick work of the fastening and then the zip of his pants, pushing everything down to his ankles. Hastily, he kicks them away, attacking the buttons of his shirt and pulling it off his chest. She allows herself a brief moment to appreciate what she's finally seeing before sweeping him into another kiss, enjoying the feeling of his warm skin on hers.
She can feel him tracing the silk at her shoulders before tipping it over, drawing the fabric down her arms for her to shake free, leaving only two things on her body; his pendant and ring.
Hades picks her up gently, movements already settling back into his usual form, rid of the manic ferocity from their conversation at the fountain. She doesn't realise what he's doing until she is placed reverently on his throne, jumping slightly at the feeling of her skin meeting the cold surface. He kneels in front of her, and she has a mental image of worshippers in temples, though this is nothing—and somehow everything—like it. She closes her eyes and gives in to the sensation of him as he leans forward and places a soft kiss on her thigh before licking wide strokes at her centre, one hand gripping his hair, the other grappling the arm of his throne. Through their bond, the feelings are multiplied twice, thrice, she doesn't know how much. All she knows is that he is driving her closer to the edge, but torturously slow.
"Hades, please," she gasps, unsure of what she's begging for.
"As you wish, mia dea," he whispers against her skin and the new nickname shoots through her like a drug as his fingers join his tongue and crook upwards in just the right way to make her come.
He waits patiently for her to open her eyes, chin lightly perched on one knee, looking like sin with his shiny lips and self-satisfied grin.
She reaches for his shoulders and kisses him, enjoying the taste of the fruits of his labour on his tongue, running a hand down his length. Before he can do more than moan, she is standing up, twisting and pushing him down to sit. Carefully, she straddles his lap and lowers herself onto him, arms reaching up to the back of his throne to give herself leverage. He places his wide palms at her hips, helping her set a fast, almost punishing pace that has them gasping. Burying his face in her neck, he bites at the delicate skin he finds there, laving over it immediately with his tongue.
In minutes, she is clenching around him, feeling more dizzying pleasure break through her mind again, followed soon after by him.
They wait like that in each other's arms, unwilling to move immediately.
"I love you," he whispers, voice returning to Hades' usual, smooth composure, which she now knows she loves as equally as the scary fierceness of the Lord of the Dead.
She doesn't need to reply in kind, he can feel her love in waves, tumbling off her like petals falling on a spring day, but she says it out loud anyway.
"I love you too."
"Again."
Persephone groans, bending over with her hands on her knees to catch her breath. "I really expected being Queen of the Underworld would mean more rolling-around-in-luxury and less breaking-a-sweat," she grumbles before straightening up. An impish thought presents itself in her mind and she sends Hades, who is standing opposite her, a saucy glance.
"Or at least, a more interesting activity to break a sweat."
She winks at him and he looks torn between being interested and exasperated.
"Can you please... not?" They turn to look at Demeter, sitting on the ground next to them looking pained. "I do not need to be witness to this kind of conversation," he says, pulling off his glasses and rubbing them tiredly.
"Apologies," Hades murmurs, a small smile twitching at his lips as he beckons to Persephone once more. "Again, Persephone."
She rolls her eyes and raises her hands, concentrating. Somewhere inside her, she feels a tug and dark green creepers come shooting out of two vines twined around her hands and wrists. They hurtle towards Hades with speed, forming sharper needles and thorns as they reach him and start to curl around his form like a cage.
It should take him at least two minutes to break through them.
It takes him one.
"Yah!" She snaps, when the vines caging him suddenly turn brown and fall to the ground, decaying and useless. He rolls his shoulders with a grin.
"I keep telling you to find a way to avoid using something with life against me, it's ineffective," he reminds her. "Easy for you to say," she mutters, imagining pricking him with a thorn.
They're standing in one of the many gardens surrounding Hades' mansion, in a part that's overgrown, full of prickly branches and dried leaves, disorderly and wild. She loves it; it's become her secret place to practice new tricks with her newfound magic. Unfortunately, she'd made the mistake of telling Demeter and Hades, explaining her idea to use her powers to create an enhanced Godly prison. Both had promptly told her she was amazing and asked to accompany her, which she'd agreed to, feeling supported.
They've been now standing in her garden—it is hers, and she won't share it, not even with the Lord of the land—for hours, trying to get one of her creepers to form a strong enough cage around Hades to last longer than a few minutes.
Having a supportive family is really overrated.
"If it captures me, it can capture-"
"Any of the Big Three, I know, I know," she grumbles.
"This was your idea," he says, coming up to her to gently flick her forehead.
She sniffs. "Yes, but I liked it better when it didn't mean I had to stand and work for hours." She makes her eyes as big and sad as possible, beseechingly looking up at the Lord of the Dead to see if being cute would convince him to stop this and let her float in the sea for a break.
He looks amused and unmoved, though one hand comfortingly reaches for her shoulder to squeeze it.
She's wondering if she can bribe him with mental ideas about flimsy swimwear when Demeter sighs and gets up, brushing off his clothes. He's wearing a sweater vest and corduroy pants even in the heat of Hades' island but looks utterly comfortable in it.
"Persephone," he starts gently, reaching for her hands. "You have to just tell yourself one thing."
"What?" she whines, though she's paying attention. Maybe all she needs is some good fatherly advice.
"The faster you learn, the faster we can trap Poseidon and send him to Tartarus, which is when I can go back to my home. So focus and stop flirting like some kind of oceanid!" he snaps and stalks away, feet thumping on the grassy floor of their little yard.
-
"I know how we get Poseidon near the mouth of Tartarus," Prometheus announces, triumphantly entering the throne room. Hades looks up from the paperwork he's been perusing—a new application for sustained torture for a megalomaniac chaebol in Asia who'd murdered many people for money and power under the auspices of a conglomerate—and Persephone from her research about something to do with plants. If he's being honest, his brain can only gather so much information about the specific biology of the plants she uses as weapons.
They stare at him for a few moments and Prometheus' wide smile starts to drop.
"...and?" Hades finally asks, taking pity on the Titan.
"It's me!" he replies joyfully, grabbing a chair from the side of the room -another office chair with wheels that Hades has had included for the myriad of guests who seem to now enter his throne room like it's a thoroughfare, though this one has not been adorned with leaves and flowers.
"What do you mean?"
He launches into an excited explanation that involves him being bait. The animated countenance and confidence is new, but it doesn't stop Hades from feeling a sharp pang of worry. Despite himself, the anxious Titan has been mentally categorised as one of his subjects now and he's not interested in seeing him tortured yet again by one of his brothers.
Persephone shoots him a look and he knows she's felt his worry.
"Prometheus," she begins gently, gearing up to dissuade him, but he shakes his head, smile missing.
"Let me do this, please," he says quietly, a determined set to his mouth.
-
This used to be a private gate, Persephone.
Yes, but would you really want a congregation of nature gods and spirits, your Ferryman and a Titan to gather at the main Gates? She asks sensibly, and he squints down at her in disapproval.
Don't try and use logic to make this better, he responds, sounding more like a whiny child than an all-powerful God. I can feel you laughing, he snaps, nudging her feet lightly with the toe of his shoe, and she snorts.
They both look at the gaggle milling at the gate: Demeter, the nature spirits Demeter relies on, Hades' Epimedliads, one of the Muses who has befriended Demeter, a healed-Triptolemus, Hestia (who looks like she's floated here on accident), Charon (who looks extremely unsettled by the loud chatter of the nature gang), Prometheus (who keeps sneaking glances at Charon and Hestia) and a joyful Cerberus bounding in between everyone and disrupting the naiads.
They're used to dogs treating them like sticks, Persephone knows. It's not funny, it's not , but she's giggling despite herself, seeing the naiad couple skitter and jump away from Hades' giant dog. "Cerberus!" she calls finally, taking pity on the two. He comes bounding towards her and flops in her lap, looking more like a giant puppy than a fearsome deity that can very literally deliver one to death's door.
"He needs to get back to his station," Hades says, eyeing his dog with disapproval. Cerberus whines and turns away from him, shooting Persephone a look.
"I have no respect in my own realm anymore," Hades mutters, lightly toeing the dog till he grumbles and walks away in the direction of the Main Gates.
Her father finally breaks away from the gaggle and waves his arms so the crowd quietens.
"We are yours to command, Lord Hades," he says, turning to Hades.
Hades coughs and the light-hearted personality of her husband fades into darkness. Persephone feels a wholly inappropriate shudder slip down her spine and she fervently hopes he's not noticed.
We'll talk about that later, he promises her silkily, voice dark and dangerous.
"We know from reports through allies that Zeus is leaning towards a light imprisonment for Hera and then allow her to be freed," Hades starts, sending grumbles and whispers through the crowd. "As we know, though, she's spiteful, so it's not the safest idea for anybody gathered here to let that happen."
"You mean she's a vindictive bitch with a free pass to do whatever she wants," Persephone mutters just loudly enough for everyone to hear her.
"She's a vindictive bitch with a free pass to do whatever she wants," Hades amends obediently.
"And so, one of our most important tasks will be to ensure Hera is caught mid-attack. If she's seen as a threat to the pantheon itself, the other Gods will not allow for a light punishment."
"So, the attack would need to be on someone important - someone who isn't just another nature spirit or demigod," Triptolemus says slowly, adjusting his spectacles.
"Exactly," Demeter says, raising his hand. "Which is why I'll be acting as bait and Persephone will work with me to capture Hera red-handed."
Persephone beams at her father, wiggling her vine-covered fingers. She's found a way to make it look almost fashionable, like delicate rings, not like she's insane and covered in plant life.
"Prometheus," Hades says, walking to the Titan in question to clap him on the shoulder, "will go to Poseidon and pretend to be switching sides, luring him to the Underworld to an 'unused' back gate, to attack me unawares."
"Wait, this is an unused back-gate!" one of the naiads exclaims, and the rest all nod in understanding, ooh-ing and looking around at the gate with a newfound understanding of why Persephone had gathered them all here.
"What Poseidon will not know, however, is that a fight here is perilous, because we're very close to the entrance to Tartarus," Hades continues, clearly having decided to tune out the group reactions. He waves his hand in the direction of a sunny road behind him that she knows leads to their vineyards directly in front of his mansion. It's a dangerous idea to lead Poseidon here, she knows, because if he manages to overpower Hades and find the throne room, the centre of Hades' realm, it'll be disastrous. She buries the worry deep under layers of emotion, unwilling to let Hades know. If he's letting her go risk her life—again—to capture Hera on her own, then she can trust that he's right in his estimates about how their fight will go.
"I have a question," Pan pipes up. Hades yields the floor politely, walking back to take his position next to Persephone, one hand almost absent-mindedly brushing her back. She takes a moment to herself to appreciate how it feels, having the entire group look at her and Hades standing at the front, like two rulers to take seriously and not just an important God and a minor Goddess.
"You have never been just some minor Goddess," Hades had told her one night, a short while ago, as they lay in his bed, a large, luxurious thing piled with pillows on crisp sheets. They'd been talking in whispers, exchanging darker secrets they hadn't found the courage to discuss in daylight. "You have been what's kept the seasons running smoothly and that maintains balance in the world. You, of all Gods, know what that balance means to us all - whether human or immortal."
Maybe he had a point, but she can't deny that there is a difference now. "Why will Poseidon fall for Prometheus' words?" Pan asks reasonably. "From what I know, he's always seemed smart."
"More cunning than smart," Hades says softly, though he's nodding at Pan. "But it's a good point. The one thing about Poseidon, however, is that he's like the sea he commands - once a great wave has been formed, it can do nothing but break. So I just need to make sure we encourage that one big wave."
-
"Before you go surfing-"
"I don't think that fits into the metaphor."
"Shut up."
"Yes, sweetie."
Persephone slips her arms around him from behind, nestling her head between his shoulder blades. He wraps his own around the hands clasped at his chest and closes his eyes, savouring her presence. The scent of pomegranates and clean, crisp air envelop him as they stand, wrapped in each other. It is tempting to stay in their bubble like this, to very literally damn the rest of the world in favour of their own peace.
Reluctantly, he detangles them and turns around to tip her face up to his. "You wanted something?" he prompts.
She opens her mouth and closes it again, looking a little frustrated. Patiently, he waits for her to answer, as she lifts her right hand to idly smoothen a part of his hair. Sliding down to his cheek, it rests as he feels a flash of determination through their bond.
"You need to be careful," she says, meeting his eyes.
He turns his head slightly to kiss her palm. "I will."
"Just because you're going to needle him doesn't mean you need to be overconfident," she continues like she's got a to-do list of dumb things she wants him to avoid.
He captures the hand at his cheek in his and places a kiss on the inside of her wrist. "Yes, dear."
She gasps softly at this, which piques his interest in a new way. This isn't a reaction he's noticed before.
"Hades," she says impatiently, seeing his attention slip. He directs all his focus back to her face, startled to see the determination melting into a little anxiety. "I don't care if it's a bond or a token or some Cyclical bullshit," she finally says, as though a dam has burst. "But we're one soul now and I need you to protect us. Because if you're hurt, I will be too."
Astonishment, insight and a bewildering rush of love mix together in his chest at her words. He knows, he immediately knows what she means, can empathise with the desire to say the words, but struggles with the fact that she's saying them all the same. He's spent so long being The Third, the dreaded King of the Underworld, that now, with something - someone as genuine and dazzling in front of him, he finds himself speechless.
The hand circling her wrist tightens and he tugs her to him in a hug, resting his cheek against her soft hair. "I promise, Queen Persephone," he whispers. "I will protect us."
-
He's never liked the sea. Sure, it's beautiful and the beach is a nice place to be, but he doesn't like the idea of the depths of seawater, the lack of control when you're surrounded by it. Even without Godly powers, being in seawater means you're subject to things like currents, tides; things that can sway a body more effectively than most pressures on Earth. He's always thought Poseidon enjoyed commanding that maritime power.
Even now, as he stands on a beach, letting the seawater reach the tips of his shoes and alerting every sea spirit within a ten-kilometre radius of his presence, he's baffled at his brother's demand for more power. At best, his plan seems to have been to destabilise their existing Cycle and steal more land-related nature powers for himself. The God of the Seas, Earthquakes, Harvest, Bloom and the Wild? He wonders to himself.
But that wouldn't explain the attack on Triptolemus, the teaming up with Hera, or the murder of his own son.
Speaking of.
Hades turns to his right to look at the spectre hovering next to him, looking wistfully at the sea. The former sea god is pale, a mere photocopy of memory, pulled out of the Underworld to accompany Hades to this meeting. He looks like a typical merman, except for the conch shell clutched tightly in his hand.
"You know what you have to do," Hades reminds gently, unwilling to interrupt the mourning of a ghost. The ghost in question turns to look balefully at Hades and nods. "The moment I blow this, the sea will calm. While my father is obviously more powerful than I, it will give you the reprieve you need."
He hesitates, hand twitching like it wants to reach out to the water he has now been cruelly snatched from. "Lord Hades," he starts, then stops.
For a beat, Hades can only hear the sound of waves breaking against the rocks on the shore.
"Uncle," Triton tries again. "You are sure he cannot see me?"
Hades nods, keeping his senses peeled for any change in the atmosphere around them that could signal Poseidon's presence. "You're one of my subjects at the moment, Triton," Hades assures. "And so, right now, I'm the only one who can see you. But when you blow that conch of yours..."
Triton nods grimly. "That's fine. I want him to know that he's been betrayed by family, as I was."
Family, Hades thinks wryly. Every Cycle, the one thing that causes all the problems with the Gods is not their ego or their repetitive patterns, but the very nature of their toxic family. He'd thought the smaller ones carved out over millennia—like Artemis' Hunters, Poseidon's underwater family or Demeter and Persephone—would be better off, but clearly, he was wrong.
Demeter, Persephone and me, now, he supposes. It's an odd thought, though not unwelcome.
There's a whisper from his left and Hades shifts to look at Poseidon, who waves lazily, wearing an oversized hoodie and jeans.
"How can I help, brother? I wasn't expecting you to visit so soon after our last conversation. It was. Prickly."
The pun is repellent, though savagely Hades appreciates the sight of a scar at Poseidon's ear, undoubtedly brought on by one of his thorns.
"I just wanted to chat," Hades says, tone friendly, pulling a flask out of his pocket. Uncapping it, he takes a sip, appreciating the burn of the alcohol down his throat, then seals it and tosses it at Poseidon.
"Temporary ceasefire, if you will, while you allay my curiosity," he continues. Poseidon looks interested so, he nods and takes a swig, then makes a face. "Is this absinthe?" he asks, grimacing.
"I wanted to know why," Hades says, ignoring the question in favour of his own. "The God of the Seas, Earthquakes, Harvest, Bloom and the Wild?" he asks mockingly. "Is that all you wanted?"
Poseidon smirks, taking another sip. "I do not like this stuff," he sighs, then tosses the flask back to Hades. "You don't understand at all, do you?"
"Yes, Poseidon, I understand perfectly, I've only orchestrated us chatting just to hear your voice," Hades says sarcastically. Poseidon rolls his eyes and looks pensively at the sea. Next to Hades, Triton tenses.
"Have you ever been in the water in a storm?" His brother finally asks.
Hades shakes his head.
"You have no choice but to heed to the demands of the water. If it's decided that you must drown, then drown you will. There is nothing that can contain that power, you simply... ride it." He looks at Hades, eyes glinting with a storm of his own, a madness that Hades hadn't seen before.
"I hate being told what to do, Hades."
Silence. Then,
"Do you know what it's like? Being in charge of that kind of power, and then realising that every step you take is doomed to trace another's?"
"Your own," interjects Hades calmly, though understanding is blooming through him. Persephone had mentioned it; Poseidon had talked about rebelling against Cycles. He'd made it known from the very beginning what his intentions were.
"Doesn't matter!" Poseidon snaps. The waves start to get choppy and the ground shakes a little, though Poseidon does nothing to stop any of it. "I don't know why you aren't affected, and frankly, I don't care. But for me? I'm an immortal being of unimaginable power, tied to rules and regulations an idiot brother has made. I spend every day exiled to the sea like some lesser being, feeling humans pollute my waters and kill my subjects, hear Zeus lauded for his rampant abuse and lack of skill, tracing old mistakes a different God made. So what if that God was me in a different iteration? I don't care!"
The waves start to hit the shore with ferocity, hitting Hades with salty, stinging sprays. The ground starts shaking more as Poseidon glares at Hades.
"So why Hera?" Hades asks, ignoring the theatrics.
The shaking ceases as Poseidon laughs. "A worthy second-in-command, that is all. She's just realised she has become a woman scorned, reviled, and ridiculed for following the rules her own idiot husband has made. So what do you think happened when I popped by with my talk of destabilising the world's Cycles?"
The pieces begin slotting into place.
"Freedom for her," Hades mutters slowly. "And for you, power. Unlimited power." He looks at the choppy waters, even as the waves get higher and begin to crash brutally against the shore, against them, soaking their clothes. It's freezing now, the cold, winter air attacking his skin.
"And for both of you..." he stops as Poseidon grins.
"No more Zeus," he supplements. "Because why would the pantheon follow the idiot who cannot even stop a murderer?" Poseidon's voice takes on an almost-childish, lilting tone by the end of his sentence, though the unsettling light shining in his eyes is brighter than ever.
"And what of you, Hades?" he finally asks. "I know you may not have my ambition, but you want your powers back too. Why are you trying to stop me? Because it's wrong?"
Hades sends him a derisive look. "'Wrong'," he repeats snidely, knowing it will irritate Poseidon further. The shaking of the ground resumes. Hades is glad he'd chosen a deserted island instead of a residential area.
"I don't care for justice, Poseidon. I just don't like seeing power in undeserving hands."
"Undeserving?"
"Yes," Hades confirms, raising his eyebrows, as though to challenge Poseidon to take him to court and prove his worthiness to be a successful dictator. "And besides, if I hadn't stepped in, my wife..."
He thinks of the gaggle of loud spirits at his back gate, of Demeter pouring makgeolli, of Hegemone pressing boxes of food into his hand that he still hasn't understood how she's cooking in the Underworld, of Prometheus' determination to help.
"My family would have continued to fight you. And they needed help."
He empties the flask and tucks it into his pocket.
"A concept you don't seem to understand," he adds drily.
"So that's the end of the ceasefire, then?" Poseidon asks, eyeing where the flask has disappeared. He raises his hand and the water begins to recede sharply towards the depth of the ocean.
"A tsunami," Triton whispers. In the distance, Hades can see the giant wave build.
"You like that trick, don't you?" he snorts. "But do what you must. This was never a real parlay anyway - if you'll excuse the use of the term, brother. I merely wanted to play a little with my dinner."
With a roar of frustration, Poseidon drops his hand and the tsunami begins to race towards the shore.
A deep, sonorous horn emits from the conch, as Triton blows it. The sound extends past them, into the far horizons, pushing the tsunami down to nothing, returning the water to a calm emerald.
Poseidon looks shocked, backing away and looking around. "Triton?"
The sea god blinks out of existence, not before throwing a look of pure hatred at his father and Hades turns in his spot to disappear into the shadows, feeling the empty flask in his pocket with a smile.
-
The moment his car shows up at their door, she wants to tackle him with a hug. He seems unhurt, though sopping wet, and a contented smile is twitching at his lips. He looks like a cat. A wet, bedraggled one, but a satisfied cat nevertheless.
"Did you succeed?" she asks unnecessarily from her spot at the door, leaning nonchalantly against the frame as though she'd been the very opposite of worried.
He comes to a stop just in front of her, hands smoothly sliding into his pockets. She tries not to focus on the droplets of water running from his hair down to his neck and disappearing behind his white shirt, though the shirt itself is plastered to his skin and doing a valiant job of asking for attention.
"Success," he says, pulling out the flask and waving it at her.
In the end, it was Triptolemus and Persephone who had come up with a plan to aid Prometheus' trap for Poseidon. To put it simply, they'd planted a seed. Instead of just filling the flask with normal alcohol, they'd enchanted absinthe, a spirit derived from plants like fennel and green anise. Across the world, it was the one alcohol classified as one of the most hallucinogenic. And unknown to Poseidon, something Triptolemus had bet on, it was easier for them to enchant a potent liquid with such high plant-based properties, to create a temporary bond with any other who drank the liquid.
In this case, Hades.
"Tomorrow, when Prometheus tempts him to come to the Underworld, he won't be able to resist following the bait," Hades confirms.
They grin at each other victoriously, the feeling of a plan successfully executed buoying their moods.
"I'm going to hug you," she announces pushing herself off the door. He looks a little surprised. "Sure?" he replies, taken aback.
"I really am," she warns, jogging a little in her place. He huffs out a laugh and raises his arms a little.
She skips down the steps and throws herself into his arms, revelling in the feeling of him - albeit wet and cold. If he's spent as much time having waves of salt and chill break over him, she's currently only feeling waves of relief break over her.
"We'll win this," she says solemnly, before leaning up to kiss him, pouring her relief and triumph into it. There's a clatter as the tainted flask falls to the ground and Hades' hands wind around her arms, rubbing up and down before wrapping around her tighter. She's dizzy and happy and confident, wants to peel all the wet clothes off her husband before the saltwater ruins her own, wants to let her vines creep out of her fingers and wrap around him to hold him closer. This is different from the rage she's felt before and channelled into her new powers. This is something positive, a glimpse at conquest. It's heady, addictive enough to rival enchanted absinthe.
"We haven't won yet," he whispers, breaking away from air, though his lips still unconsciously chase hers like a magnet.
"We will," she repeats, closing the gap.
The last time a concentrated war effort had been mounted by god-like beings had been when Zeus overthrew the Titans.
"We will not fail," Prometheus says confidently, first to break the silence between himself, Charon, Demeter, Hades and Persephone. He bows low, then walks away and Charon follows, both fading into the distance. Hades watches as they leave, trying to fight the urge to call them back. He trusts Charon to look after himself, but his concerns centre around the Titan next to him. Prometheus has proved to be a much greater friend than foe but Hades has a bad feeling about dispatching the boy—for he behaves like no more than a boy, a younger sibling to train and protect—to act as bait.
He eyes Demeter and his wife idly staring after Prometheus and Charon as well. To be fair, every plan they have revolves around someone or the other playing at being bait; himself included. Persephone's hand reaches to meet his, fingers interlacing between his.
Demeter sighs, still looking off into the distance. "The Cycle has changed," he says. Startled, they stare at him until he looks at the two Gods next to him.
"I have checked with as many minor Gods as I could have. I even asked Artemis. She's been travelling with her Huntresses ever since the nature threat became known, but she told me she has no memory of anything like this happening. And that matches with my own memories and what others have told me too."
Hades wants to rebel against this information, wants to avoid the implication of what Demeter is saying, but even as he resists, his mind supplies information helpfully to corroborate. "I have no memory either. I thought at first it was because of whatever Persephone and I have been fated to repeat, but I did check with some of the minor gods here, and while our patterns seem to continue-"
"Poseidon's murder spree seems to be a new addition to the mix," Persephone finishes.
Demeter nods resignedly. "It means that Poseidon has already accomplished his first task; he has succeeded in changing our Cycles enough that we are essentially going in blind."
"With no reassurance of our own happy ending," Hades murmurs, swiping his thumb across Persephone's gently.
"None at all," Demeter agrees, then walks to the dark Range Rover parked at the Gate, giving Cerberus a quick pat as he passes. "Say goodbye and come quickly," he calls before climbing into the driver's seat and firmly shutting the door.
They exchange looks, Persephone eyeing their clasped hands apprehensively.
"It's not goodbye," Hades starts, but she looks up at him with a blazing, determined expression that makes him fall silent.
"If something happens to me, don't try to come and save the day," she says calmly.
Briefly, she presses her lips against his then walks away.
-
"Abeoji."
"Yes?"
"I'm sorry."
"Why?"
"I may not come back this time. This Cycle, I mean."
"I know."
-
Click.
He feels Poseidon's presence, brazen and loud as it is, overconfident and unbearable before he sees it.
Click.
Hades watches in his mind's eye as Prometheus, unsettlingly pitching to one side, hand pressed against his abdomen, heads towards the "common entry" for newly-minted dead people and beckons for Poseidon to follow.
Click.
Inside his body, mixed with the ichor that runs in his veins, Hades feels the enchanted star anise rush in his blood, making him want to seek out Poseidon. It's not like his bond with Persephone; instead, it is like a morbid desire to stand and watch a car crash which means Poseidon must feel the urge to come closer too, without recognising why. If their plan is working, it's making him far more impulsive than he'd normally be.
Click.
They reach the River Styx, where Prometheus weakly gestures for Poseidon to alight Charon's Ferry, before getting on himself, leaving behind a trail of ichor from his wound till the bank of the river like breadcrumbs from a twisted fairytale.
"What will you do if I take you across the Styx to Hades?" Prometheus asks him weakly, holding onto the oars before they set off.
"I think I'll just try killing him," Poseidon says casually. He kneels to get closer to the water over the side of the boat, examining the jet black waters underneath. It's not the answer he had to give and the boat remains still.
"I can't start unless you provide me with a definite payment," Prometheus begins to explain. In the blink of an eye, his face is smacked at the temples with Poseidon's trident. "My payment will be Hades' death. Now move."
Click.
Through his bond with Persephone, weaker now that she is so far from him, but still present in his every cell, he can feel steadiness and a little bit of impertinence. He smiles to himself, clicks his lighter shut and slides his hands into the jacket he's wearing, looking around at the riot of pink, purple and green surrounding him. He picks at one of her half-gem creations with a wry smile, then turns around, gathering the vengeful spirits at his disposal behind him as he always does, ensuring they melt to look like shadows gathering around him and not echoes of the dead. Poseidon will, as usual, think it a parlour trick.
In fact, he's not sure anybody in the pantheon knows he cannot command shadows, that they are merely imitations of the deceased, but they tend to not pay close attention to his realm of death anyway. Persephone had figured it out eventually, while he tried to explain his new trick of calling dead plants to do his thorny bidding.
"And what brings you here?" Hades calls out cheerfully as Poseidon finally steps into view. His brother's eyes widen slightly in surprise, then he sighs and turns to look at Prometheus in mock disappointment. "Turns out you're predictable after all," he says, then moves to clutch Prometheus' neck and squeeze, pushing him against one of Persephone's trees.
"You've really become a one-trick wonder," Hades comments idly. "All this murder has become something of an addiction, I take it."
Poseidon rolls his eyes, not changing his stance but turning his head to give Hades a sardonic look. "It takes some getting used to, but I seem to be good at it," he confirms sarcastically. "Now if you'll excuse me."
"Ah, of course," Hades nods, gesturing for him to go ahead.
"Any last words, you spineless traitor?"
Prometheus gestures at the hand at his throat and Poseidon exhales in frustration before stepping back and droppings his hand, swiftly bringing up his trident to hover at Prometheus' neck.
Hades' skin begins to itch at this posturing but is imperative to encourage, he knows, so he tries not to roll his eyes.
Prometheus says nothing for a moment, slowly unfurling a smile. "I hope you liked your journey to the Underworld, please enjoy your stay," he recites, voice suddenly sounding very different. The lines around his face begin to blur, as his height and weight tailor themselves, settling into the outline of a tall Caucasian man. "A fee unpaid for a ferry ride by the Ferryman of the Underworld cannot go unpaid," he intones. To Poseidon's credit, it clearly takes him only a few seconds to understand what's been done to him. Anybody who cannot pay the Ferryman his fee is doomed to roam the banks of the River Styx forever; Hades and Charon's carefully plotted back-up plan in case imprisoning Poseidon to Tartarus didn’t work. Effectively, they have trapped him with his own words.
He swings the trident forward at Charon, but Hades flicks his hands and his shadows rush forward to cocoon Charon, who takes advantage of the darkness and runs. At the same time, a smoky smell evades the air around them and the two brothers pause, sniffing.
"Is that... something burning?" Poseidon asks, looking at Hades like it's personally his fault like he's a chef at a restaurant with a faulty oven. To be fair, it is his fault, but a deliberate one.
The smell gets stronger and Hades finally sees what he can smell, what he knows started the moment Poseidon had reached the vineyard. The only reason the Lord of the Sea hadn't noticed it was because of how dulled his senses were because of the absinthe in his system.
There are large flames making their way steadily towards them, licking up the vineyards and trees in their way, heat from the fire already making itself known. Poseidon instinctively backs away, raising his hands and waves for water. It's a little too late, unfortunately, because they've basically lit something akin to a forest fire in a vineyard which, once spread unabated, can become exceedingly difficult to bring under control. Especially as a God not in his own realm, but a rival's. In the distance, Hades sees Prometheus's outline and he knows the boy's succeeded in his part of the plan. Charon, as the former doppelgänger, is missing, probably having hightailed it to nurse his wounds. Taking advantage of his distracted state, Hades lets loose on his shadows and the echoes rush forward, twining around Poseidon to wrap around his arms like bandages that begin to sink into his form. Seeking his body heat, the spirits begin to stick to his skin in search of the life they can feel shining through. Poseidon grunts in pain, sending Hades a look of hatred. At their feet, a storm begins to brew, quickly gaining momentum and turning into a hybrid of powers as seawater starts to rain down on them in thick sheets, wiping out the flames. The shadows stick on like leeches, adamant and determined, but it's enough for Poseidon to refocus his energies on Hades. Stepping forward, he takes aim and throws.
Hades sidesteps the trident smoothly, knocking it aside with a wave of more shadows, flicking his fingers for the skeleton warriors he's kept lying in wait to rise. They rise through the dirt and stand in front of him, letting Hades take more precious steps backwards as the trident flies back to Poseidon's hands. Impatient, he directs the storm against the skeletons, stepping forward to advance through the battalion.
"Coward, stop using other beings to face my attacks," Poseidon grunts, lunging forwards again as they reach the edge of the vineyard, entering Hades' private gardens. They're finally twenty steps short of the entrance of Tartarus - or rather, the door to what purportedly is his wine cellar.
He comes to a stop. If they get any closer, the sinister feeling that always surrounds the door will make itself known, and even in a frenzied, irritated, impatient state, Poseidon will feel it. He needs to follow the plan, pushing his brother to the edge both physically and mentally, until it’s too late to save himself.
"Okay," Hades finally says, shrugging, waving his hands. Poseidon pants, glaring at his brother, skin covered in red marks that look like he's been whipped with a poisoned switch.
"Do you think you're winning at whatever you're doing while we play cat and mouse like this?" He asks darkly.
Hades raises his eyebrows, reaching into his pocket to pull out his lighter and flick it open nonchalantly, noting Poseidon eye it with irritation. Good. Keep him irritated. That's when he's impulsive, which makes him stupid. "I'm not doing anything," he says innocently. "Just protecting myself. I don't know if you've noticed, I don't like being atta-"
"Do you think your precious Queen is safe, just because I’m here? Because I can guarantee that Hera will never let her live free.”
Hades snaps the lighter shut with a sharp click.
-
They know something is wrong the moment they step into the lobby of Mount Olympus, because it's devoid of the usual crowd of Gods and minor Gods. As they walk towards the Throne Room in abject silence, hearing their footsteps echo loudly, Demeter and Persephone exchange a look. "Shall we continue as planned?" he confirms, and she nods.
Once they reach the Throne Room, she closes her eyes and transforms, turning herself into a small bat again, nestling into her father's tweed jacket pocket. Throwing open the doors, he strides in and... stops. She peeks out of the pocket and has to stop herself from audibly groaning. The room is empty, hearth crackling merrily. She thinks she sees Hestia hovering silently in the smoke rising from the hearth, but she winks in her direction, which Persephone takes to mean 'I'm hiding'. The thing that makes her want to groan, however, is the sight of Zeus on his throne, with Hera kneeling at the floor, head on his knee, dramatic smudges of mascara running down her face.
Dramatic bitch, she thinks in distaste, invading her father's mind.
Indeed, Demeter agrees, tone mild like they’re discussing biscuits, as Zeus jumps up with surprise. "Demeter!"
"See, my lord? Demeter is alive like I said!" Hera cries, standing up and dramatically swooning into his arm. Zeus automatically supports her, making Persephone want to gag. Doesn't matter if they're human or Gods, she thinks. Males are so predictable.
"I'm not lying, my Lord. Poseidon had tricked me, and despite it all I tried to stop myself from hurting poor Demet-"
"I am alive, it's true," Demeter confirms calmly. "Because I escaped using my own wit, not because a very murderous Goddess was fighting a trick of some kind."
Hera sends him a dirty look.
"Now, now, Demeter," Zeus starts to say placatingly. "We can all-"
"Zeus," Demeter says with a sigh. "Are you really falling for this? You're not this much of a fool, are you?"
Wow, Abeoji.
Zeus' hackles rise and he frowns. "How dare you-"
"Oh, shut up," Demeter snaps irritably. "You're willingly overlooking-"
Persephone sees the panther form before anyone else does, creeping up from behind the thrones, aiming straight for Demeter. As quickly as she can, she flies out of Demeter's pocket, transforming back to herself. The panther is too close and too fast, though, and she knows it's going to reach its destination before she reaches hers. The hearth suddenly flares up, sending wild sparks into the air, forcing Zeus to step back. The movement puts him farther away from the thrones and at angle where he can suddenly see the panther. A lightning bolt forms in his hands as he raises it to attack, but Persephone gets there first, sending vines shooting across the room to cage around the panther.
There's a shocked pause as Zeus stares at her.
"Zeus," she says impertinently, curtseying at him.
He gapes at her, then turns on Demeter. "Have you both gone absolutely insane?" Behind him, Hera starts to inch her hands up again, and Persephone sends the panther careening into the Goddess, resulting in a sprawled heap on the floor.
"And here I thought it would be difficult to prove you're a traitorous snake," she says archly, dropping her vines as the panther winks out of existence.
"That was a direct attack on my life, Zeus," Demeter says, crossing his arms and smiling, like a professor whose favourite student has just won a contest.
Zeus rounds on his wife, but before he can say anything, Hera snaps.
"I've had enough of this," she mutters. She draws herself up to stand regally and with a wave of her hand, shining pigeon feathers appear and dart at the three Gods in front of her. Persephone throws up her hands to shield her face, but as they pierce skin, she feels them sting and burn.
Poison, she realises with horror, recognising the sting as one she's felt before. Only then, it had been diluted by water. Now, it is strong enough to feel like she's on fire. Behind her, she hears her father and Zeus curse, and at the same time, she feels a sudden spurt of fear emanate from her chest, which she knows she's feeling second-hand. Persephone reaches for the fear she's just felt from Hades and yanks at it, like a thread she needs to pull to unravel the fabric of a very, very shit sweater. This time, her creepers are adorned with thorns, almost shining at their tips. Hera's scream of pain as they make their way to twine around her echoes satisfyingly around the chamber.
-
At the mention of Persephone, Hades allows himself to be distracted for the briefest of seconds, panic shooting through him like a knee-jerk reaction. Before he can gain control of himself, Poseidon is throwing his trident once more and it meets its mark, piercing Hades' arm, delivering searing pain. He stumbles back, already pulling the ridiculous thing out of him, but Poseidon advances again. Hamming up the injury, even though the flow of ichor dimly informs Hades that it's likely a worse wound than he's realised, he leads the two of them closer to the cellar, coming to a stop at the entrance.
Evilly, Poseidon smiles. "You know, I don't know why I thought I'd settle for just Zeus' powers. I can clearly take yours too," he declares, swinging his trident back once more. Now would be a good time to follow the plan, Pan, Hades thinks irately. A minute too late, there's a wild rumble and the two Gods look up to see wraithlike horses rising out of the grounds and come racing towards them. Pan runs in the centre of the throng, having turned back into his half-satyr self, running at breakneck speed on his goat legs.
"Protect your Lord," he roars, the power of the Wild clear in his voice, egging on the dead horses to attack the Lord of the Horses by instinct alone.
"I'm their Lord," Poseidon hisses and Hades knocks the trident out of his hand, throwing a very human but satisfying punch on his brother's face. "When they're dead, I am," he corrects grimly. The horses reach them and Hades feels them bypass him smoothly, as he'd known they would. A shot rings out and Poseidon groans, grabbing his stomach as ichor begins to spill. Hades turns to see Charon reloading his gun to take aim at Poseidon again. He always was a good shot.
Hades grabs him bodily, using his knowledge of combat to dance them towards the cellar. Poseidon's eyes suddenly widen and he knows the presence of Tartarus has finally made itself obvious.
"You think I'm falling for this?" he growls, even as Hades lands two more satisfying punches on his face, then grabs his arm and twists it till he hears a crunch of a bone breaking. Enraged, Poseidon throws his weight into the fight, but with a broken shoulder and gunshot wound in his stomach, he's finally battered. Next to them, Charon takes aim again.
"No, you don't, you unimportant nothing," Poseidon roars as the shot hits its mark on Poseidon's legs. He tackles Hades to the ground at the entrance to the cellar, then swipes his hand through the air as the trident, from where it had been in the dirt, lifts and hurtles into the air to sink into Charon's neck. A burning sensation spreads across Hades' skin, which tells him exactly what's happening to Persephone, but he tries to ignore the pain and focus on his struggle against his brother, resolutely not looking to his left to see what has happened to his loyal lieutenant. Before he can react, Poseidon summons a lethal-looking fish spear and plunges it into his chest.
-
Persephone feels it, like a thorn, a forest fire burning down vegetation, an earthquake shattering integral beams inside of her. She gasps and comes to a halt, feeling pain irradiate through her body, though there is no ichor to be seen.
Hera smirks cruelly at her from behind the vines she’s caged in, judging from Persephone’s expression that tables have turned.
The pain builds, clawing its way out of her throat, trying to escape as Hera’s eyes mock her from the safety of her cage. Demeter and Zeus rush to her side, concerned, but she falls to her knees, seeing black at the edges of her vision.
-
This won't work, Hades realises dimly. Poseidon is, after all, too strong to be beaten down and thrown into Tartarus on his own. He'll need an anchor to weigh him down.
-
A sob wrenches itself out of her and it’s followed by a short scream, visceral pain untamed once released, echoing around the chamber.
“Have you lost after all?” Hera taunts.
-
Summoning up the last of his strength, Hades mentally apologises to Persephone, then throws all his weight into twisting Poseidon off of him and holding him in a perverse hug. Tipping them over, he lets them fall.
-
The rage dances at her fingertips, no longer cold and in her control, but fiery and dark, surrounding her like the shadows of the ghosts he so loves to shroud himself in to avoid detection, attention, the eyes of a judgemental world that only sees his surface and not the world under it.
She points towards Hera making the shadows—his shadows—entwine her vines and rush towards the widening eyes of the Queen of Heaven, who finally, finally, seems to understand what it means to dread.
With a sob, Persephone falls back to her knees, job done, unwilling to see the results. Shaking, she presses her hands into her chest, sure that she can hear an audible crack as her heart splits into two, bereft of a presence that has cocooned it for months now.
Unbidden, she imagines running downstairs and hugging him, kissing him among grapevines, sitting in his throne as he knelt at her feet and smiled.
She feels nothing, which can only mean that there is nothing more to feel. The Lord of the Dead is no longer connected to her.
Persephone sends Hegemone and Pan back to the world of the living. Turns out, there are no real rules against it, as long as they 'earn' their existence back. So, she sets arbitrary tests for them—things like managing to 'escape' without her knowing, or tricking Cerberus—and pretends to be mildly disconcerted at their ability to have bested her.
Demeter wonders out loud if he'd planned it all along and she does not confirm or deny it, but she remembers seeing him looking up case precedence for heroes being excused before from the Underworld. It hadn't made sense to her at the time; she'd assumed he was just doing some light reading of his own work in this Cycle for fun.
Demeter does not leave the Underworld, except for their meetings with Zeus and the rest of the pantheon. At first, she hadn't wanted to attend, reluctant to leave her home and her last tether to him, but Demeter hadn't taken no for an answer. "We need someone to represent the Underworld," he'd said sternly, before melting a little. "Who do you think he'd rather have in his stead? Nobody? Or the one he entrusted with his crown?" And so Persephone attended the meetings, stubbornly wearing all black, but for her pendant, crown and lipstick. If she must show herself outside, she will look as she feels, albeit with armour.
The meetings themselves are, for once, not a farce. They actually focus on fixing what has been turned so horribly wrong in the past few months. Hestia is brought to the pantheon and reinstated as a major God, given most of Hera's duties and responsibilities, though marriage and childbirth cannot be handed over to the maiden goddess. They attempt to give both to Persephone, except she glowers the moment the discussion heads in that direction until the idea is hurriedly tabled. Aphrodite is eventually given marriage—much to her distaste—followed by an ungainly snort from her husband, Hephaestus. Normally, Persephone would have been excited to snoop a little into their lives to find out how many of their cheating rumours were true but instead, she shifts away from them, fingers abstractly tracing the designs carved into the black throne she's been assigned. It's like the one at home, only more fearsome and cold to look at, without the cushy seat. In her mind, she imagines teasing him about it and him pretending to have never noticed. There are skulls at the base, she knows she would say bluntly and he'd probably look away and pretend to be interested in a file on his computer or some dumb flower she'd brought to their throne room.
She is asked to allow Triton a return to the world of the living as well, and she agrees to set him another 'impossible' test that he passes with flying colours. So, they hand him most of the watery responsibilities his traitorous father had left behind. Poseidon's other jobs, like Hera's, are distributed equally amongst the rest of the pantheon. Unlike Hestia and Persephone, however, they leave the Lord of the Sea's throne empty. "I do not want it," Triton tells them contemptuously. "I have no interest in joining the ranks here, I can rule comfortably from the seas." It's an insult, but the Gods have been shaken by the events of the last few days, so his behaviour is excused without a bat of an eyelid.
Every time she leaves the Underworld with her father, she considers visiting Hera's prison but decides against it. It's a pattern in her head, but she always has the same conclusion; she does not want to offer her the importance of a visit. Viciously, she takes solace in the glimpse she'd seen of Hera after her attack, through her own tears and gasping pain. Her face had been marred with wicked cuts across her face and hands, but most importantly, the shadows—his spirits that she'd somehow channelled—had struck her legs, leaving the formerly graceful goddess on the ground without the power to stand. Even in her pain, Persephone had smiled. Her only regret was seeing Hera surrounded by ichor and not blood - that would have been a sight that would ease her raw soul. Debased and brought to the level of a human being.
Another new entrant to the Underworld who stubbornly refuses to leave is Prometheus. She'd allowed herself an hour after... everything, in their burned and ashy vineyards, intermittently weeping and slashing through plants in anger. But then she'd pulled herself together, returned to the mansion—resolutely ignoring the open cellar door—changed into a black suit and settled into their throne room. Her first step had been to set up Charon's farewell, attending as the guest of honour to watch her husband's loyal lieutenant burned in a pyre, wrapped in a silk black shroud that bore the drawing of a ferryman's pole. Unlike Triton or the others, Charon had not been killed in the world of the living, but that of the dead; by an object that bore unimaginable power stored after millennia of being used and featured in myths. There would be no second chances for him, not until their Cycles reset.
It had been after, when Prometheus visited her, that she'd realised she'd need to hire a new Ferryman. "I can do it," he'd claimed, eyes suspiciously red for someone who'd only just met Charon. She'd had no choice and let him, thinking she'd make it a temporary move until she figured out where she could find a new psychopomp. As it turned out, Charon had spent more time than she'd noticed—wrapped up as she'd been in her own little quest and selfish romance—with Prometheus, apparently showing him the ropes and the cheerful Titan had smoothly retained the knowledge.
She tried to gingerly ask him if he wanted to return to the world of the living, but he'd speechlessly stared at her over the bowl of noodle soup he was sharing with her. They'd taken a brief sojourn to the human realm out of a mutual craving for spicy food, Persephone having discovered that only Prometheus shared her love for it. (He had hated it, though he'd indulged her time and again, bringing her food from the human realm that made him turn shades of red even her flowers couldn't rival.) "I want to stay in the Underworld," Prometheus had finally said simply. "It's the only place where I feel like I can be safe."
And that was that.
Within a few days, existence begins to move on, though the entirety of the Underworld carries a strange hush to it, as though every stick and stone in the realm is holding its breath in the hopes that its Lord will return.
"Hades," she whispers fervently at the cellar door every night when she's alone and nobody can hear how broken her voice sounds when she says his name. But there's never a response, no answering tug in her chest, not even the barest hint of a voice in her mind. She hates it, him, the irony of how, despite all his talk about being unbothered with principles of justice, he had very literally dived into Tartarus with Poseidon just to lead the wrongdoer to punishment. She does not whisper anything else at the door, choosing to sit in silence and wait for unconfirmed miracles.
Hope eventually comes like spring does not. After all, there is no Goddess of Spring to roam the world and tell nature to wake up again, though the God of Harvest has graciously allowed for agriculture to return to its previous state, assuring a bountiful harvest of winter crops for all those who'd suffered a bad season across the world.
Hope comes in the form of a post-it note, turning up illogically out of nowhere just like the harvests her father has bestowed upon the living world. She is idly reading a drab report about mortality rates from Thanatos and intermittently staring out the windows at what should be a spring morning when a little sliver of yellow catches her eye - it's a little paper corner visible under her squat pot of flowers in the centre of their table. She abandons Thanatos' report, sure the post-it will be more interesting than the paperwork and yanks at it. It's covered in his handwriting but strangely, in Hangul, the Korean alphabet. As far as she knows, when it's handwritten, he prefers writing in Italian. The post-it bears the address of some building in South Korea and a name.
She feels a bone-deep certainty that anything he'd go to such lengths to hide badly in a shared room would not be something he didn't want to be explored. Ignoring that this circuitous thinking makes her sound daft, like some dumb human in denial, she heads to the cars, settling into his favourite Range Rover.
She doesn't know what she'd been expecting, but it certainly wasn't a run-down old building that housed pawn shops and random snack bars. Ignoring the youth loitering near the entrance, she slips into the place to find the shop number that was mentioned in the note.
It's not a shop. She stares at the doors of a Buddhist temple for a second before snorting. The name on the post-it had merely been Jeokha. He must be a monk.
Walking into the sparsely decorated temple and hovering at the entrance, she patiently waits for the solitary figure sitting in the centre to look around. When he does, he smiles widely at her, then frowns and looks a little nonplussed for a split second before relaxing once more. "Please, come in," he says formally, bowing to her. Within moments, they're seated across each other, warm tea in her hands. He does not prompt for conversation, choosing instead to mutely drink his tea, looking for all the world as though he was used to random Gods popping in for tea.
Or maybe he actually was.
"You know who I am," she starts, trying not to sound accusatory. He nods, as though she'd merely pointed out that he is bald and he wished to confirm the fact.
"I have heard much lately about your recent trials," he adds, meeting her eyes. She sees a flash of sympathy in them, which oddly does not make her want to scoff or scream. "I was sorry to hear about Lord Hades," he continues. "It must be difficult to be separated for even such a little bit of time." Something about hearing his name from Monk Jeokha's mouth soothes her, as though she'd wanted to touch Hades' name for all this time but it had been surrounded by thorns as prickly as her own, and the monk's voice had turned the thorns to rosebuds.
His few words make her want to ask a dozen questions: how does he know? Who is he really? And what does he mean for a 'little bit of time'?
She asks him only the last, uncaring for the monk's origins and mysteries. Besides, whatever she's witnessed is incredibly likeable. She thinks she'd like to preserve the mysterious walls he's clearly built around himself.
To be known in this world, both living and dead, is to be endangered.
"No room is ever truly locked," he says to her. They gaze at each other for a second until Persephone snaps. "It would be helpful if you didn't speak in riddles."
He smiles widely at this, eyes sparkling with some kind of mischief for a second, before settling back into his whole dignified-but-knowledgeable shtick.
"I merely mean to say, Lady Persephone, that Tartarus, like every other part of this world, has an exit. It may be - oh, for the lack of a better example, a safe built to withstand most hackers and explosives, but it's got an exit nevertheless."
She stares at him uncomprehendingly for a second, but then the hope that had bloomed with the post-it expands until she's sure her heart is now a full-scale meadow. "What do I need to do?" she asks excitedly, shuffling forward. The lines of his mouth turn down a little at this.
"Unfortunately, the texts I have read do not have much of an explanation - they merely state that some have been set free before, but not how. However, I can tell you that it was always a God who did so. A powerful one."
Well. She's a powerful God now. Hades had said it himself. They talk lightly for a while longer, but she is eager to return to the Underworld and get to work, so she drains her tea and bids him goodbye, promising a favour in return for his knowledge. She's at the doorway to Nanyak Temple when he calls her name.
"There is a back entrance as well, I would suggest you take that," he says gravely. She cocks her head to the left. "And why should I sneak out?"
He looks meaningfully up at the ceiling and she understands that he's actually gesturing to the floors above. "There is someone you might be mistaken for."
It takes her a second, but she finally understands and gasps softly, turning her own face up to the ceiling, as though she'll be able to somehow see through layers of cement and brick to spy on her doppelgänger.
Gods do not create their own appearances, but merely choose them from a pre-set available. Unlike human video games, however, this wasn't some closet of fashion wear to choose from. It just meant that, while they shaped their own faces, they were unconsciously using the forms of one of the 7.9 billion people in the world of the living. They usually do not try to find their lookalikes, though she knows minor Gods choose to do it in twisted attempts to indulge in sex acts or games. She'd never thought she'd even want to meet her own doppelgänger, but apparently, she'd walked right into the woman's place of work.
"Who is she?" Persephone asks, despite herself, imagining a humble shop owner of some kind.
"A lawyer," the monk replies, and she detects a hint of pride in his voice. Ah, so she—whoever she is—is his friend.
"What is she?" She asks, now interested.
"In many ways, Queen Persephone, she is a ruler as well."
She wants to ask a third question, if this human has her own Hades as well, but she cannot bear to hear the answer, sure she'll be jealous if the response is 'yes'. Turning to bow one last time at the helpful monk, Persephone leaves using the back entrance.
She throws herself into two things after that; the rebuilding of her precious burned vineyards and finding ways to yank her errant husband back from the clutches of Tartarus. Demeter seems doubtful about this but gamely helps her think of ways to free Hades, though he warns her that, should he see her place a foot into the door, he'd set Cerberus on her.
"He's my dog," she says indignantly.
"Technically, you're not. His owner is in the very pits of Hell," Demeter snaps, rooting through encyclopaedic tomes he's found from Hades' library.
"Maybe we should just send him to play fetch, then," Persephone responds sourly, going back to her list of possible exit options.
Ropes do not work.
Letters are thrown in and never seen again.
They even make many wraiths stand at the entrance for a whole hour, making either horrible noise or playing opera music to see if that would entice an irate Hades out.
Normal options like ghostly messengers are also a bust.
She grows frustrated very quickly, feeling the days slip past. Knowing the Underworld, she has a suspicion the way to do this is going to be something painfully simple, but short of just standing and yelling at Hades to come home, they'd tried everything.
She even sinks to her knees and prays, but to no avail.
Her nightly vigil at the cellar door becomes an almost uninterrupted one, and she takes meetings in the throne room only for short hours before racing back to the doors to try something new.
She tries dangling her pendant over the doors and chanting Hades' name, which predictably doesn't work. It's the last time she'll ever take Aphrodite's unsolicited advice. The Goddess of Love has decided her new responsibilities as Goddess of Marriage mean providing useless marriage counselling and Persephone has become the target.
Her last attempt is to burn some witch's brew upon the advice of Hecate, the Goddess of witchcraft, who assures her it's the most powerful summoning spell in the world. It doesn't work either.
She waits for night to fall again, then crumples in front of the cellar, feeling tears prick at her eyes, tears she hasn't allowed to flow since that first, dreadful day.
"Hades, can't you just come home?" she cries, smacking her hand against the doorway, then cradling it to avoid the shooting pain it leaves. She is so caught up in examining her hand that she almost doesn't notice the sudden warmth that flashes through her chest.
"No," she says, eyes widening, hands scrambling to push aside the collar of her shirt and press against skin. The pendant is shining a lustre it's not held for nearly two weeks, and she can feel an answering tug in her chest. She stands, as though in a daze, heaving the doors open and squinting into the darkness.
There is no way that all she had to do was ask.
But there are footsteps, then sounds of coughing and muttering, the dim smell of a cologne she recognises. A head of tousled hair emerges from the darkness, followed by shoulders covered in rumpled clothes and dried ichor.
"Fuck off," she says automatically.
Hades frowns at her, one hand rubbing at the palm of the other, in the exact spot she'd hit hers. "Nice to see you too, sweetie."
-
Persephone follows him around quietly as he cleans himself up, though she waits in his bedroom as he takes a shower, giving him privacy to wash dried ichor and dirt off him. With a pang, Hades notices that she looks pinched and drawn, with dark circles under her eyes.
As hot water beats down on his head, he tries not to think about his time in Tartarus, which was akin to spending time in a large and crowded government building of people who constantly took lunch and tea breaks, then passed his case file on to other offices so he could stand in line again. And that had been as someone without punishment. He shudders to imagine what would happen to those who were sentenced to the worst penalties. But for him, what had made every moment much, much worse was the emptiness in his chest, the lack of buzz under his skin which usually told him how Persephone was doing. It had hurt viscerally even as he'd fallen, as though the fall was ripping his heart out.
If she'd felt even half of this while capably trying to fulfil her duties as Queen of the Underworld, he knows she's probably feeling as raw as he is. Or rather, as though someone has been rubbing sandpaper on his healing wounds.
He checks on them now. They'd been improving in Tartarus, but slowly, too slowly for a God. Now, however, as rivulets of water run past his chest, he can see that the mark of where Poseidon's spear had sliced into him has already become a dark red scar.
By the time he's walking outside the bathroom, rubbing a towel on his hair, wearing a pair of silk pyjamas, she's still sitting at the same spot in his bed, looking off into the distance.
"Persephone," he says gently, coming to a stop in front of her. She stands up and pulls the towel out of his hands and puts it aside before shuffling forwards and nestling into him, hands tightly clasped around his back. He melts into her, breathing slowly. His lungs feel like they're working for the first time in days, as though they don't recognise oxygen when it's not laced with pomegranates. "You're really here," she breathes out softly, hands beginning to loosen from around him, coming to a rest at his front as she steps away. Distractedly, she runs them across his chest, as though she's an art collector checking a painting for wear and tear. He waits patiently until she's done, unwilling to push her out of this contemplative silence. When she lifts her face to gently kiss the corner of his mouth, he feels an almost childish flutter in his stomach, as though days apart have reduced him to being nervous around her, like they've never kissed, let alone been together in a far more intimate way.
"I missed you," she says. The thrum of warmth in his chest flares a little at this, as though she's charged at just being able to say the words. "I thought about you every day," he says, leaning forward to kiss her.
She pulls her face away and smacks his bare shoulder.
"What was that for?" he cries, rubbing the area. It's stinging and she's already raising her hand once more. Quickly, he grabs her wrists and yanks her to him, gathering her hands in between them.
"If you were going to miss me so much, why would you throw yourself into Tartarus, you fool?" Her eyes are blazing with a cocktail of anger and worry. "What would you have done if I'd never managed to get you out of there? Are you insane?"
He laughs, which only serves to incense her more. But he cannot help but laugh, letting go of her hands to cradle her face. Maybe he is insane.
"I trusted you," he says simply, dropping a kiss on her lips.
She narrows her eyes.
"And the monk's address?"
"Just in case you ever needed someone who reads scriptures and mythology," he says nonchalantly, leaving another kiss on her lips, then a bonus one on her cheek.
"Because you knew I wouldn't be able to read anything pre-dating this Cycle," she continues, as though she's a lawyer questioning her witness in court.
"Yes," he confirms, placing more light kisses on her jaw, heading to the lobe of her ear. He softly tugs at it with his teeth, then sinks into her neck to bite the spot that he knows will make her gasp.
"Hades, stop it, I'm irritated with you," she says breathily, though her hands slide up around his neck. Still, he stops and draws back to meet her eyes. "Should I stop?" he asks courteously, though he knows if he teases her too much she'll probably throw him down Tartarus herself.
"If you stop, I'll give you a real scar," she mutters, yanking him down to her for a searing kiss. They kiss languidly, one of her hands roaming up to sink into his hair while he grabs her waist tightly. He kisses her like he's starved, as though he's a soldier going to war and not a man just returned home, like it's his only chance to show her just how sorry he is for abandoning her and leaving her half of their soul feeling as empty as his. She sinks down to the bed, looking up at him through her big eyes, fingers deftly unbuttoning and sliding off her shirt.
"I'm sorry," he blurts out, just as she's hoisting herself to scoot back on the large mattress. She opens her mouth uncertainly and he kneels down in front of her, grabbing her hand and turning it over so he can place a gentle kiss on her ring. "We're partners," he says. "And I'd made a promise to you. You trusted me. I should not have just made a decision-"
"You don't need to be sorry," she cuts him off. "Well, you don't need to be sorry about having to break a promise," she amends. "Sometimes, circumstances demand it."
"I'm sorry I hurt your part of our soul," he insists, cradling her hand in his like she is his tether. Maybe she is.
She scoots backwards in bed, settling into the pillows and sliding her hands torturously slowly down her torso, before unbuttoning the black jeans at her waist. One hand disappears underneath the fabric and she closes her eyes.
"Make it up to me, Hades," she says, her other hand outstretched towards him.
He takes it.
They have done this before, but acting under the giddy passion of an old romance discovered anew, feeling the constant zing of their bond between them. Now, as he worships at the altar of her hips, he recognises that it is different. Somehow, his trip to the depths of Hell and back has changed the burning fire of their connection to a warm hum in their veins, as though time apart has made it more mature. They don't rush, enjoying the feeling of each other's skin on skin, savouring the reaction as the other gasps when fingers press just so, or teeth nip at the right spot. When she comes, he waits, holding her to him as she gasps for breath, admiring how she relaxes back into the pillows for a short while before blindly grabbing him to initiate another kiss.
When he's sliding into her, she laces one hand through his tightly, as though no amount of contact is enough, as though the loss of him was just as painful for her as it had been for him to roam, discontent and lonely, in Tartarus.
She looks beautiful, hair spread out on the bed, head tilted back to expose the column of her delicate neck, sweat gathering at her temples. He is muttering nonsense into her ears as he begins to lose rhythm, a mixture of language and sound, trying to convey his apologies and his love and his promises to do better in one confused speech.
Later, as they watch the sun rise and begin to send rays of bright, happy light into the room, she tells him she loves him too.
-
When Demeter sees him, he drops a fatherly sort of hand on Hades' shoulder proudly, like he's just returned from some kind of business trip and not (self-inflicted) eternal punishment.
"Glad you're back," he says, beaming. Stepping closer, he lowers his voice. "Now I can actually leave without worrying about her."
Persephone's indignant Abeoji! is loud enough to startle some wraiths sweeping the pathways outside of Elysium.
When Demeter eventually leaves, he thanks Hades, then pats Persephone gently on her cheek. "You must make a decision," he says softly, and she feels her stomach plummet. She'd only just been reunited with Hades, did she have to think about leaving him? But as her father trudges away across the back gates, towards a waiting Triptolemus' car, she has to admit that the idea of returning to wake up the plants is not altogether distasteful. She just wishes there was a way to do it without leaving Hades behind.
-
While Prometheus is (ably) manning the Ferry, Hades drops by the empty docks to stare at the rushing waters of the Styx. He thinks about Charon's relentless determination to help him, even at times of complete peril. He'd been an expert spy and confidant and the fact that Hades had not even seen his shroud burning hurt more than he'd expected. Sighing, he leans down to water a small sapling near the dock. Persephone had told him she'd planted a singular white poppy plant there in honour of Charon and with her blessing, it was already growing healthy and green.
As he sees the Ferry approach in the distance, hearing Prometheus' happy chatter echo across the waters, in direct opposition to what had been Charon's typical stoicism, he smiles.
-
Zeus, ironically enough, is the most satisfied to see Hades return. He sighs and sinks into his throne with palpable relief when he sets his eyes on his brother. "Oh, good," he mutters, then sends Persephone an apologetic look. "Not that I minded you being on the throne-" he begins to say, but she waves him away. It is much easier to like Zeus when he's being humble.
This should last for another, oh, three months, Hades says snidely in her mind,
"I didn't enjoy it anyway," she tells Zeus, ignoring Hades' mental commentary. "I'm more suited to being the Queen and Goddess of Spring. Lord of the Dead requires a little too much paperwork," she says flippantly. Zeus rolls his eyes.
"Does this mean you shall return to your post? It's now February, and the human news is littered with news about global warming and dismal things about spring never coming. It's frankly a little too much to deal with on top of the consequences of all the mayhem of the winter."
Hades and Persephone exchange looks, though they know she can only have one answer.
-
"I promise I will return," she whispers, as they hold hands and walk down the new pathways in their re-grown vineyards. It's not even strictly a vineyard anymore, because she's changed the very biology of the trees to be hybrid things that sprout pomegranates and grapes all at once. There's an added charm of black thorny vines interspersed everywhere, which she assures him is a protective measure for them as much as an aesthetic one.
He grips her hand a little tightly at her words, though he tries to keep his tone light. "You can come back whenever you like," he tries to say cheerfully. They come to a stop and he leans down to press his lips against hers, trying to memorise the feeling. She leaves him at sunrise to set the world's seasonal cycle right again and he knows it'll be months before she can return to him. Logically, they know nothing is stopping each other from visiting, but the nature of their jobs means neither can stay away from their realms for too long. "I'm telling you I'll come back," she tries to say but trails off at the expression on his face. He knows he's having a hard time hiding his regret at this impending departure, can see it reflected in her own face. He wants to so badly ask her to damn the world and stay with him, wants to shower her with luxury and power to entice her, wants to trap her with -
He puts the thought resolutely out of his mind. He will not resort to the one option he has left, because it is better she willingly leave him for months than stay forever a prisoner. Suddenly, she is wrenching herself out of his arms and stalking towards the trees.
"What are you doing?" he asks, baffled, as she reaches up and plucks a pomegranate. The fruits are no longer gems or half-gems because her new hybrid trees are all real. Knocking the red skin sharply, she runs a fingernail down the side of the fruit as it cracks open. Inside, he sees ruby-red clusters of the seeds. "Persephone," he starts, moving towards her, his body understanding what she's going to do before his brain can.
"No, Persephone, don't b-"
Even as reaches her and knocks the fruit out of her hands, he can see it is too late - she already has a handful in her hands and she's dropping six into her mouth.
"Why would you do that?" he asks her fiercely, eyes on her lips, now slightly stained with the juice of what she's eaten. She kisses him, tasting of moonlight and pomegranate and recklessness.
"I will return, Hades," she says, equally fiercely. "As the seasons turn to autumn, I will return to you, and take my place at your side."
He sighs, letting his forehead rest against hers. Of course she found out that eating food in the Underworld would doom any being to staying. In hindsight, he doesn't know why he thought keeping it from her would work. "I didn't need you to do that," he says.
"Fool," she says affectionately. "I bit into temptation a long time ago. What's some fruit in the grand scheme of things?"
|
It had been a long day at the 118 firehouse. Multiple calls and accidents had left the entire team feeling drained as they got ready to go home.
Eddie was particularly exhausted. Between his day job and the fights he entered at night, he was barely getting 5 hours of sleep a night, 6 on a good day.
He couldn't go on like this.
He had to find a way out of these street fights.
There was a time when he needed them to keep his anger at bay, but that time had passed. Now, he was tired of fighting for his life several times a week, wondering if every fight would be his last.
Eddie was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't notice Buck coming up behind him in the locker room.
The two had started dating before the tsunami, but recent events with the lawsuit had left their relationship strained. They were walking on eggshells around each other, and had been for weeks.
“So, do you maybe want to head back to my place and talk?” Buck asked Eddie hopefully.
“Busy tonight, but some other time?” Eddie said distractedly, grabbing his stuff from his locker. He was so exhausted from the events of the day that he didn’t see Buck’s face fall, the hopeful expression snuffed out.
“Uh yeah, sure. Whatever.”
Eddie watched Buck walk out of the locker room, shoulders slumped and looking defeated. He groaned and sat down on the bench, head in his hands.
He wanted so badly to go with Buck. To talk to him, to make things right in a way that they hadn’t been in a long time.
But he couldn’t.
Not until he managed to get out of street fighting.
Keeping Buck at arms length was killing him, but it was the only way to keep him safe until this was over.
He would never forgive himself if buck or Chris was hurt by his involvement in these fights.
He needed to get out, in order to be the man that Buck deserved and the father that Christopher needed. He couldn’t wait any longer.
He didn’t care that he had a match scheduled for the following night.
Tonight, he was going to tell Jackson he was done.
“What the hell are you talking about? You have a fight scheduled tomorrow, the biggest fight of the season! You can’t quit now!” Jackson raged over the phone a short while later.
“I have to back out. I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone else to fight tomorrow. I’m done with all of this.” Eddie responded bluntly, making sure Chris couldn’t hear him from the living room. it was a miracle that Chris hadn't questioned the late nights or Eddie's new injuries. He didn't want to jeopardize that now that he was so close to getting out.
“I swear to God, you better show up tomorrow Diaz or I will make you regret it!”
“I already regret doing this in the first place, Jackson. There’s nothing you can do to make me show up tomorrow. Deal with it.” Eddie hung up the phone to Jackson swearing. He then texted Buck, seeing if he was free to talk tomorrow.
Tomorrow, he was going to go see Buck. He would apologize to his boyfriend, and try and make everything right between them.
Tomorrow, everything would be okay.
He hoped. He didn’t know how to exist without Buck in his life.
He never wanted to exist without Buck in his life.
Meanwhile:
Buck had been driving around since he left the station, trying to clear his head.
Things between him and Eddie hadn’t been alright since the lawsuit. Buck knew that that was partially on him but it was also Eddie’s fault.
Eddie had refused to see his boyfriend’s side of the story. Buck understood that Eddie was going through a lot, but it was still hurtful to realize that Eddie didn’t have his back the same way that Buck had his.
Buck didn’t even know if he and Eddie were in a relationship anymore. They hadn’t spent any time together outside of work in weeks. It almost felt like when he was dating Abby, just waiting for her to come back.
Buck sighed as he parked his car outside of his apartment building.
He checked his phone as he left the jeep and saw a text from Eddie. He wanted to talk to him tomorrow night.
Buck was about to respond when he became aware of someone behind him. Before he could turn around he was grabbed by the neck and pulled away from the car. Hits to his face and chest followed, Buck being too disoriented to fight back.
He was finally slammed face down onto the hood of his jeep. He tried to use his Seal training to break their grip, but he was exhausted after a long shift and disoriented by the blows to the head.
As he struggled, he felt a pinch in his neck before everything went black.
Buck awoke a while later, tied to a chair in a dark room.
He tried to break free, but was unsuccessful before a man entered the room.
“Glad to see Sleeping Beauty is awake! I worried we gave you too much sedative.” The man smirked as he came towards Buck. He was tall, with short blond hair and snakelike green eyes. Eyes that were currently locked onto Buck.
“Who the fuck are you? What’s going on?” Buck spat at him, still trying to get himself free.
Suddenly Buck’s head snapped to the side as the man backhanded him across the face. he felt the skin break on his cheek, the stinging sensation dispelling the last fogginess from the drug.
“You will speak to me with respect.” the man hissed, before regaining his composure.
“My name is Jackson. I run an organization that specializes in discreet matches for money.”
it took Buck a minute ti figure out what the man was talking about, before the meaning became clear.
“You run an underground fighting ring? What do you want with me, I’m not a fighter.” Buck asked, confused as to why he was here.
Jackson rolled his eyes before continuing to speak.
“I’m aware of that. It just so happens that you, Evan Buckley, are here to provide leverage to ensure one of my fighters shows up for their match tonight. They tried to back out yesterday, and I can’t have that.”
Jackson leaned forward to grab Buck’s chin, ignoring Buck’s struggles to get away.
“But if I have you, Diaz will have to show up tonight.”
Buck was shocked.
This was about Eddie?
Why was Eddie involved in street fighting?
And why did this guy think Buck was the key to getting Eddie to show up?
He laughed, causing Jackson to release him and frown.
“Eddie and I have barely spoken in months. I doubt he’s going to show up just because you have me.” Buck scoffed, hoping he was hiding how nervous he felt.
Jackson took a piece of cloth out of his pocket and quickly gagged Buck, growing tired of this conversation.
“For your sake, I hope that isn’t true.” Jackson said darkly before turning to leave.
Buck glared at his retreating figure and shouted, the gag muffling any attempts at words. He continued to try and break free, but the opes refused to budge.
He finally decided to save his strength for a possible escape attempt later on.
Left alone with his thoughts, they turned to Eddie.
How did Eddie get involved in all of this?
How long has it been going on?
And would Eddie actually come if Buck was in danger?
Buck hoped that he would. Even if things were bad between them, Buck hoped that Eddie would care.
Something told him this wouldn’t end well for him if Eddie didn’t show tonight.
The next day:
Eddie was sitting at home with Christopher, waiting to hear back from Buck.
Eddie had expected Buck to still be angry, and so he wasn’t holding out hope that Buck would want to talk to him straight away.
Except that he was.
He really missed Buck and he wanted so badly to get back to the way things were between them.
Eddie’s phone buzzed, and he eagerly looked at the screen.
Instead of the text from Buck he was hoping for, he found a text from Jackson instead.
Tonight
Ten o clock at the junkyard.
Be there.
Eddie huffed in annoyance. Did Jackson think he was kidding last night?
Screw you
, Eddie texted back.
I told you I’m out.
Another text came through a moment later.
Maybe this will change your mind.
A photo was sent with the text. Eddie clicked on it, nearly dropping the phone when the image loaded.
It was a picture of Buck. He was wearing the same clothes as when he left the firehouse the night before, and was slumped over in the chair he was tied to. his head was tilted downward, but Eddie could make out some slight bruising on his face.
Eddie immediately called the number.
“What kind of sick game is this?” He snarled when the call was connected.
“Have I got your attention now?” Jackson smugly asked.
“Buck has nothing to do with any of this, you sick son of a bitch!”
“Oh is that what you call him? I know he’s completely innocent. But I also know that you care about him, and so he’s serving a purpose right now.”
“You’re wrong.” Eddie said, swallowing around the lump in this throat. ‘How did they find out how I feel about Buck? I’ve kept him away since all of this started.’
“I don’t think I am, but I suppose we’ll find out tonight.”
What the hell does that mean?” Eddie asked angrily.
“It means that if you don’t show, your precious Buck over here won’t live to see morning. I don’t take kindly to people who cross me, Diaz. ”
The two of them were silent after Jackson spoke.
“I’ll be there.” Eddie forced out through gritted teeth.
“Buck will be surprised at that. He seemed to think you wouldn’t care. You’ve done quite a number on that boy of yours.” Jackson responded, chuckling darkly.
Eddie flinched at that before speaking again.
“I want to speak to him before the fight tonight. I need to see with my own eyes that he’s okay or I’m not stepping in that ring.” Eddie finally said, his mind racing trying to figure a way out of that.
“Just as long as you show up. I’d hate for anything else to happen to that pretty face of his. See you there, Diaz.” Jackson hung up.
Eddie slumped into the couch, his mind reeling.
Jackson had Buck.
He had him, and he hurt him.
This was all Eddie's fault.
He’d been staying away from Buck for weeks, keeping him at arm's length, trying to keep him away from all of this.
He wasn't even sure how Jackson knew about Buck; he hadn't so much as mentioned his name when at the ring.
And now his worst nightmare is coming true.
Eddie had no choice.
He had to fight in one last fight.
He had to save Buck’s life.
Eddie pulled up to the junkyard at half past nine, parking his car and entering the area. He was able to arrange a last minute sleepover for Chris with Harry, and had dropped Chris off at Bobby and Athena’s a few hours before. Eddie was grateful that Athena had not been there, knowing that she would see right through him and know something was wrong.
Eddie had spent the rest of the time driving around trying to calm his mind. He knew that if he and Buck were going to get out of this, he needed to have his mind clear and focused.
Eddie walked towards where he knew Jackson’s office was located, his mind consumed with making sure that Buck was okay.
Two of Jackson’s cronies intercepted him before he got too far.
“Little too early, why don’t you hang tight until the fight starts.” One of them suggested in a tone that made it clear that they weren’t asking a question.
“I’m not going anywhere until I see Buck.” Eddie said, his tone braver than he felt. He knew that if he pushed too hard it would be Buck paying the price.
One of the men got a text, raising his eyebrows as he read it.
“Boss wants us to bring him back,” he told the other.
The other man grunted and flanked Eddie as they moved further in, making it clear that there was no point in fighting them.
Eddie found himself standing in an improvised office, waiting with the men on either side of him.
Jackson strolled into the room, looking unsurprised to see Eddie waiting there.
“Someone’s eager for tonight.” He drawled, raising an eyebrow.
“Where’s Buck?” Eddie interrupted him, his blood boiling at the smug look on his face.
“He’s fine, don't worry about him.” Jackson said in a dismissive tone.
“I want to talk to him before the fight.” Eddie snapped, his temper flaring.
Jackson groaned in annoyance.
“Fine, whatever.”
Jackson turned his head back the way he had come, whistling sharply.
Two men immediately entered the room, dragging Buck between them. Eddie’s heart sank at his condition. His hands were tied behind him, his face carried several impressive bruises, and the way he was barely holding himself upright made Eddie suspect broken ribs. He wasn’t even able to walk on his own, as his ankles were tied together as well.
Buck glared at Jackson, unable to speak with a strip of cloth tied tightly around his mouth. His gaze turned to Eddie, and a look of shock and worry spread across his face.
Eddie’s heart ached that Buck could have ever thought that he wouldn't show up if he was in trouble. He really had a lot to make up for when it came to his boyfriend.
“Can we have a moment alone?” Eddie asked, unable to tear his eyes away from Buck’s.
“You’re not exactly in the position to be making demands.” Jackson scoffed, his men chuckling from around the room.
“Look, I’m here, and I’m going to fight. What’s the harm in letting me speak to him alone for a few minutes?” Eddie said, trying to keep from begging.
He had to talk to Buck. He had to apologize for ever getting mixed up in any of this, and for dragging buck into this.
Jackson looked between the two of them and rolled his eyes.
“Five minutes, and then you’re in the ring. No funny business, and his hands stay tied. I don’t want any surprises when I get back.” He directed, gesturing for buck to be released.
The men pushed buck to his knees and then left the room. Eddie waited all of three seconds before dropping to his knees next to Buck and removing the gag.
“I am so sorry that you got caught up in this Buck. Everything’s going to be okay, I promise.” Eddie told Buck, his hands nervously touching Buck's shoulders to steady the younger man.
“Eddie, what the hell is going on? How did you get involved with these people?” Buck asked, wincing as he moved his shoulders.
Eddie sighed, his head drooping.
“Lena got me involved with street fighting during the lawsuit, which ended up leading me to this underground fighting ring. I’ve been trying to get out for some time, but I’m in too deep. I just didn’t want anyone I care about to get hurt.” He told Buck.
“Is that why you’ve been keeping your distance from me?” Buck asked, his brow furrowed.
“Yeah, not that it did any good. I tried telling them I was out this week, but they said I needed to fight in the match tonight. I told them to go to hell, and here we are. I swear, I never meant for this to come back to you. I am so sorry for getting you involved in all of this.” Eddie responded, upset at the choices that had led him there.
“I honestly just thought that you hated me after the tsunami and the lawsuit.” Buck confessed.
“Buck,” Eddie said, horrified, “I could never hate you. I’m so sorry for ever making you feel that way. I promise I’ll make it up to you when this is over.”
Eddie pulled Buck into a hug, careful not to squeeze tightly. Buck nuzzled close to Eddie, unable to do much else.
“Okay,” Buck asked when they pulled apart. “What’s the plan? How are we getting out of here before the fight?”
Eddie stared at him in disbelief. “There’s no plan here. I’m going to fight in the ring, and then I’m getting both of us out of here.”
Buck shook his head, his eyes wide.
“Eddie you can’t,” he argued. “You can’t go in that ring. Who knows what could happen? You could die if you fight. What would Christopher do if he lost you?”
“And you will die if I don’t fight.” Eddie responded, shaking Buck lightly. “I don’t know what could happen if I go in that ring, but I know what will happen if I don’t. I can’t lose you, and neither can Chris. So I am going into that ring, and then we are going home.”
Eddie moved his hands to Buck’s face, his thumb lightly sweeping over Buck’s birthmark.
“I am going to get us out of this. I promised you once I would always have your back, so please let me have it. I love you, Evan. I can’t imagine losing you.”
Buck looked dazed by Eddie’s heartfelt words, and was about to respond when the door banged open.
“Time’s up, boys.” Jackson announced as he strolled back through the door. His men swarmed the room, pulling Eddie and Buck apart.
Eddie watched helplessly as Jackson approached Buck. A low growl burst from his throat as Jackson grabbed Buck’s chin, forcing Buck to look at him.
“Are you going to behave yourself tonight, or do we need to have another talk about respect?” Jackson asked Buck, a note of steel in his voice.
Eddie’s eyes locked onto the cut on Buck’s cheek, a mark that matched the ring that Jackson wore on his right hand.
His blood boiled as Buck nodded, glaring at Jackson the whole time.
Jackson smirked at Buck, releasing his chin. Before either of them knew what was happening, Jackson punched buck across the face.
“Not that I don’t believe you, but I’m in the business of making sure things go my way.” he said, as Buck slumped where he was held by Jackson’s men.
“Why did you do that?!” Eddie tried to lunge at Jackson but was held back, one man holding each of his arms.
“Because I wanted to, Diaz. I don’t need another reason.” Jackson told Eddie.
Eddie glared at him but knew that trying to retaliate wouldn’t end well.
“Don't worry Diaz. Your boy will be just fine as long as you win tonight’s match.” Jackson continued as Eddie was forced from the room, watching as Buck was tied to a chair before the men holding him left the room. He saw Jackson lock the door as he exited, slipping the key into his coat pocket.
“Hope you’re ready to fight, Diaz.”
Eddie shrugged in response to that, It wasn’t like he had a choice. He had to fight whether he was ready or not.
Jackson gestured to the ring, and Eddie reluctantly followed him.
“The match will start in 5 minutes. If you win, you and your boy can walk right on out of here. Lose, and you won’t like what happens to him. Are we clear?” Jackson asked Eddie.
Eddie got the feeling he was expected to respond, so he grumbled his assent.
“Good!” Jackson made as if to leave and then turned back around. “One last thing; the audience tonight really wants a show, so don’t win straight away. Just try and enjoy yourself.”
Eddie glared at Jackson’s retreating back, before preparing himself for the fight ahead.
As he wrapped up his wrists, Eddie scanned the crowd that was quickly forming around the ring. Easily three hundred people had filled the room, and more were filling in.
Eddie saw Lena in the crowd, and suddenly it was all clear.
Lena sold him out.
Jackson knew about Buck because she told him. She was the only one involved with fighting who knew that he and Buck were dating.
Eddie couldn't believe that she had done this. He thought Lena was his friend. He would never forgive her for dragging Buck into this
Before Eddie knew it, the five minutes were up and the fight was about to start.
“Ladies and gentlemen, tonight's fight features two of the more vicious souls to ever enter the ring!” Jackson announced, catching the attention of the audience.
Eddie was suddenly very glad that Buck was in the office, and not out here listening to this. He never wanted Buck to see this side of him. It was bad enough that Buck had been dragged into this at all.
“Let’s give it up for Diaz and Cobra!”
Eddie entered the ring, his eyes widening as he took in his opponent.
Cobra was a giant man, with a shaved head and tattoos running up both arms. He towered over Eddie by at least a few inches, and outweighed him by at least thirty pounds of pure muscle.
He was quite possibly the biggest man Eddie had ever faced in the ring.
Eddie wasn't sure that he could beat him, but he had to.
Losing wasn’t an option tonight.
Not with Buck’s life on the line.
The audience cheered, thirsty for bloodshed.
“Remember the rules: tap out or knock out! Let the match begin!” Jackson exclaimed, moving from the ring as Eddie and Cobra faced each other.
The fight moved quickly and brutally, Cobra immediately lashing out at Eddie. Eddie dodged, grabbing Cobra by the throat and throwing him away from him.
Cobra started to storm back towards Eddie, but was stopped by the sound of sirens.
Before Eddie knew what was going on, the police had swarmed the area. The crowd scattered, but Eddie saw jackson get arrested in all of the chaos.
Eddie saw Athena in the crowd, and she made her way over to him.
“Eddie, are you okay? Where’s Buck?” She asked, her eyes scanning him for injuries.
“He’s in the office. I think he’s alone in there.” Eddie told her, starting to move back to the office.
Athena followed him, kicking down the door once they got there. Eddie immediately rushed to Buck, untying him from the chair and cradling his face in his hands. Buck blinked slowly, clearly out of it from the blow to the head.
“He needs to go to the hospital and get checked out.” Athena said before radioing for medical assistance.
“How did you know we were here?” Eddie asked her.
“Bobby and I thought something was up when you called earlier, so we tried to get in touch with Buck. We found his car abandoned at his building, and knew something was wrong. So, I followed you when you dropped off Chris, and called for backup when I realized what was going on.” Athena told him matter of factly.
“How did you get mixed up in all of this, Eddie?” Athena asked him, raising an eyebrow.
Eddie sighed before telling her the story.
How he was spiraling during the lawsuit, how Lena brought him here to let off steam, and how he’d been trying to get out ever since. During the story, Buck got out of the chair and was slumped against Eddie on the ground, Eddie running his fingers through Buck’s hair.
“It was Lena who told them to target Buck, I'm sure of it. I was trying so hard to keep him away from all of this, and she was the only one who knew about us.” Eddie said, fighting back tears while thinking about how close they came to this ending badly.
If Athena hadn’t been suspicious, or if Eddie had lost the fight, they could have lost each other for good.
“Okay, let’s get you and your boy to the hospital, and I’ll take care of Lena myself.” Athena promised, a dark look on her face as the paramedics finally came in.
“You’ll eventually need to testify, but I doubt there'll be any charges against you.” Athena continued before leaving to take care of Lena
“Am I still your boy?” Buck said, looking up at Eddie with a dazed expression on his face.
“You’re mine and I’m yours, for as long as you’ll have me.” Eddie promised, swallowing back tears.
He made Buck doubt how he felt about him, and he didn't know if he would ever forgive himself for that. He knew he’d have to spend the rest of his life making sure he never made Buck feel that way ever again.
“I’ll always want you, Eds.” Buck said before falling unconscious.
Eddie followed the paramedics to the ambulance, holding Buck’s hand the entire way. On the way out of the arena, he saw Athena escorting Lena to her car in handcuffs. Lena glared at Eddie, but he didn’t spare her a second thought as he jumped in the back of the ambulance to ride with Buck.
After Eddie got checked out at the hospital, he took a seat by buck’s bedside, watching his chest rise and fall as he peacefully slept.
Eddie knew that he had a lot to make up for with Buck, not even counting the events of the night.
But he didn't care.
He loved Buck and would never do anything to make Buck doubt that again.
No matter what happened next, Eddie was going to make sure Buck never forgot how much Eddie cared about him.
It would take a while, but he thought they would be all right in the end.
And hopefully, this would be the last fight they were ever involved in.
|
In the fourth grade, Stiles' father had told him that they would be moving to a new town because of a wonderful opportunity for him to be a sheriff instead of a well respected deputy. Stiles wasn't too broken up about it. When the boy was three years old he had informed his parents that his favorite color was pink and was wanted nothing else for his birthday than a pink sweater. The boy's mother, without a trace of sickness in her yet, hadn't seen any reason not to buy him a pink sweater, and the smile on her sons face was worth a few weird faces at Whole Foods.
All his life, since he was an infant, stiles absolutely hated pants, and when he was five, when he came down the dinner in one of his mothers skirts, hemmed with a rubber band at the side, Claudia and John had known immediately that their son was going to be different; but they didn't try to change him. If he was going to grow out of it, they wanted it to be his decision, not because of social qualms. In the third grade, when Stiles was eight and had decided he wanted to wear a black skirt with his Batman shirt to school, his parents received a very concerned phone call from a very passive aggressive teacher. The stilinski's gracefully told the school to fuck off, in not so many words, and allowed their son to continue to pick out his own clothes, though not actively encouraging nor discouraging it.
When Stiles' mother died, her last words to him were 'always stay true to yourself, no matter what anyone might say, I love you', the words hung in his mind with a sweet echo, reminding him that his mother was his first acceptor. John was a mess the first year and a half after Claudia died, she was always the fierce protector of both of them and without her, John didn't know how to protect Stiles from everything the world had in it. So he taught him how to fight; how to defend himself if he ever needed to. And it worked; in more ways than they thought it would. Stiles learned the art of self defense, and he grew an unbreakable bond with his dad.
So at ten years old, when stiles was waiting in the front office of his new school in a pink skirt and a white tee shirt, he wasn't nervous or scared at all; his father was sitting beside him.
"Alright Mr Stilinski, you're all set for your new class" the woman at the front desk said, offering an almost genuine smile. Stiles beamed up at her and gracefully took the map of the school into his hand.
"Thank you very much, ma'am" he said sweetly. Any trace of judgment melted away from the woman's face at the kind tone in this little boy's voice, her features fixing into an adoring one.
"Of course dear, hope you have a wonderful first day and come to me if you need anything at all" she said, patting his shoulder softly before turning back to her computer. Stiles looked up at his dad, who was smiling down at him, he was dressed head to toe in his new sheriff uniform, his badge sparkling with the sunlight that was streaming into the office.
"You want me to walk you to your new class?" John asked, reaching for the map; but stiles pulled it away with a reassuring smile.
"I got this, dad. I'm okay" Stiles reassures. John sighed, running his fingers through his sons soft brown hair with a nervous smile.
"I love you, kid" the Sheriff leaned down and pressed a kiss to Stiles' forehead, closing his eyes for a brief moment before stepping away.
"I love you too, dad" Stiles nodded once before he was turning around and starting down the hall. His white Chuck Taylor's clapped against be linoleum as he navigated his way through the school until he was looking at room 23. Without an ounce of hesitation, the boy opened the door and stepped into the classroom. The teacher stood up from her desk at the sight of him, the entire room growing quiet; fingers stopped on pencils, feet stopped tapping, voices stopped chattering. Stiles smiled, looking up at the teacher with a sparkle in his eyes.
"Hello. I'm Stiles Stilinski, are you Mrs Jacobs?" He asked politely. The woman nodded, stunned into silence.
"Dude, why are you wearing a skirt?" A boy asked from the front row. Stiles looked over at the boy with light blonde hair, wearing jeans and a race-car tee shirt and gave him a sweet smile.
"Cause I like it, it's my favorite color" Stiles said, absentmindedly smoothing his skirt out. This seemed to have snapped the teacher back into focus, because she was clearing her throat and nodding towards the desks.
"Go ahead and take a seat, Mr Stilinski" Mrs Jacobs smiled forcefully. Stiles nodded, sitting in the only empty seat beside a girl with blonde hair that scooted away when he sat down. Stiles sighed internally, his fingers twitching in his lap when he could feel the intense stares of people trying to understand him.
By the time lunch rolled around, Stiles had been asked seven times why he dressed like a girl. He answered politely and kindly each time, never losing patience. No one had really talked to him, but he didn't mind that, no one had talked to him at his last school either, it didn't bother him anymore.
"Hey stilinski!" A voice called as stiles was walking towards a large tree behind the swing sets. The little boy turned around and swallowed harshly as the boy, who had first asked him about his outfit, was quickly approaching him with two other boy's.
"Hello" he waved shy and unsure. The boy didn't slow down his pace until he was directly in front of his stiles and he could place his hands on the boy's chest and push hard. Stiles went down with a thud and a quiet whimper, his eyes wide. Before the boy could pull out one of his dads self defense moves, the other boy was already on the ground beside stiles and there was a new boy on top of him, glaring daggers.
"Don't touch him, Jackson, you're being a meanie and I'm going to tell Miss Perez on you" the boy shouted, pointing an accusatory finger at the boy in Stiles' class - Jackson, he's assuming.
"Fine! Get your fat ass off me, McCall" Jackson huffed, shoving at the boy on top of him. The boy looked down at stiles with a lopsided smile and a crooked jaw, offering him a hand.
"Thank you" stiles smiled sweetly at the boy, accepting his hand and allowing him to pull him up from the ground.
"I'm Scott McCall, you wanna come eat lunch with me?" The boy asked. Stiles beamed at him, nodding silently as the boy led him back to an empty table beside the fence where an avengers lunchbox was sitting open.
"Oh! I love the avengers! Who's your favorite?" Stiles asked with wide eyes; and that's how stiles met his first actual friend. Since then, school hadn't been so painfully mediocre. He would sit with Scott at lunch and when they finally moved onto middle school, they had four out of six of their classes together and were ultimately inseparable. Things didn't change through high school; Scott was still an asthmatic puppy with a crooked jaw, and stiles still wore skirts and loved Star Wars. The only thing that did change, or more so expanded, was their friend ground. Danny joined their little gang in middle school when he was new and instantly drawn to Stiles' confidence. Lydia was drawn in in freshman year when Stiles complimented her shoes and she actually liked his in return; they both finally had someone to go shopping with. The four of them were attached at the hip as they entered their senior year.
At the beginning of his freshman year, Derek had nearly nibbled his nail down to the nub. His foot wouldn't stop tapping against the tile and he didn't know what to do with his hands.
"What are you so nervous for?" Derek turned to glare at Erica, rolling his eyes as he waiting in the orientation line.
"Why aren't you nervous? We're going into high school, this is nerve wracking" Derek whisper yelled, earning a few glances. Erica rolled her eyes, placing both hands on his shoulders and shaking.
"Snap out of it" she said, dropping her hands with a laugh. "We've known these people all our lives, it's a small town, get a grip Hale" as soon as she finishes her sentence, Derek saw him. He was wearing a white skirt and a baggy grey tee shirt with white stockings that reached up to his thighs. Derek could see the splattering of moles from where he was standing, the little beauty marks dotting his creamy skin without pattern. His skin looked so smooth and Derek wanted to touch it, he wanted to feel it beneath his fingers. The boy was short in height, his nose would probably reach up to Derek's chin if they were standing face to face. Derek couldn't breathe.
"Derek?" He heard his name being called but he couldn't peel his eyes away from the boy who was engaged in a conversation with a puppy looking boy. "Derek" a sharp slap was sent to the back of his head, making him yelp and turn back to Erica, who was raising her eyebrows questioningly.
"Who are you staring at?" She asked, trying to pinpoint who he had lost all motor functions over. Derek huffed, moving forward in the registration line.
"No one" Derek muttered. When Erica turned around, Derek chanced another look at the boy, feeling his heart pick up speed at the sight. He was so beautiful. He was the most beautiful person Derek had ever seen in his entire life, he needed to know this boy.
Throughout all three years of the beginning of high school, Derek had never managed to have a full conversation with the boy. Erica had choked it out of him further into freshman year, but she swore to secrecy when she realized just how gone on him Derek was. Derek could barely manage to croak one full sentence to the boy before he was chickening out. Derek would like to consider himself a pretty confident person: he had been captain of the basketball team since sophomore year, he was on the debate team, he got almost all A's, he had a large group of friends, and he wasn't bad looking. However, as soon as Stiles was in sight, his entire brain stopped working, the useless pile of pink matter flashed a bright neon sign reading STILESSTILESSTILES and he would lose all function of life. Derek had deemed himself pathetic at some point in sophomore year.
But that would all change by the time Halloween of their senior year rolled around.
"Derek!" Erica screeched in his ear, making him flinch and wince. The boy shifted his eyes from Stiles, who was looking lovely in a white summer dress and a pink cardigan, towards Erica, who was smirking at him in all her, You're-pathetic-and-I'm-not-afraid-to-let-you-know, glory. "Will you stop staring at Stilinski for two seconds and help us with these damn Halloween costume plans" the girl said, smacking the back of his head.
"Why can't you just dictate our clothes like you do every other day?" Derek grumbled, sneaking one last look at Stiles before turning his full attention to his blonde friend.
"Because every idea that she had involves us sharing one costume and her being the star piece. I want equal star shining time" Derek turned his attention to the eccentric curly haired boy sitting across from him, a scarf wrapped perfectly around his neck and his curls hanging delicately over his forehead. Derek huffed a laugh, pushing his lunch around his tray but not really eating it.
"I just want us to have the best damn costumes at this damn party! Sue me" Erica raised her hands in a surrendering motion.
"I'll have my lawyer call your lawyer" Isaac said, ducking his head when Erica threw a grape at him.
"Why don't you whip up the best costume you can and win it for yourself. We're practically just dead weight" Derek looked up at Boyd, who was as neutral faced as ever, staring at his girlfriend with an eyebrows raised. Erica pointed to the boy with her fork and raised her own perfectly plucked eyebrows at Derek and Isaac.
"See?" She gestured towards Boyd. "This is why I'm dating him and not you two" she said.
"That and the fact that we're gay" Derek shrugged, eliciting two laughs and an annoyed huff.
"Whatever. Annoy me too much and I might tell Stilinski who his stalker is" Erica said, flicking Derek's arm.
"What?" Derek's eyes widened. "First of all, I am not a stalker. I'd like to think of as more admiring the natural essence of his beauty" he felt tempted to flick her back but he liked having all of his limbs attached to his body. "Second of all, you would never do that because if you did, I would never talk to you ever again and you could never live without my star charm" he said with finality.
"Whatever lover boy" Erica rolled her eyes. Derek huffed, allowing his eyes to travel back towards Stiles' table, where the pale boy had his head thrown back in laughter. Derek sighed almost dreamily at the sight.
Halloween was one of Derek's favorite holidays, it beat out thanksgiving by a landslide and narrowly lost by Christmas. It was the least stressful holiday and it was the one time of year he could be confident in himself as someone else. This year, he had chosen to go to Lydia Martins Halloween bash as a very subtle Robin. He was going more for the Teen Titans aspect rather than the sidekick.
Erica picked him up in an 'I'm not a fucking sexy angel, they got the size wrong, Derek' sexy angel costume, accompanied by zombie Boyd and Mad Hatter Isaac. Derek felt great on his way to Lydia's 'costume mandatory' Halloween Bash. There were teenagers in costumes everywhere, drinking beer and various other intoxicating beverages and stumbling around talking and laughing. The house was spewing with people, the living room jam packed with dancing and drinking, the kitchen full of belly shots and flip cup. The four of them made it out to the backyard relatively unscathed, though Isaac was groped more than once. There was an intense game of beer pong going on at the side of the pool and a lot of skinny dipping happening in said pool.
"If costumes were mandatory, does that mean they're breaking the rules?" Derek asked, pointing to the group of teens naked in the pool.
"One would assume so" Erica tsked before leading them all to the keg. Derek settled with a cup of beer at the side of the house, the mask over his eyes caused him questioning glances from people who would otherwise recognize him immediately; he was enjoying the anonymity.
"Well, well, well" the soft voice was so familiar, it made Derek's stomach twist with a satisfying warmth as he turned around and faced the person speaking. The sight of him made Derek's mouth dry. Stiles was standing before him a Starfire costume that was leaving Little to Derek's imagination; the purple skirt of the costume went to just above his mid thigh, his boots reaching up past his knees, and the perfectly crafted crop top reaching maybe one or two inches below where his nipples are. His head was covered with a red wig that pooled gracefully down his shoulders and back. There was a sweet little smile on the boy's face as he stood in front of Derek, staring up at him. "Looks like we're both geniuses with very good taste in television" Stiles laughed softly. Derek snapped himself out of his frozen state and put on a charming smile. Stiles doesn't know who he is, Derek doesn't have to worry about embarrassing himself because he isn't even himself right now.
"We must be, although I'm not pulling this off nearly as amazingly as you are" he said, praising himself for the fact that it came out as smooth as it did. Stiles blushed, brushing the red hair over his shoulder.
"I wouldn't say that, you're definitely the best Robin I've seen. You beat Robby Mcallister by a landslide" Stiles smiled, pointing over to the aforementioned boy who was wearing a cape and a badge with an R written on it with sharpie. Derek shook his head at the pitiful sight before turning back to Stiles.
"Absolutely horrendous, if you're going to be anything you might as well do it right. You look absolutely incredible" Derek said, leaning his back against the wall and taking a long swig of his beer.
"Thank you, you should see my friend Scott's costume, he half-assed a zombie. That's the most basic thing you could be on Halloween, how do you mess it up?" Stiles threw his arms up, shaking his head with a disappointed sigh. Derek laughed softly, watching the way Stiles absentmindedly brushes the hair away from his face
"It takes a very skillfully crafted lazy attitude in order to fuck up a zombie costume, and that is an art in and of itself" Derek probably shouldn't have felt so proud of himself when Stiles laughed at what he said, but couldn't help the proud smile that fought itself onto his lips.
"Don't let him hear you say that, he'll bail on all the plans we make because he thinks laying in bed and eating Doritos all day is art" Stiles smiles, brushing a few red locks off of his shoulder. Derek chuckled into his cup before taking a long swig of remaining contents.
"Would you like to dance?" He asked, pointing to the large porch, where a large group of people where dancing. Stiles blushed, nodding his head softly as he held his hand out for Derek, backing up slowly towards the porch. Derek threw his cup in a large bin as he placed his hand in Stiles' pulling the boy towards the porch. They pushed themselves to the middle of the large porch, the tightness of the space causing them to stand close, their chests grazing as they settled into the proximity. Derek placed his hands gently on the boy's hips as Stiles' arms wrapped gingerly around Derek's neck. They swayed against each other, talking in each other's ear over he music, smiling and laughing in all the ways Derek had envisioned.
Then it was over.
All too soon, after the fourth song Stiles was being whisked away my half-ass zombie Scott McCall and Derek was watching him walk away.
"It was the single best night of my life" Derek had stared at lunch the following Monday, passing around a little bag full of candy. Erica rolled her eyes, Isaac and Boyd just laughed.
"Okay Prince Charming– no, secret identity; you're definitely Cinderella in this scenario– you're telling me, that you danced the night away with the guy you've been crushing on since 9th grade and you didn't. tell. him. who. you. were?" Erica asked, smacking the back of his head with each emphasized word.
"Okay fine! I admit it was stupid but-"
"Derek?" Isaac and Boyd's mouths dropped open, a teasing little grin springing upon Erica's face while Derek completely froze. He turned around ever so slowly, his breath caught in his throat. Stiles was standing before him in all his Stiles glory; a plain white tee shirt with a jean jacket over it, black jeans with a red and white flannel tied around his waist, and black boots that reached past his ankles.
"U-uh-um" Derek cleared his throat "Hi" he greeted softly. Stiles blushed, sweeping his hair behind his ear.
"I'm only ninety percent sure I danced with you at Lydia's party on Friday night, at least I'm hoping it was you" he smiled sweetly. Derek gaped, his heart beating a mile per second and his stomach was coiled up with disbelief "unless it's not and I'm just blatantly interrupting your lunch, I'm sorry" the boy blushed deeper, going to turn away.
"No-no-no wait" Derek called, trying to catch his breath as stiles turned around again. "That was me and you're definitely not interrupting anything" Derek stuttered slightly, trying to pray away the blush on his cheeks. Stiles beamed down at him, his honey colored eyes– which are so much prettier up close– sparkling.
"Great! I just– I had a really nice time with you and I was wondering if you'd like to go out sometime? Unless I'm reading the situation wrong" Stiles asked, his tone sweeter than sugar itself.
"No" Derek assured, but then he saw Stiles' face fall. "I mean, no you're reading anything wrong and yes I'd love to go out with you" Derek quickly added, bringing that smile back to the boy's lips.
"Oh! That's great, I'll um– just text me" Stiles smiled, slipping a piece of paper out of his pocket and handing it to Derek.
"Okay" Derek felt like he was dreaming when Stiles started walking away, turning his head to throw a smile his way. Derek sighed dreamily, feeling almost dizzy as he looked down at the paper in his hand.
Stiles xox
xxx-xxx-xxxx
|
The one thing Tommy never expected when he was on an early morning walk, in an effort to clear his mind of the nightmares, was to find a tall figure standing eerily still on the beach just off the Prime Path, the figure gazing blankly out into the horizon.
The sun had barely breached the horizon but even still, the sky exploded into various shades of reds and oranges which set the server into a surprising peace.
Cautiously Tommy approached the enderman, really regretting not bringing a weapon of some kind. “Ranboo?” He called out his voice littered with confusion and hesitation.
The enderman hybrid didn't move a single muscle, which unnerved Tommy more.
“Ranboo? It's me, Big T!” He called again, only a few feet from him, his shoes crunching in the sand, while Ranboo’s toes were sunk into the sand. “You’re freaking me out here, Memory Boy.”
The only movement Ranboo made was a tail flick, his gaze remained on the sunrise.
Eventually, Tommy reached Ranboo and grabbed ahold of the enderman’s arm only for the enderman to jerk, and before Tommy could react, he was on the ground, with a screeching purple-eyed enderman over top of him. Tommy yelped as he stared up at the fanged toothed mouth that was far too close to his face.
“Ranboo! The hell big man!” Tommy yelped, attempting to push Ranboo off, but the enderman was surprisingly stronger then he expected. However, dread pulsed in his stomach as soon as he looked into Ranboo’s eyes and felt his entire body go numb. Tommy tried everything to get his body to move, to get Ranboo off, but he was frozen in place
That's when a familiar voice in the distance caught his attention, and not even a minute later he heard rapid thuds of feet against the wooden path and a startled “Ranboo!” escape Tubbo’s lips.
Ranboo seemed to not even pick up on Tubbo’s appearance, his focus solely being on Tommy. Tommy watched fruitlessly as Tubbo ran up to them, hooked his arm around Ranboo’s waist, which startled a screech out of him, and with the momentum, he gained from running, he took Ranboo to the ground. Ranboo screeched again and attempted to claw at whatever made him hit the ground but the instant Ranboo’s purple eyes landed on Tubbo’s face, the enderman froze completely.
“⏁⎍⏚⏚⍜? ⊑⎍⌇⏚⏃⋏⎅?” Ranboo croaked, in what Tommy could only assume was enderman. Tommy groaned quietly, pushing himself to sit up and watched the ordeal.
Tubbo sat peacefully at Ranboo’s side, his small bee-like wings fluttering anxiously behind him, creating a small buzzing noise. “Ranboo, Listen, I know you're in there somewhere. It's me, Tubbo.” Tubbo said, gently bringing a hand to Ranboo’s cheek and stroking it, which caused a quiet purr-like sound to escape the enderman, his tail wrapping tightly around his leg. “You need to wake up, you're safe.”
“⌇⏃⎎⟒?” Ranboo croaked again, Tubbo watched as Ranboo’s eyes slowly started fading back to their normal heterochromia
“Yes, Big Guy, you're safe.” Tubbo smiled softly, grasping Ranboo’s large hand in his free one, and proceeded to gently stroke his knuckles. “ You’re doing so well.”
Soon, Ranboo squeezed his eyes shut, and a full-body shudder rushed through his body. He groaned softly before his eyes slowly slid open and he quietly took in his surroundings before he blinked owlishly, not sure where he was or how he got there.
“Big guy? You there?” Tubbo asked gently, rubbing Ranboo’s knuckles.
The sound of Tubbo’s voice immediately gained Ranboo’s attention and he whipped his head towards him, groaning softly as the world tilted and his head protested.
“Easy…” Tubbo said, carding his other hand through Ranboo’s hair and gently bumping against his small horns, which Tubbo always thought were adorable.
“T-Tubbo?” Ranboo stammered, his throat feeling raw. “D-Did… Did I enderwalk again?”
“Unfortunately, Big Guy. But you’re alright.” Tubbo said, “Just relax, Come here.” Tubbo adjusted them and opened his arms, letting Ranboo curl up against him, feeling Ranboo’s arms wrap around him, and soon Ranboo started drifting off to sleep against Tubbo. From anyone else's perspective, It definitely would have looked strange with the two’s immediate height difference, but to the two of them, it was perfect.
While Ranboo settled, Tommy sat down beside Tubbo who was stroking the enderman’s hair and gazing down at him lovingly.
“What in the hell was that?” Tommy asked.
“Ranboo has this habit of doing this ... thing which we call 'Enderwalking'. It’s sorta like a phase of sleepwalking or a really bad dissociation. He really doesn't have much awareness of his surroundings and may last for different periods of time." Tubbo explains, looking down at his husband with great concern. "We're not sure what causes it, whether it's just him sleeping or mass amounts of stress. He's not normally hostile, might have just gotten startled and reacted accordingly, but it seems to be getting worse...He also appears to have the ability to paralyze someone by looking them in eyes, and he always acts a bit… stiff? Mechanical… sort of… when he’s like that."
“Yeah… I felt the paralyzation ability..” Tommy muttered, shuttering.
“He didn't mean it!” Tubbo said, frantic. “I think you just scared him and he didn't recognize your voice well enough. Only Techno, Phil, and I have been able to really get through to him in this state.” Tubbo said sadly.
“Is this a regular thing that happens?” Tommy asked.
“Sort of…? We don’t really know what sets it off, it just happens sometimes.” Tubbo explained. “We were sleeping, Next thing I know he’s gone.”
Tommy stared at him critically before his eyes fell on the silver band on his finger, which matched the one on Ranboo’s finger. “I guess you weren't kidding when you said you were married.” Tommy said, making Tubbo flush.
“U-Uh… yeah...” Tubbo said, red-faced.
Tommy was quiet for a while before a soft smile broke out on his face. “Congrats, Tubbo.” He said with a smile, gazing out at the sunrise. “I’m proud of you.”
Tubbo practically beamed and would have jumped for joy had he not had a bundle of enderman splayed across his stomach and legs. “Thanks Tommy!” Tubbo chirped.
Tommy let out a soft chuckle as he pushed himself to stand, “Get him home and go to bed, You both need it.”
“Will do Tommy, Will do!” Tubbo beamed and with that Tommy turned and took his leave.
|
The first time Gaara doesn’t kill someone he is six years old.
Twilight is creeping over the horizon and the day market is slowly coming to a close. Gaara has convinced Uncle Yashamaru to let him visit the stalls and look over the various wares. Gaara is only allowed to visit the market at the end of the day when there are fewer people and less chance for
accidents
. To be honest, he likes it better that way.
In his excitement Gaara has slipped away from his uncle’s watchful gaze, in the way only small children can manage even with shinobi guarding their every step, and makes his way to the foreign quarter of the market. The people there don’t recognize him. They don’t try to sell him anything—he’s much too young to have money—but they don’t flinch away from the sight of him either. Gaara likes that too.
Gaara is moving faster than normal. He’s not quite running, but he wants to get there before all the goods are put away so he’ll have an excuse to linger. It still comes as a surprise when he runs into someone’s legs hard enough to bounce.
Gaara falls to the ground with a faint cry. His hands slide along the grit of the road and sting fiercely. Sand shoots forward at the object surrounding it instantly and squeezing. Gaara braces himself against the inevitable outcome.
There’s no crying. No screaming or begging for mercy. It’s enough to make Gaara wonder if he accidentally ran into a tent pole. But when he looks up, his sand is squeezing something person-shaped. That makes Gaara worry if he’s accidentally destroying a puppet. The Kazekage had taken time out of his schedule to personally give him a lecture the last time Gaara accidentally broke a puppet. They were expensive and necessary to the defense of Suna.
Quickly, Gaara decides he hasn’t grabbed a puppet. The sand in his Sand Coffin isn’t moving. It’s squeezing, but there is no give, which means the sand can’t be breaking apart a wooden marionette. He has to pull back the sand with his chakra to make it let go. It’s first time Gaara has needed to withdraw his sand from anything ever, and it takes it him a few tries to get it right. When he does, Gaara gasps.
There’s a person standing above him covered head-to-toe in gray dust. Gaara wonders if it is a puppet after all, maybe one reinforced with chakra, or a disconcertingly life-like metal statue. Then the person sneezes violently and sand spills everywhere. The person is alive!
The person plucks something off his face, a pair of ruined glasses, then peers with a hawk-like gaze down at Gaara. “Are you all right, boy?”
Gaara immediately starts crying. His hands hurt. But the man isn’t dead or even that mad. Everything is so different from what Gaara knows to be true that he can’t help but cry.
Gaara winds up sitting on the edge of the man’s cart, sucking on a tiny mint candy, and watching closely as the man clean off Gaara’s hands and applies colorful plasters to the scrapes. One is red with cheery yellow smiley-faces and the other is blue with green stars. They’re very popular with civilian children, the man assures him.
By the time Uncle Yashamaru tracks him down, Gaara has learned the man’s name is Uryu-sensei. He’s a traveling doctor and apothecary. He can make teas, cures, poisons, and cloth dyes. But he doesn’t sell poisons in shinobi villages because the ones they need are stronger than what he has. He’s traveling with a friend, Kurosaki, who is out buying dinner. They’re only staying in Suna for a little while. And no, he’s not mad at Gaara or afraid of him.
Gaara is ecstatic about making a friend, even if his new friend is a lot older than him, and tells his uncle all about his encounter on the way back home. Uncle Yashamaru listens and looks worried, but he still agrees to let Gaara go back to the market the next day.
Gaara visits Uryu-sensei at his medicine cart every day for a week straight. He doesn’t get anymore peppermint candy, since he doesn’t have anymore ouchies. But it’s nice to talk to someone who isn’t afraid of him at all. Even Uncle Yashamaru is afraid of Gaara sometimes, though he tries to hide it.
Gaara never manages to stop by when Kurosaki is there, and his sand attacks Uryu-sensei twice more during his visits. But Uryu-sensei never complains except when he can’t find his spare pair of glasses and promises Kurosaki will be back from his errands the next time Gaara visits.
The next time Gaara visits the market. Uryu-sensei and his cart are gone.
Uncle Yashamaru tries to comfort him and tells him that it’s to be expected, that Uryu-sensei was a traveling merchant, and that he couldn’t stay in Suna forever. But Gaara knows something terrible has happened. The ground where the cart stood is discolored. His senses tell him the sand is mixed with black ash, soot, and odd residues of plants non-native to Suna. None of the nearby merchants will meet his eyes when asks when Uryu-sensei left or where he was going.
Gaara recognizes the looks on their faces. They are afraid. They are afraid of dying like Uryu-sensei and everyone else Gaara has ever met.
Gaara leaves the market with Uncle Yashamaru. It will be a long time before he tries to go back. He doesn’t let himself cry. There’s no more doctor with peppermints and kind words to take away the pain.
More than two years later, Uncle Yashamaru is dead and Gaara has sworn to love only himself when he doesn’t kill again.
The hour is late. Not that the hour matters to Gaara, who never sleeps. He is alone in his room, still in the quarters he used to share with Uncle Yashamaru, and staring out into the night when someone dressed in black and wearing a skull mask lands on his railing.
“Hey, are you Gaa—”
Gaara doesn’t let the assassin finish speaking before blasting him off the balcony with a spray of sand. His attacker goes hurtling into the night.
Gaara scowls at the banister and idly wonders if the Kazekage is going to be using him to weed out the weakest of his forces from now on when a hand darts into view and a familiar mask pops up over the edge.
“So I guess you are—”
Sand surrounds the assassin’s head this time and squeezes and squeezes and squeezes. There is no screaming, no crunching squelch, no body sagging limply as its brain is destroyed. Confused and a little afraid, Gaara slowly draws back his sand. It’s more difficult than usual. Mother wants blood and this intruder is denying her.
“Ishida was not kidding about the sand thing,” says the probable assassin as he pulls himself up to sit on the railing. Once settled, he removes his mask to reveal warm brown eyes and red hair a few shades lighter than Gaara’s own. “Just checking, you are Gaara, right?”
“Yes,” admits Gaara. He is certain by now that this man isn’t an assassin, or at least not one employed by his father. The Kazekage would never hire outside the village, and everyone in Suna can recognize Gaara on sight. “Who are you?”
“The name is Ichigo. Kurosaki Ichigo,” says the man.
It is the name of a ghost from Gaara’s past. He has tried to forget Uryu-sensei over the intervening years, but like all painful memories, the week of visits to the traveling doctor’s cart resurface in his mind at the most inconvenient of times. The memories of Uryu-sensei are all the worse for being good ones that he can never experience again.
Gaara’s thoughts are scattered. Even Mother has gone quiet. All he can manage to say is, “Uryu-sensei’s Kurosaki.”
Kurosaki laughs quietly to himself. “That’s right. But if you’re calling him Uryu. You can go ahead and call me Ichigo. I—”
“You’re dead,” says Gaara, cutting off the ghost.
Ichigo’s mouth moves wordlessly for a long moment. Finally, he gathers himself and squints at Gaara with an appraising eye before tentatively saying, “No?”
“I went to the market and your spot was empty. Everyone said you left, but I could feel the ashes from the cart. The Kazekage ordered you and Uryu-sensei killed,” explains Gaara. He feels cold and detached. The desert is always cold at night, but the detachment is new. He almost feels like he’s killing Uncle Yashamaru all over again.
“All of those things are true,” admits Ichigo. “But it doesn’t mean we died.”
“But the Kazekage ordered you killed,” insists Gaara.
Ichigo looks amused. “That doesn’t mean we stood still and let him kill us.”
“You—what?” blurts Gaara. His head hurts and he doesn’t understand. For once, Mother’s silence isn’t making anything better.
Ichigo sighs. For a brief moment, he looks old, impossibly so, with eyes full of pain and horror that even Gaara can’t imagine. But the moment passes and all Gaara sees on his face is sorrow. “We ran away. Some Suna-nin chased us to the border of Wind. But they didn’t manage to kill us. Either of us.”
Now Gaara’s chest hurts too. His heart is beating fast like he’s angry. But he doesn’t feel angry. He feels...something else, something he doesn’t have the words for.
“Did Uryu-sensei come with you?” asks Gaara.
“No, it would be difficult for Ishida, sorry, Uryu, to come to Suna right now,” explains Ichigo. As Gaara’s face crumples, he quickly adds, “But, he sent you a letter.”
“A letter?” repeats Gaara. He can hear his own voice and it sounds strange, brighter or lighter. He sounds young and isn’t sure he likes it. “For me?”
“For you, from Uryu,” says Ichigo and produces a thick envelope from seemingly nowhere.
Gaara takes a cautious step forward and accepts the letter. Then he backs away, keeping one eye on Ichigo, who looks wistful but not angry or sad as Gaara moves out of grabbing range.
Gaara opens the envelope and pulls free the contents. He barely catches the protective amulet that slips from between the pages of messy scrawl.
The cloth is bright red and painted with the characters for protection. When he lifts the amulet closer to examine the pattern—an unusual golden criss-cross instead of the typical flowers or waves—he catches the fresh, cool scent of peppermint oil.
Gaara has never seen, or smelled, an amulet quite like this one before. But the colors remind him of that first, cheerful plaster Uryu-sensei gave him, and he decides he likes it immediately.
“What do I do with it?” asks Gaara cupping the amulet in his palm.
“I guess you don’t have a wallet or a mobile,” muses Ichigo. Gaara silently repeats the foreign word. “Usually you keep it on you or on something you carry around frequently.”
Gaara imagines tying the amulet to his gourd of sand. The bright red would stand out against the pale gourd but the sand moves really fast sometimes. The amulet might get torn up.
“I’ll turn it into a necklace,” Gaara announces. Then he sits down to read his letter.
It takes a long time for Gaara to read the whole thing. Uryu-sensei wrote the letter in several stages, first apologizing for leaving so abruptly, then talking a bit about his time traveling with Ichigo, and finally explaining that he had taken a job in a busy hospital. Not a single word blames Gaara for what happened, even though they all know getting close to Gaara is what put Uryu-sensei and Ichigo in danger. The letter ends with a sincere wish to meet again in the future.
“Uryu-sensei wants to see me again?” questions Gaara when he’s finished reading. He has a feeling that letters end that way as a formality, but he’s too afraid to ask if Uryu-sensei is just being polite.
“Of course,” says Ichigo easily as if Gaara isn’t a monster no one but Mother could ever love or care about. “It’s just a bit complicated because of the whole…” Ichigo waves a hand vaguely in the direction of the Kazekage’s residence. “That’s why he sent such a long letter. Would you like to send one back?”
Gaara wants to write a letter back so much he could burst, but he doesn’t know what to say. Ichigo assures Gaara that he can write anything he wants, Uryu will be glad to read whatever Gaara puts on paper, but that Ichigo should probably come back for it later since Gaara’s uncle will eventually notice if Ichigo hangs around the entire time.
Gaara stares at Ichigo in sheer confusion. Then Gaara remembers because somehow he has managed to forget , for just a moment, what happened to Uncle Yashamaru, what his uncle did, and how Gaara killed him. The sorrow sweeps over him like a sandstorm, Mother’s rage finally exploding into life after being ignored for so long.
When Gaara comes back to himself, he realizes he’s sitting in Ichigo’s lap and crying. Ichigo is gently stroking Gaara’s hair and whispering condolences that sound much more sincere than Mother’s ever have.
Ichigo doesn’t look injured. But Gaara knows he unleashed his sand. In the few minutes he forgot himself, Gaara destroyed his room and Uryu-sensei’s letter. Not the amulet though. It’s dusty and slightly crumpled where Gaara gripped it tight, but it came out of the sandstorm unscathed.
“A protective amulet wouldn’t be worth very much if it could be destroyed by a little sand,” laughs Ichigo. “Now, do you still want to write a letter?”
Gaara writes his letter and Ichigo promises to deliver it. He promises to bring a reply too though he’s not sure how long it will take. Gaara says good-bye and tells Ichigo to have a safe journey and doesn’t cry again no matter how much his eyes sting.
Ten months later, when Ichigo brings another letter and a new talisman, Gaara doesn’t feel like crying at all.
The third time Gaara doesn’t kill someone, it’s a near miss.
Fire Country is the worst of the five Great Elemental Nations. Gaara will be more than happy to fight and kill anyone who disagrees with him on this point. Not only is the weather hot, but the air somehow manages to be wet at the same, so that every breath is an effort. By the time they arrive at Konohagakure, Gaara is more than content with their secret plan to wipe the village off the map. The citizens that survive will undoubtedly be grateful when forced to relocate. He doesn’t see how civilians without shinobi conditioning can stand to live here anyway.
After registering the team, Baki all but throws Gaara and his siblings out of their rooms. They have orders to familiarize themselves with the village’s layout, but Gaara suspects their teacher has ulterior motives, namely some alone time with the air conditioner.
The siblings silently agree to stalk out the breeziest, shadiest place they can find, yet Konohagakure’s spiraling layout means there are few cross-breezes at ground level. Eventually, they stumble upon an out-of-the-way side-street overshadowed by a large tree. It’s not great a spot. It’s not even close enough to anyplace important that they can pretend to be spying if Baki asks were they were. But none of them have the energy to search for someplace better.
They languish there for half-an-hour growing hotter and damper by the minute. Then Kankuro gets into a fight with an actual child, and Gaara decides that’s enough. He is sticky and uncomfortable and while a shower of blood won’t fix either of those problems, they will at least distract Mother, which would be a relief in and of itself. Gaara will kill the kid, maybe take one of Kankuro’s arms in the process, and remind his siblings why they’re so afraid of him.
Temari looks at him sharply when Gaaara’s sand starts to stir, but when he hears his name on the wind, she isn’t the one speaking. It’s a man’s voice, familiar, but not Baki. The surprise is enough to still Gaara’s sand. He doesn’t know anyone in Konoha. He’s met Konoha shinobi before, of course, but mother killed them all.
He glances behind him and gasps. “Uryu-sensei!”
Gaara doesn’t remember moving just that all of a sudden his arms are wrapped around Uryu-sensei’s waist. It’s the first hug he’s ever initiated, and he’s worried he’s doing it wrong until Uryu-sensei rests an arm over Gaara’s shoulders and gives him a gentle squeeze. Gaara is hot and gross and Uryu-sensei is unbearably warm, but it’s the best hug Gaara’s ever had.
“Hello, Gaara. It’s good to see you again,” says Uryu-sensei.
Gaara realizes he’s buried his face in Uryu-sensei’s jacket—somewhat amazed that Uryu-sensei can stand to wear a jacket in this weather—and takes a step back. There’s a great dusty smear across Uryu-sensei’s otherwise pristine white clothes. With a flick of well-directed chakra, Gaara removes every grain of sand he can sense. Then he looks up at Uryu-sensei’s face.
The doctor is watching the sand flow from his clothes to Gaara’s hand. He doesn’t look afraid but impressed. He smiles encouragingly when he sees Gaara looking at him
“You’ve gotten much faster,” says Uryu-sensei.
Gaara flushes with a mix of pride and embarrassment. It’s been years since their last meeting. Of course, he’s going to be better at moving his sand. “I’ve been practicing.”
Uryu-sensei gaze shifts pasts Gaara’s shoulder. “With your team?”
Gaara glances behind him. Temari and Kankuro are frozen with shock. Their mouths gape open like particularly brainless koi. Gaara glares at his siblings. They will not embarrass him in front of Uryu-sensei. They both flinch but finally straighten themselves into something resembling respectable shinobi.
The boy Kankuro had grabbed then dropped in surprise scrambles to his feet as well. He looks awed, but Gaara can hardly imagine why. It’s not as if the boy knew Gaara was about to turn him into a messy smear or that Uryu-sensei saved his life.
“Sometimes,” answers Gaara returning his attention to the doctor. He has practiced in the vicinity of Temari and Kankuro, and Baki has made some effort to train him in the ninja arts.
“Gaara, who is this?” demands Temari sharply.
Stunned, Gaara looks back at his sister again. She’s taken a step closer. The fear isn’t gone entirely from her face but determination has replaced confusion. It’s not an unfamiliar expression on Temari. As the older of his siblings, she puts more effort into talking to him than anyone else in Suna, save Baki. (The Kazekage isn’t afraid of Gaara but doesn’t bother talking to him, so he doesn’t count.)
“This is Uryu-sensei,” says Gaara affronted.
“And how do you know him?” presses Temari.
Gaara opens his mouth and pauses, caught out. He doesn’t want to tell his siblings about Ichigo’s visits and Uryu-sensei’s letters. He’s not ashamed of their connection, but they are private communications with the only two people still alive who have ever shown they cared about him.
“I met Gaara and your uncle on my last trip through Suna,” explains Uryu-sensei.
That throws Temari off her stride, Gaara can tell. Though he’s still not sure why she’s being so insistent. Most of the time, Temari does her best to stay out of Gaara’s business, the same as everyone else.
“But Uncle Yashamaru died years ago,” protests Kankuro.
“I am aware it has been some time,” says Uryu-sensei. “But I am still sorry for your loss.”
Gaara feels Uryu-sensei’s hand gently on his shoulder. He shed his tears for Uncle Yashamaru a long time ago, but the doctor’s support still feels nice.
“Thank you,” says Temari formally, but then she’s back to her original subject. “But who are you? Are you a shinobi?”
Uryu-sensei chuckles. “No, I’m a doctor.”
“Ishida-sensei is the best surgeon in the hospital!” Kankuro’s would-have-been punching bag finally speaks up. He speaks emphatically but his voice squeaks with nerves. “He doesn’t have chakra, but everybody listens to him. Even grandfather!”
Konoha’s hospital is famous among the shinobi villages, and Gaara has to admit he’s pleased that the citizens of Konoha give Uryu-sensei the respect he deserves. But he wishes that Uryu-sensei had chosen some place less damp to live. Of course, Fire Country must have some appeal if the doctor has been here so long.
Then again, the Sand-Sound Alliance is going to destroy Konoha soon anyway. Maybe he can convince Uryu-sensei and Ichigo to move to Suna? They’re civilians, not shinobi, and a skilled doctor is an asset for any village.
“Who’s your grandfather anyway?” sneers Kankuro oblivious to Gaara’s inner musings.
The kid just gapes at him. “You don’t know?!”
Uryu-sensei clear his throat and interjects politely, “Konohamaru-kun is the grandson of the Hokage. Konohamaru-kun, Temari, Kankuro, and Gaara are the Kazekage’s children.” Then in a much drier voice he adds, “I’m sure the exam organizers would love to hear you’re already building rapport between Konoha and Suna.”
Gaara is the only who doesn’t wince and turn red from embarrassment, but he decides to hold off on killing anyone until the exams start. They might throw him out of the village, then he won’t be able to see Uryu-sensei anymore. And who knows how many grandchildren the Hokage has running around? If he kills one and starts an international incident (and messes up the invasion plans), Baki won’t help him advocate for Uryu-sensei and Ichigo to move to Suna.
Uryu-sensei’s voice breaks through Gaara’s glum thoughts. “Does your team have any plans this afternoon?”
“No,” he says instantly. They weren’t following Baki’s orders to explore the village anyway.
“Would the three of you like to visit our house?” asks Uryu-sensei. “We can get your something cool to drink. You’re all looking a bit flushed. And I’m sure Ichigo will be glad to see you before the exams start.”
Gaara’s heart lifts. “That would be great, Uryu-sensei!” He quickly glares over his shoulder.
Whatever energy emboldened Temari earlier has since fled, and she pales beneath his stare. “We would be honored.”
When Gaara looks back at Uryu-sensei, the doctor looks faintly amused. Uryu-sensei doesn’t scold him for threatening his siblings, not that anyone had ever tried that before, but Uryu-sensei is the only one who could get away with it.
“Konohamaru, how would you like a practice mission?” he says instead.
Konohamaru’s eyes widened, and he starts bouncing on his toes. “I can do it, Ishida-sensei.”
“It wouldn’t do for the Sand Siblings' jounin instructor to wander the civilian district looking for his students. Will you go to the Tower and tell the desk chunin to give him our address?” requests the doctor.
“Yes, Ishida-sensei!” shouts Konohamaru. He snaps off a perfect salute then zooms away at top speed.
If Gaara didn’t know better, he’d suspect the boy was running away from something. But he quickly puts the thought out of his mind.
He’s going to spend the whole afternoon with Uryu-sensei! And Ichigo! And Temari and Kankuro, but they’re not so annoying if they don’t talk. Even mother’s gone quiet in respect of Gaara’s good mood.
Gaara decides that while Fire Country is still terrible, the people living there are worth the trip.
Gaara and his siblings are mere hours into the second stage of the exam when Gaara chooses deliberately not to kill someone for the first time. The middle of the Chunin Exams is an unusual time to engage in non-violence, but Gaara doesn’t have anything to prove to anyone.
Gaara is ready to be done. The Forest of Death provides shade from the burning sun, but the air beneath the ridiculously tall trees is heavy with moist leaf rot and oppressively still from lack of wind. There is no relief to be found anywhere, which makes it harder for him to ignore mother stirring in the back of his mind. He wishes he could quit the exam and go back to Uryu and Ichigo’s house.
Gaara and his team had eaten dinner with them before the exam started. Uryu and Ichigo own an enormous house in one of Konoha’s civilian districts. They’re not the only residents though. Two boys also live at the house. One is the last Uchiha and the other is an Uzumaki, which is the clan one of Ichigo's ancestors belong to. Their team, which is composed of those two, a pink-haired girl, and Hatake the Kakashi the Copy-Nin according the picture on the wall, is not competing in chunin exams. That information had made Baki grimace since capturing the Uchiha is one of Sound’s requirements of the alliance.
The boys aren’t home and won’t be back for days, possibly a week. Team seven is away completing a run-of-the-mill C-rank. The way Uryu and Ichigo keep emphasizing the ordinary nature of the C-rank makes Gaara think it isn’t a C-Rank, but none of his training had covered information gathering. He couldn’t figure out a way to ask for clarification that didn’t sound like spying. (It’s the first time Gaara wishes he had more shinobi skills. Maybe he can have Temari teach him. Gaara thinks she’s much more diplomatic than Kankuro.)
Just because the boys aren’t there doesn’t mean that Gaara and his siblings are the only ones at dinner. Baki shows up eventually and Uryu and Ichigo have guests, Momochi Zabuza and his apprentice, Haku, who are shinobi from Mist. Baki informs them later that Zabuza is one of the Seven Swordsmen of the Mist, and may or may not being a missing nin. Zabuza definitely isn’t the jounin-sensei of the sole Mist team competing in the Exams. When Baki had asked, Zabuza seemed shocked that the Mizukage had allowed even one team to attend an intercountry exam.
Other than the confusion over the Mist shinobi, the meal was the nicest one Gaara’s ever had. Ichigo had made the food, choosing dishes from both Suna and Konoha which complemented each other nicely. Dinner conversation was relaxed. Uryu and Ichigo had smiled at Gaara and encouraged him to talk and never seemed offended when Baki made Gaara change the subject to avoid spilling national secrets. Mostly he tried to talk up Suna over Konoha, which was hard to do when Gaara was feared by everyone in the village, but Gaara did his best. Haku had smiled at him too, and no one told him that he shouldn’t, which was even better. (When Haku smiled at Kankuro, the older boy had fumbled his chopsticks and almost knocked over his glass. Temari had rolled her eyes so hard it looked like it hurt.)
When Baki had finally ordered the Sand Siblings to leave, Ichigo and Uryu had made it clear Gaara and his team could drop by whenever they wanted. The promise of visiting Uryu-sensei and Ichigo as often as Gaara wanted made the long hours of the night less lonely. Not even Baki-sensei’s late night departure to rendezvous with their spy had dampened Gaara’s good mood.
Learning that they are going straight from the first stage of the exam to the week-long second stage, with no time for a visit to Uryu or Ichigo in-between, brings Gaara right back down. Temari and Kankuro spend the first few hours being as quiet as possible and maintaining what they hope is a safe distance.
When a rival team attempts to sneak up on them, Gaara gleefully wraps them in sand up to their necks. He’s about to encase them completely, when he catches sight of their forehead protectors. These are the Mist genin they had spoken of the evening before. It takes every ounce of willpower he has to fight instinct and training, but Gaara
doesn’t
squeeze. Instead, he tries his hand at interrogation.
“Give us your scroll. Tell us the name of the Mizukage. And I’ll let you live,” offers Gaara in his most reasonable tone.
He notes the way his siblings jolt and stare. Temari remembers herself before Kankuro, but they both show their surprise too obviously for genin on the verge of chunin. Gaara consider reporting this failure to Baki, but he suspects their jounin sensei won’t be pleased Gaara’s decision to interrogate rather than eliminate. He will correct his siblings later in private and make sure they know not to mention this little interlude to their instructor.
“Why do you want to know about the Mizukage?” demands one of the trapped genin.
“We won’t tell you anything!” shouts another.
The first genin to speak looks startled, though it’s hard to tell through the diving mask. He quickly revises his statement, “Yeah, we won’t tell you anything.”
Gaara does not grimace, does not look anything other than annoyed and faintly bored. But he has serious doubts about this genin team’s survival. Their overall intelligence seems to be lacking. He also doesn’t know how to proceed with the interrogation. He’s already offered not to kill them, and he’s not particularly skilled at torture. Maybe he could kill one of them and frighten the others into speaking?
Temari carefully edges into his line of sight, turns her head so the Mist genin can’t read her lips, and murmurs, “Does this have to do with last night?”
Gaara awards her perception with a nod. Temari looks over his shoulder at Kankuro, exchanging a glance that Gaara can’t read.
“Uryu-sensei said he’d ask around at the hospital for information on the Mizukage,” says Temari keeping her voice low.
Uryu-sensei had offered, and Zabuza had accepted with sincere gratitude. Ichigo had lamented that Kiri was the one Hidden Village he avoided entirely on his selling route. None of them had seemed hopeful that Uryu would find out anything useful.
“I would like to do something for Uryu-sensei,” says Gaara.
Temari nods slightly, but her gaze is fixed on Kankuro rather than Gaara. She also flashes a few non-standard hand-signs at their brother that Gaara doesn’t know. An advantage of spending more time training together, Gaara supposes.
Kankuro starts to speak loudly enough to cover the grunts and groans the Mist genin are making as they struggle uselessly against the sand. “The trouble is these fools have no idea who you are or what you can do. They have no idea of the gift you’re offering them.”
Through his sand, Gaara can feel the other genin still inside their partial sand coffins.
“Gift?” asks the first genin. He sounds nervous. Not surprising since he realized he had no chance against Gaara’s sand.
Kankuro doesn’t speak again. Instead Temari holds up her umbrella. She manages what Gaara thinks is supposed to be a coy smile and turns to face the trapped shinobi.
“Do you know why I brought this umbrella with me?” Her voice is warm, almost sweet, and totally unlike anything Gaara’s ever heard from Temari. She doesn’t give the other genin time to answer. “It’s because my little brother here is very good at killing people but a bit messy. Normally he’d use that sand you’re stuck in now and crush you to death and blood would go absolutely everywhere. I brought this umbrella just to keep my outfit clean.”
All three genin look nervous now. Gaara doesn’t quite understand why Temari's umbrella scared them so much. It seems perfectly practical to him. But he also knows frightened people talk more, or they always have in his experience. He realizes that his siblings are trying to help him. Gaara doesn't know how to feel about that.
“I’m not sure they believe you, sis,” says Kankuro, sounding more relaxed than he ever has around Gaara. “Maybe they need a demonstration.”
“I could kill one,” offers Gaara. It’s the only idea he’s had so far.
“No,” says the mouthy genin. He's on the verge of begging, Gaara can tell. He's heard a lot of begging.
“We don’t believe you,” says the second one, the one with more balls than brains.
“Shut up, idiot,” says the third genin. He’s been trying to summon water to wet down Gaara’s sand, but he can’t create enough water fast enough to actually do anything with it. Gaara is constantly removing the damp sand and replacing it with dry just in case.
“I could kill that one,” says Gaara, head tilting toward the idiot. He’s a little reluctant though. He went to a lot of effort not to kill them in the first place. Killing one now would almost feel like failure.
Temari shifts into a thinking pose. Then says cruelly, but not without reason, “The others might be too traumatized to tell us anything useful after that.”
“Little bro,” says Kankuro and Gaara almost drops his composure because Kankuro has never referred to him so casually before, “how much damage could you do to one of these trees? I mean, these Mist guys are acting like their brains are made of wood, but they’re not that dense.”
Gaara pulls some sand away from the genin with a wave of his hand and directs it to circle the nearest tree trunk. The trees in the Forest of Death are so stupidly big that he has to supplement with more sand from his gourd. Temari shivers slightly at the sand passes by her, but she doesn’t break her stance or lose her smirk.
It takes more effort to break through the bark than Gaara thought it would. He has to spin his sand like a drill to gain purchase, and the size continues to be an issue, but eventually the tree gives. With a resounding crunch, Gaara gouges a trench a foot wide and half a foot deep around the circumference of the tree. As he pulls his sand back, he purges bark, wood pulp, and sap the way he would bones and bits of flesh, letting them drop dramatically to the forest floor.
The three genin stare silently at the pale heart wood of the tree.
“And to think that could have been you,” muses Temari.
The ballsy genin starts to talk. “That’s just a tree—”
“Shut up!” snap the mouthy genin and the smart one in unison.
“The trees here are reinforced with chakra. They’re much harder to crush than a human,” observes Gaara blandly.
The genin go a touch paler.
“Give us your scroll and tell us the name of the Mizukage, and you’ll get to live,” says Temari.
There’s another long silence from the Mist shinobi.
Gaara wonders how long this will take. Using this much sand without killing anything has stirred mother’s interest. It’s taking a lot of concentration not to crush his enemies.
“We don’t have all day,” says Temari, her tone is cold and hard, more her usual self. “If you don’t answer, Gaara will just kill you. We’ll take your scroll and be done.”
“Why do you want to know the Mizukage’s name?” asks the smart one.
Temari smiles. “Because of you, of course. The Mizukage hasn’t sent genin out for an external promotion exam in years, and Kiri's been warring with itself for almost as long. But here you are. That means there’s a new Mizukage, right? We want to know who we’ll be dealing with.”
It’s a good explanation, one that doesn’t mention Uryu or Zabuza, and easily acceptable. Gaara approves. However the genin are still reluctant to speak. They must be incredibly loyal to their new Mizukage, whoever they are.
“Think of if this way,” add Kankuro. “You tell us the Mizukage’s name. We let you go now. You have plenty of time to find other teams and take their scrolls. You pass the second stage. The Mizukage’s going to show up to watch you in the third part of the exam, and we’ll learn their name then. Hell, the Kazekage probably knows their name already just from all the paperwork the Chunin Exams generate.”
Gaara thinks Kankuro is over estimating the survivability of this particular genin team. A shinobi needs to be able accurately evaluate the skill of his opponents, which they have failed to do spectacularly. He's certain that Temari and Kankuro could have handled these three without his help, and other genin teams will be no less skilled. But Kankuro's best-case scenario manages to persuade the Mist genin at last.
“Fine,” says the smart one. “Terumi Mei is the fifth Mizukage.”
The name means nothing to Gaara, but he pulls a layer of sand away from all three genin in a sign of good faith. He's still perfectly capable of killing them with the sand he leaves behind. He wonders if they realize the danger they're still in.
“Which one of you has the scroll?” demands Temari.
“Endo,” says the mouthy genin.
The ballsy genin grumbles but admits to having the scroll. Gaara pulls enough sand away to free his arms and any pouches on his hips were he might have stored a scroll. He tosses something their way, and Gaara’s sand catches it mid-air. Nothing explodes, so he passes the scroll to Temari. She barely pauses before plucking the scroll from the sand supporting it, and Gaara is more than a little impressed. She looks at the seal and nods at Gaara.
With one great heave, he pulls the last of his sand away from the three Mist genin. The two teams stare at each other for a moment.
“Run along now,” says Kankuro.
The mouthy mist genin grabs the ballsy one’s arm and starts pulling. The smart one is already backing away, keeping an eye on the Sand Siblings the whole time. In a matter of seconds, they’re gone from sight. Not long after that they leave Gaara's, admittedly limited, chakra-sensing range.
Gaara turns so he can see both of his siblings. “Thank you for your assistance.”
Without witnesses, Temari and Kankuro both let themselves look nervous. But they're not as afraid as they were before. Gaara has a suspicion that maybe this is a good thing.
“You’re welcome,” says Temari.
“It’s not a problem to help out Uryu-sensei, since you like him,” adds Kankuro.
Gaara nods in agreement. It is good that his siblings understand his appreciation for Uryu-sensei. They will know not to let him come to harm in the invasion.
“This is even the scroll we needed, so we can go straight to the tower,” says Temari as she tucks it into a pocket.
“You two should go ahead,” says Gaara. He looks at the other side of the clearing where he can sense the faintest amount of human chakra. There are other genin hiding there. “I need to kill something.”
Mother is extremely upset that he let the Mist genin go and is demanding blood. Gaara's pleasure at doing something to help out Uryu-sensei is barely enough to keep mother contained.
At his words, Temari and Kankuro both pale dramatically. Kankuro starts bobbing his head up and down and Temari opens her mouth, most likely to agree, but a loud, inhuman groan cuts her off. Gaara and his siblings turn to face the source of the noise, which is the tree he had defaced in his demonstration.
The tree is leaking sap at a prodigious rate. Broken shards of bark and shattered wood pulp twist in unnatural ways. The tree groans again, a strange dull roar. There is a small surge of chakra from the tree then the wound Gaara made seals itself. The tree is whole as if it had never been damaged in the first place. At the same time, every bit of undergrowth in a twenty foot radius withers and dies.
Gaara takes a step back, so do his siblings.
“I hate this place,” says Kankuro.
“Yes,” agrees Gaara.
“Maybe you should kill something on the way to the tower,” offers Temari.
Gaara listens for mother, only to find his mind silent and still. Mother does not like the trees in the forest either and gone quiet like a prey animal. “I think that is a good idea.”
He ignores the genin team hiding behind the withered bushes. With most of their cover gone, he can see they’re from Konoha and young so killing them may upset Uryu-sensei. He also wants to leave the clearing as quickly as possible.
Gaara and his siblings make their way to the tower without further incident or strange tree noises. After an hour or so, mother starts making noise, so Gaara peels away to hunt something down. There are a lot of strange animals in the Forest of Death, but he ends up killing a rampaging bear and inadvertently saves a Kusa-nin in the process.
Gaara contemplates killing her too, but the bear was enough to sate mother’s bloodlust. The girl isn’t any kind of threat. She was afraid of the bear, but she’s staring at Gaara in open-mouthed shock. In any case, she’s not afraid of him, and Gaara is slowly discovering, or perhaps remembering, that he likes it when people aren’t afraid of him all the time. He lets the girl live and goes to find his team.
Gaara reunites with Temari and Kankuro, and they’re the first team to make it to the tower. After some reflection—he has plenty of time before the second task ends—Gaara decides he is proud of what he accomplished. He tested his skills and his teamwork in the exam as he was meant to do. He hopes that Uryu-sensei will be proud of him too.
(The team of Mist-genin, terrified and shamed by their near-death experience, hastily revise the plan for the remainder of the second stage of the exams. The team survives, all three of them, and while only one makes it through the single-elimination round to the third stage, one is enough. The Mizukage will be coming to Konoha for the conclusion of the Chunin Exams.)
|
It’s a normal day at the local public library, albeit a bit heated—both in terms of the insane South Californian heat wafting in through the helplessly open windows, and because of the trio of teens arguing and flirting (though they would never admit to either of those actions) while sprawled out at a round studying table.
“Hahahaha,” Sasha says, a little flatly, looking at Marcy with the slightest hint of animosity. “I actually feel like Anne has the right answer.”
“Oh!” Marcy exclaims, eyes widening mournfully. “Well, this textbook I’m holding up does sort of… show the right answer… as mine… but I guess if you think it’s supposed to be different, then I’ll go with whatever you want, Sasha.”
“No, no!” Anne protests, reaching out to lay a hand on Marcy’s arm. “Marcy must be right! She’s always right! She’s the smartest person we know… right, Sash?”
“Yeah, definitely,” Sasha says absentmindedly, staring at the place where Anne’s fingers rest on Marcy’s skin. Then, she slams her hands on the table and stands up. “But Anne! You’re smart too! Don’t—”
“Awww!” Marcy exclaims, gazing up at Sasha adoringly. “Thanks, you’re so sweet.”
Anne’s entire face flushes. “No, Marcy, you’re the sweetest—”
“Am I not sweet?” Sasha suddenly frowns.
“Y-you’re different,” Marcy tries. “Like, you’re sweet, but way more spicy, and you’re c-cute, but way more sexy, ohmygodIdidn’tsayanything…”
“Aw, thanks, Marce,” Sasha coos, flashing a dazzling smile before turning immediately to Anne.
Marcy squeaks, eyes wide, a blush beginning to color her cheeks.
Sasha flips her ponytail and twirls a blonde strand around her fingers, leaning close into Anne’s personal space. “What do you think?”
“Um, Sash, you’re kinda close,” Anne laughs nervously. “But, um, definitely, you’re… really something special.”
Sasha utterly glows, standing upright again with a perfect blush dusted across her face.
“Yeah…” Marcy sighs dreamily. “I totally agree, Anne.”
“I love it when I say something you actually agree with,” Anne says, a smile lighting up her face as she looks at Marcy.
The squeaky wheels of a library cart herald the arrival of a passing librarian. The old woman squints at the three teens through her round glasses, contemplating. “You three look awfully red, you know. Hmm. Must be the heat. I’ll have to ask the main branch to get us the funding to fix those windows.”
She pushes on past and disappears around the corner of the next aisle.
“Ugh, yeah, I’m so fucking hot,” Sasha says, rolling her eyes and stretching. (“You really are,” Marcy mutters under her breath, eyes following the movements of Sasha’s collarbones.) “C’mon, let’s get out of here!”
“Okay!” Marcy exclaims, hurrying to pack up her things.
“I’ll help you!” Anne says immediately.
“Oh, me too!” Sasha agrees right after Anne, a bit uncharacteristically.
They all reach for the same tricolor gel pen. Three hands brush. Suddenly, none of them can look each other in the eye, and they withdraw in a panic, mumbling apologies and rushing to pick up other items.
When they’re finally done, Sasha turns to Anne. “So. I’m thinking smoothies for sure, maybe shopping at the mall?”
Anne winces. “Sorry, dude… I’ve got a ton of homework. Hey, Marcy, wanna come over to my place and do our homework together?”
“Oh…” Marcy starts, apologetic. “I actually finished all my homework for this week in a frenzy of anxiety last night. But—”
“It’s Monday,” Anne says, awed. “Marcy… you’re amazing. I don’t know how you do it.”
“Haha, nerd,” Sasha snorts affectionately.
Marcy blushes. “Yes… I think we’ve established that… but this nerd could totally go for some mall time!”
Anne’s face drops. “You two have fun. Too bad they’re still assigning this much homework at the end of senior year, for fuck’s sake.”
“Oh, no!” Sasha says, waving her hand in the air. “It’s okay, we’re not going. We wouldn’t want you to feel left out, right, Marcy?”
“Yeah…” Marcy says. “Yeah, haha, no alone time for me and Sasha! We’re, um, uh, yeah, definitely not, don’t want you to feel that FOMO.”
“Really?” Anne asks, surprised. “You’d do that just for my feelings?”
“Of course,” Sasha says, a bit breathily, letting her hand come to rest on Anne’s shoulder.
“Yeah!” Marcy smiles convincingly through her disappointment.
“Honestly, I’m probably just going to go home and shower the sweat off,” Sasha says, peeling her soaked shirt away from her body.
Marcy’s brain short-circuits. “Sh-shower… the sweat… S-Sasha…”
Both of her best friends look at her curiously.
“I-I mean! Sasha! Good idea!” Marcy splutters. “I’m going to do that too! Go home and, like, strip out of these sweaty gross clothes and take a really long and thorough cold shower! Let’s just all go home and shower!”
Anne stares at her, eyes wide, lips parted. “Y-yeah… you do that…”
Sasha stares at Anne’s lips.
There’s an awkward, tense silence of fast breathing and rapid heartbeats.
They end up piling into Marcy’s car and getting smoothies in a drive-thru on the way home before each taking a vigorous, extremely cold shower.
Marcy wanders through the campus, looking at her phone. There’s this new Vagabondia smutfic that got uploaded, and she’s morbidly drawn to it even though its noncon is just a tad bit more violent than something she’d normally read. And, of course, she’s not above brazenly reading it at school while walking, bumping into people and murmuring apologies.
“Sorry,” she mutters perfunctorily at the latest faceless figure in front of her. They don’t move.
She attempts to sidestep them, but she runs into something solid again. Marcy looks up in a panic.
Have I been apologizing and running into a wall again?
Even worse. It’s Anne and… Sasha.
Marcy squeaks, jumps a foot in the air, drops her phone when her backpack flies up and collides with her elbow, and fumbles to catch it for a solid five seconds. When she finally does, she snatches her phone out of the air and shoves it haphazardly down her shirt as fast as she can, hoping that her best friends haven’t seen what’s on it. Due to the relative flatness of her still-developing chest (come on, it’s not fair, she’s supposed to be done with puberty at this point), her phone slides down her shirt and slips out the untucked bottom, clattering noisily on the pavement.
At least it has a protective case.
“Oh, hey, let me get that for you,” Anne offers, bending down to pick it up.
“No!” Marcy yells, diving forward facefirst (and thus failing to notice Sasha staring transfixed at Anne’s ass). Marcy throws her entire body on top of her phone, landing on hard concrete with a breathless little
oof
of pain.
“Marcy! Are you okay?!” Anne exclaims, leaning forward—extremely closely—to look at her.
“Y-yeah…” Marcy’s eyes glaze over in pain. There are definitely some bruises forming around her ribs. “I’m… totally fine…”
She rolls over carefully, gritting her teeth. Her eyes cross a little as they water. Marcy’s gaze slides from Anne’s worried face to the blue sky above over to…
she can see straight up Sasha’s skirt from this angle.
Marcy’s mouth falls open at the sight of hot pink lace and pale, muscular thighs. “I’m—I’m FINE!”
She scrambles desperately to her knees and snatches her phone, this time shoving it into the depths of her backpack.
Sasha sighs. “Oh, Marcy.”
Those words—that tone—Marcy goes weak in the knees. There is far too much happening for her poor brain to take, and she topples forward, feeling heat flush
everywhere
in her body.
“Oh!” Anne catches her before she manages to eat concrete again, nestling her firmly in her arms. Marcy is left in an uncomfortable and undignified position, arms pinned to her sides by Anne’s embrace, face smushed into Anne’s much larger chest, her legs sticking out behind her.
Even more embarrassingly, Anne stands up and lifts her bodily to her feet.
“Yuh can… leff meh go now…” Marcy mumbles into Anne’s chest.
“Oh, no, I don’t want to risk you hurting yourself again,” Anne says with a little laugh.
Behind her, Marcy can hear the
zip!
of her backpack as Anne tenderly zips it for her, and she resigns herself to staying in Anne’s arms, even though she can’t see Sasha at all like this. It’s not too bad, though. Anne smells really nice. Anne’s body is really warm pressed against hers. Anne… mmm.
“Okay,” Anne says, slipping the backpack off of Marcy’s back, shouldering it herself, and stepping backward a little. “Mar-Mar, you’re a walking hazard by yourself. We’re gonna have to accompany you wherever you’re going.”
“I was just going… I don’t know. I’ll go wherever you’re going?”
“Oh, perfect!” Sasha says from somewhere behind her, and Marcy’s heart absolutely melts. “We were just going to the gym for some friendly one-on-one basketball. Wanna come with?”
Marcy looks up and meets Anne’s eyes accidentally. For some weird reason, Anne’s face goes all red, and she steps away from Marcy some more. “Y-yeah, Marbles. Come watch us?”
Marcy thinks about it. Anne and Sasha… running around in cute little uniforms… one-on-one sports… sweating?
“Eep,” she chokes.
“Guess that’s a yes,” Sasha says, flipping her hair with a saucy little twirl.
Marcy has, at this point, ceased to function, so she gives no protest.
Anne shrugs Marcy’s backpack more firmly on top of her own and places her hands gently on Marcy’s shoulders, spinning her around to face Sasha. Marcy immediately jerks her head to the side and stares unblinkingly into the sun, hoping beyond all hope that Sasha isn’t looking at her probably dumb-looking gay face. The sun hurts her eyes real real bad. Marcy averts her gaze and stares unblinkingly elsewhere into the sky.
Behind her, Anne takes a deep breath. “Okay, Marce, I’m gonna, c-carry you.”
Wait, what?
Suddenly, Marcy’s feet leave the ground as Anne scoops her up gently in a bridal carry. Marcy’s arms feel incredibly awkward and stupid until they settle automatically around Anne’s neck, and then her arms and every part of her feels perfect and safe and just really good. For some reason, Anne’s hands seem to be shaking as they cup her thigh and the side of her chest just below her shoulder. Or, wait… the reason is obvious…
“Am I too heavy for you?” Marcy blurts.
“What?! No!” Anne says, scandalized. “I’m a strong, independent woman, and I can hold my g—uh, guh, best friend.”
“Anne, you don’t even lift,” Sasha points out. “Unlike
some
people.”
Marcy peeks at her crush for a split second, just in time to see Sasha flex a bicep. She squeaks and buries her face in Anne’s shoulder, resolving to never ever use her eyes again because if she sees something like that again she might just
die
from gay yearning.
“Yeah,” Sasha says, sidling up to Anne. She leans in, right over Marcy’s head so that Marcy can feel the heat of her body radiating incredibly close to her lips. Marcy trembles. Then, Sasha practically purrs, “You don’t have to carry her just to impress me.”
“What?! No!” Anne squawks, a second time. “I’m not doing it for you! I’m doing it f-for her!”
“Oh, just let me at her before you strain your puny arms, Boonchuy,” Sasha giggles, giving Anne a playful shove. Her hand lingers on Anne’s shoulder.
Anne laughs stiffly, a little bit of challenge and edge to it. “I’m not letting you have her.”
Marcy’s brain is already stuttering at “let me at her,” filling her mind with sinful, unholy images of Sasha gone feral, stalking her, hunting her down, and pouncing at her to tear her clothes off. She pictures Anne leaping in front of her to protect her as she gasps fragilely, clutching her torn shirt to her chest. She pictures Anne and Sasha fighting—no, wrestling, over her. Marcy inhales deeply. She clenches her jaw, balls her fists, and tries desperately not to whimper, even as she begins to feel like sweat is starting to pour from every pore in her body.
“Here,” Sasha breathes, and Marcy can feel the warmth of her hands covering Anne’s hands and sliding agonizingly slowly along her forearms, her fingertips dragging against Marcy’s back, her palms against Anne’s skin. Sasha’s arm curls slowly around the backs of Marcy’s thighs, dangerously high.
“I’M FINE I CAN WALK BY MYSELF!” Marcy shrieks, flailing her way as far away from both of them as she can get. Then, she takes off running for the gym. “R-race ya! Last one there is… straight!”
Sasha and Anne both gasp.
“That’s the most heinous thing you could have ever said!” Sasha screams after her.
“You know you’re going to be last!” Anne calls.
The two of them begin chasing her, the pounding of their feet ringing in Marcy’s ears. Sure, with a record eighth grade mile time of ten hard-won minutes compared to Sasha’s 5:54 and Anne’s 6:12, Marcy stands no chance in the race.
However, fueled by pure gay panic, Marcy runs like the wind, refusing to glance behind her, even as the footsteps get closer, and she can hear Sasha’s panting and Anne’s ragged gasps behind her.
Almost… there…
The thick brown double doors of the gym loom in front of her.
“Hey, Mars,” Sasha breathes in her left ear, running
literally right next
to Marcy.
Marcy screams on instinct and throws herself forward, smashing face first into the doors before slowly sliding all the way down to the ground.
“Oh my god,” Sasha says. “Fuck. Are you okay?!”
Too humiliated to look up, Marcy lets her forehead rest against the ground and holds up a weak thumbs up. “Yup. I’m. I’m fine.”
At this point, Anne catches up too, falling to her knees once more beside Marcy.
“Hey, hetero,” Sasha teases.
“Shut up,” Anne growls. “You know I have a crush on a girl.”
“And you still won’t tell us who it is~” Sasha sings hopefully.
Anne ignores this. “Mar-Mar!” she exclaims.
“Y-yeah?”
“This is the second time in literally not even five minutes! And I’m like, really worried! Do you feel like you might have a concussion or something?”
“Um—” Marcy’s finding it really hard to think straight. She finally turns her head to look Anne in the eyes. “No?”
Anne looks at her askance, doubt and care brimming in her gaze. “Marcy…”
Over Anne’s head, Sasha stares down equally doubtfully, her arms crossed, one elegant eyebrow arched. Marcy begins to laugh nervously.
“I’m fine! Don’t worry! This is fine! It, uh, happens all the time. Just normal routine Marcy things, ha, ha! You know how it is! Definitely not for any reasons, nope!”
“Yeah, she’ll be fine,” Sasha says, reaching down to muss Marcy’s hair. Her fingers practically caress her scalp, sending tingles all the way down Marcy’s spine. “She’s a real tough cookie.”
Marcy squeaks.
* * *
It’s only when Marcy is settled firmly in the bleachers, her math binder spread out on her lap, that she starts to relax and feel a little bit more normal again. It’s also when she starts to cringe, hard.
Why did I do that. Oh god. Oh fuck. Why am I so cringe. Why did I panic so hard. I am literally so stupid. I acted so stupid in front of Sasha! Why can’t I just act like her friend the way I used to?
“Hey, Marcy! You ready to watch some serious competition?” It’s Sasha. Marcy starts violently and drops her binder, which clatters three rows down the bleachers, flinging a few random scratch papers into the air as it goes.
“Please kill me…” Marcy groans. She scrambles awkwardly down, picking the papers up and shoving them back into the red binder (obviously, Math is always red, and English is blue).
Sasha smiles. “It’s okay. Me and Anne already warmed up, but I can go stretch while you get settled!”
Marcy gives a noncommittal reply, keeping her gaze fixed firmly on the task at hand. She finds herself on her knees, reaching for the last unruly bit of graph paper, when her hand suddenly brushes Anne’s. Pleasantly surprised, Marcy looks up into her best friend’s eyes and smiles. “Oh, hey, Anne. Thanks!”
Anne flushes deeply, probably because of the sporty warm-up exercise thingies that she and Sasha do or whatever. Then, Anne opens and closes her mouth several times, the rest of her crouched body completely frozen from her bent legs to her hand, which still rests touching Marcy’s.
Marcy laughs awkwardly. “Um… what. Are you… why are you…?”
Anne blinks, hard, and looks down. “Oh! Uh…”
Anne desperately picks up the piece of scratch paper and thrusts it into the air, holding it up between her face and Marcy’s so that Marcy can’t see her face at all.
“Wow, look at all this… uh… math…!” Anne exclaims. “I don’t know what any of this means!”
“It’s just differential equations,” Marcy says ruefully.
Then, she freezes. Because while the side of the paper that Anne’s looking at definitely has differential equations on it, the side facing Marcy is covered in doodles of what Sasha would look like as a half-mermaid half-vampire—but, like, in anime style and with glowy pink eyes.
Marcy gasps out loud, puts her hands up in a futile effort to cover the sheet, and twists around to check that Sasha is still occupied with stretching her arms and calves. She is. Sasha looks fantastic in her tank top and short shorts, especially when she turns away from Marcy and bends forward, the fabric of her shorts taut against that beautiful ass. Marcy wonders if she’s still wearing the hot pink panties.
In fact, Marcy is just beginning to drift off into pervy daydreams when Anne’s voice brings her back.
“Haha, this is so complicated. You got an explanation on the back or something?” Anne asks, starting to flip the paper over.
“No!” Marcy yells in horror and embarrassment for the second time that day, lunging forward to snatch the paper and crumple it up.
Unfortunately, she dives without thinking or stopping to calculate her trajectory or momentum. Her chest collides painfully with Anne’s as she knocks her best friend to the ground, her entire body pinning Anne to the floor. After the initial surprise wears off, they’re left nose to nose, staring in shock into each other’s eyes.
Anne is breathing weirdly quickly, her eyes darkening and eyelids falling half shut. Which must be because…
“Oh my gosh I’m so sorry I must be crushing your lungs!” Marcy exclaims, pushing herself off to the best of her ability.
She manages to rise to a sitting position, blushing a little to find herself straddling Anne, sitting right on her hips with her legs spread to either side of Anne’s thighs.
There’s a cough right behind Marcy.
“As much as I’d love to see you two like this all day, I thought today was the… date that we were going to play our game,” Sasha drawls with the slightest hint of… anger? Annoyance? Some type of negative emotion.
Strong fingers curl right under Marcy’s armpits, just barely resting on the outsides of her chest, but enough to send little shivers running across her chest and all over her skin. Sasha starts to lift her unceremoniously up off of Anne, and Marcy forgets how to breathe.
“Uh—buh—wuh—uhuhuhuhuh,” Marcy mumbles very intelligently, crushing the already crumpled ball of scratch paper more tightly in her sweaty right fist.
Sasha sets her down firmly on her feet and leans in, and Marcy is suddenly very conscious of their one and a half inches of height difference. For a wild moment, Marcy thinks,
Are we about to kiss?
before Sasha’s low voice snaps her out of it.
“
Stay in your lane.
During my special sports time with Anne, your place is as a spectator. In the stands,” Sasha whispers, but it sounds more like a hiss. Her eyes are fierce and intense and probably actively sucking Marcy’s soul out of her body, in the best way, of course. Then, Sasha adds more kindly—“I hope you enjoy the show, though.”
She winks at Marcy, one of her look-at-me-I’m-kawaii please-forgive-me picture-perfect expressions. Marcy can’t even find it in herself to be annoyed at Sasha’s possessiveness, not when Sasha’s face looks like
that.
Marcy stays standing, clutching her binder to her chest, wondering when exactly Sasha started making her heart feel like it got struck by an arrow and run over by a truck at the same time (in a good way).
Sasha just… she’s just always so confident. And Marcy can’t even let herself read too much into Sasha’s casual flirtiness and usage of the word “girlfriend” because she doesn’t just say that to Marcy; she says that to EVERYONE. And, well, by everyone, Marcy means Anne. Just also Anne. Yeah.
Marcy watches now, feet rooted to the gym floor, as Sasha brushes a curly strand of blonde hair behind her ear, bends down with her legs tilted in an unspeakably attractive way, and extends a perfect hand out to Anne.
“Need a hand there, babe?” Sasha laughs.
She yanks Anne to her feet with her usual strength. Anne stumbles, her yellow sneakers squeaking as they scuff the wax of the gym floor, and she half-falls forward into Sasha, bringing her hand up at the last minute to stop herself so that their faces don’t smash together.
Sasha raises her eyebrow at the hand now resting on her chest and locks her own fingers around Anne’s wrist. “What, Anne,
feeling up
the competition?”
“It was an accident!” Anne yelps, tearing herself away as if burned. “C’mon, Sash… l-let’s just go play already!”
“Now that’s what I like to hear,” Sasha smirks, following Anne. On her way, she gives Marcy a playful push right between her shoulder blades. “You too, Mar-Mar. Go sit down and make yourself comfy already!”
“I-I’m just gonna go… do some… studying…” Marcy says weakly, gesturing vaguely at the stands.
* * *
Spoiler alert: Marcy does not end up doing any studying. Sure, she props up her binder on her lap and holds it tilted with her eyes downcast
as if
she’s studying, but really, she watches the game. Marcy might not know a lot about basketball, but she does know that Anne and Sasha are being much more physical than the game allows.
“Let me—out,” Anne pants, thrashing, squeezing the ball tight in her arms while Sasha squeezes Anne tight from behind, lifting Anne off the ground.
Sasha, giggles, and her voice is low, but Marcy can absolutely hear her say: “You know I can’t do that, Anne. I won’t let you go, and I won’t let you win.”
“Oh, yeah?” Anne says, whipping her head around.
Sasha falters upon finding Anne’s face only an inch or so away from her own, and Anne wriggles out, yelling triumphantly. “Just try to stop me!”
Sasha lunges forward, arms outstretched, but she overshoots her target when Anne leaps to the side, her body arcing gracefully away. In the next second, Sasha recovers and whips around, charging again as Anne begins dribbling and running towards the other end of the court. Then, as she makes a move to shoot, Sasha grabs her upper arm, trying to wrench it down. Anne only struggles for a moment before shrugging and just slamming her body into Sasha’s, turning around to aim while Sasha falls back, winded.
Marcy winces at the sheer amount of bodychecking and elbow jabbing going on before her, biting her lip when Sasha slams Anne to the ground, both of them panting as the ball dribbles itself sadly into a corner, completely forgotten, while the two girls breathe heavily and grunt and tussle with each other, rolling around on the damn floor. Honestly. This is why Marcy doesn’t do sports. It’s so… stupid. So much effort with no real result.
She watches instead, hungrily and a little guiltily, as Anne finds herself on her back, Sasha crouching triumphantly over her. Which is pretty hot to look at. This is why Marcy loves watching sports. It’s so… interesting. So much effort, muscles flexing and bodies squirming and all that. But Marcy knows she probably shouldn’t be thinking of her friends in that way, construing their fight as one fraught with homoerotic tension when it’s just her own creepy imagination. They’d probably hate her if they knew how she sometimes thought about them. Especially Sasha.
“End of the line, Anne,” Sasha smirks.
“Sasha. You made three baskets. I made five. What kind of game are you playing?”
“The one where I’m gonna sit on you until you tell me I won.”
Anne bursts out laughing as Sasha does indeed sit on her. “No—fuck that—Sash, you’re sitting on my ribs—it
tickles
oh my god stop!”
“Not until you tell me I—whoa!”
Anne heaves Sasha off, lunges forward, grabs the hem of Sasha’s shirt, and wrenches it above her head, covering Sasha’s face completely.
Sasha stumbles backwards, emitting a shriek muffled by the shirt. Marcy kind of wants to shriek too, because she finds herself unable to stop staring, transfixed, at Sasha’s completely bare chest.
“Oh my god!” Sasha yelps, pulling her shirt back down. Her face emerges, bright pink and shiny with sweat, little wisps of mussed hair sticking up in different directions. “Anne, if you wanted me to take off my shirt, you could have just asked instead of flashing everyone!”
“I—don’t worry, it’s just us three here—what kind of person doesn’t wear a sports bra to do sports? Don’t your boobs
hurt
when they, like, bounce around and stuff?” Anne half-yells this as well, covering her face with her hands and doubling over as she rambles in embarrassment.
“Well, I didn’t
bring
a sports bra, and I didn’t want to get my really nice pink lace one ruined by sweat!”
Marcy’s eyes widen. At this point, she’s drawn her knees up to her chest and hidden her face behind the binder, peeking out at her friends without letting them see her blush and her avid interest in their back-and-forth. But knowing that Sasha wore a Nice Quality Matching Set of underwear to school… man, that does things to Marcy.
“And
why
would you wear a nice bra to fucking high school?” Anne continues, waving her hands in the air.
“To feel sexy! Duh!”
“Oh my god—Sasha, you’re already one of the sexiest girls in our grade—”
“One of the?
One of the?
Who could possibly be sexier? Your mystery crush?”
Anne squeaks. For no apparent reason, her eyes flick up to Marcy in the stands, and then Marcy squeaks too and hides behind her binder because she absolutely does not want to be noticed by either of them nor for Sasha to look properly at her and fully realize that Marcy has seen her basically half-naked.
Marcy can hear Anne’s voice getting farther away as she stammers, “I—uh—I’m—oh, for fuck’s sake, Sash, let’s just—let’s just go and get changed. Marcy, we’ll be right back.”
She peeks over the top of the binder again to see her best friends going through the doors on the far side of the gym, heading for the locker room.
“So… you think I’m sexy?” Sasha says, as they walk through the doors.
Marcy’s heart clenches.
Yes. Oh god. You’re so… Sasha, you’re the definition of the word.
“Don’t make it weird!” Anne laughs, shoving Sasha’s shoulder. And then the door clangs shut behind them.
Marcy exhales a long sigh and lets her legs drop to a normal sitting position again, trying not to think too much about what Sasha looks like under her clothes or literally anything related to what she’s just seen. She fiddles with the slightly loose plastic coming off of her binder. It’s amazing that it’s lasted the whole year given how much she’s dropped it.
She shoves it into her backpack, zips it up, and sits back up. Every sound she makes echoes unnaturally loudly. The gym is so eerie when it’s empty like this. She’ll probably miss it though, when she graduates and leaves this school forever.
It’s so weird how much and how little has changed at the same time. It’s always been the three of them, Sasha, Anne, and Marcy, since they were little, and it’s honestly amazing that they’ve stuck together through everything. Most people have lost their kindergarten besties by the time they’re high school seniors. That’s part of why Marcy thinks that maybe she’ll never bring up her major crush on Sasha to her face. It’s better to just let herself simmer in the feelings than to risk destroying such a long-standing dynamic and absolutely mess up their perfect friendship.
In fact, when they were thirteen, their friendship almost did get messed up. Sasha got a little too controlling and power-hungry, determined to manipulate her way into getting voted the Popular Vote Princess at their eighth grade dance. Marcy honestly didn’t really care about all the backstabbing and threatening and psychological warfare that Sasha had enacted on their fellow eighth graders as long as they all remained friends, but Anne absolutely lost her shit and they had a huge fight. At least Sasha changed after that, bettering herself to keep her closest friends by her side.
It’s funny, Marcy thinks, that they have the same haircuts as back then. Sasha just never changed her ponytail style, Anne trimmed her curly hair neatly to the same length every summer to keep it manageable despite all Marcy’s urgings for a funky fresh new cut, and Marcy has reverted to short hair this year after an unfortunate bangs phase during freshman year and then trying to grow out her hair the year after but getting it caught in an elevator door once because she wasn’t paying attention. Yeesh. Now that was a humongous L she took.
Marcy sighs and pats her own thighs, looking restlessly around the gym. It’s been… like… a singular minute, and she’s going crazy with boredom. She desperately resists the urge to go join Anne and Sasha in the locker rooms (definitely not because she wants to watch anyone shower and change, definitely not) to feel less bored while she waits.
After about three seconds of standing up and sitting back down again, she whips out her phone and clicks on the Vagabondia nsfw fic again. This’ll be a great way to kill time.
* * *
Meanwhile, entering the locker rooms, the atmosphere is definitely charged with something that Anne can’t really put her finger on. Anne isn’t the most perceptive person, but she definitely isn’t oblivious either. Something has been… different this year, with her and Marcy and Sasha. Up until now, she’s chalked it up to her crush on Marcy just making things weird for her in her head.
But now… especially for the past maybe… month or so? There’s been a different kind of different. Anne can’t quite tell what it is, but something seems to have shifted. And that’s scary. Because what if it’s a sign that they’re drifting apart? After all, the three of them are all going to different colleges.
That could definitely explain Sasha’s newfound extra-possessiveness. She probably doesn’t want to lose her best friends either, which is probably why she currently has a hand splayed out on the small of Anne’s back and another caressing up and down Anne’s bare shoulder and arm as they walk.
That’s normal, right? Anne has never had any other best friends, so she wouldn’t know. One of the great things about having friends who are so touchy feely is that she gets to cuddle up to Marcy all the time during their group movie nights that double as three-person snuggling sessions in one of their beds.
“That was really fun,” Sasha says suddenly, interrupting Anne’s thoughts. They also stop walking, having reached one of the changing benches. Instead of sitting down, however, Sasha keeps standing, still clinging onto Anne’s shoulder.
“Y-yeah,” Anne agrees, taking the initiative in sitting down. Sasha, remaining attached to her, follows. “We’ll have to do it even in the future sometime.”
“Of course.” Sasha sounds… hesitant.
That’s very unlike her, so Anne turns her head to see Sasha’s face very close, with a worried crease in her brow. Sasha parts her lips, as if about to say something, but then she doesn’t, so Anne waits patiently, hardly daring to breathe because of how
close
Sasha is.
Everything in the room feels close, intimate, pressing in on them and waiting in silence for Sasha’s next words. Anne can feel a drop of sweat roll down the side of her forehead… then down her cheek to her neck… and down her back… and Sasha still doesn’t say anything. There’s a strange sort of tension, a heated, nervous anticipation, rising in Anne’s chest, and she finds her gaze falling to Sasha’s lips, silently willing her to say what she needs to say.
Sasha is terrified. Completely so. Several times now, she’s found herself with the words on the tip of her tongue—“Anne, I need to tell you something: I love you, will you be mine” but she’s always tamped down the urge. Still, the desire, the need to say it out loud and make Anne understand constantly surges within her, and it’s absolutely driving her crazy with how many sleepless nights she’s spent smiling while rereading Anne’s texts, thinking about how kind and wonderful and beautiful Anne is.
But she absolutely can’t let herself say it. Anne has a crush on some girl. And Sasha doesn’t know exactly who it is. But… it’s got to be her, right? It totally could be. Anne could just be shy, like when she said “one of the” and not “the sexiest girl in our grade,” because she could just be trying to hide a crush on Sasha. Right? But… what if it’s not? Sasha will end up rejected, Anne will feel uncomfortable, and Marcy will feel really awkward with the energy created within their friend group.
But like…
everyone
has a crush on Sasha. Well, maybe not everyone, probably not Marcy, because Marcy seems like she only falls in love with fictional characters, fawning over hot cartoon girls all the time, but like… everyone in the grade except for Marcy probably has a crush on Sasha. And that has to include Anne. Doesn’t it?
All these thoughts, which have gone through Sasha’s mind time and time again, flash through her head as she sits there, trying to force her palms not to sweat while they’re still in contact with Anne, thinking:
I can’t say anything. I can’t, not yet. But… I’ve been sitting here for too long. I have to fill the silence with something. Fuck. How long have we been sitting here? Please don’t let me sweat on Anne… but she’s already so sweaty, she probably won’t notice. Fuck, that’s hot. I wanna just lick the sweat off her skin right now. No! Don’t think about that right now, gotta think about something to say. Fuck my life. Why does this have to be so hard? With anyone else, I’d just confidently tell them and take them and know they’d be mine, just take and take and take, but with Anne, I… I…
“Uh—S… Sasha?”
Sasha jolts, looks into Anne’s eyes, and blurts, “...I just wanna give you everything.”
Anne stares at her.
Sasha stares back.
Neither of them say anything more.
At this point in time, Marcy slips through the door to the locker rooms, closing it silently behind her. She’s not really sneaking, not really, but the overwhelming quiet surrounds her, and she doesn’t want to break it. The fanfic, while pretty intense, has been finished all too quickly, and Marcy has finally given in to her urges to come find her friends.
She rounds the corner just in time to see Sasha slip off the bench and kneel half in front of Anne, desperately clutching at her hands and wrists.
Oops
, Marcy thinks on instinct, backing away.
Wait. What am I even witnessing?
She peeks back around the corner. Thankfully, Sasha and Anne are too absorbed in each other to notice her.
“Anne, let me explain,” Sasha pleads, gazing up at her friend. “What I mean is that—I—that, for a while, I’ve… I mean, for a lot of other people, I’m… you know, me, but you make me… you make me a better person, and I think you deserve a… you deserve… everything. I look at you and I want to be the one to give everything to you.”
Marcy’s heart thuds in her hiding place.
What is Sasha saying? It can’t be…
Anne opens her mouth.
“No! Don’t say anything!” Sasha reaches up and puts a finger over Anne’s lips. “Shh.”
Anne’s eyes cross looking at the finger, but she stays silent, waiting for Sasha to continue.
“Anne, I… fuck, these aren’t the right words, but I need to tell you… I mean, I started telling you, kind of, and now I have to fully explain that I—that I lo—that I’ve been thinking of you differently for a while now—goddamnit Anne, I have a fucking crush on you!”
The words seem to echo for ages, startlingly loud.
Marcy’s mouth falls open. No, really. She’s always thought that writers were exaggerating when they wrote about people’s mouths falling open, but she really—yeah.
Anne seems to be going through a similar level of surprise. As Sasha withdraws her finger from Anne’s lips, her hand and entire body shake, and Marcy can see the conflicted and sympathetic feelings crossing Anne’s face even from a distance.
Oh, no… she can’t be about to… how could anyone reject Sasha? But Anne… she’s going to… oh, Sasha’s going to be so heartbroken… I never knew she liked Anne like that… she should have confessed to ME! I wouldn’t let her down! Does she even… is there still any chance Sasha might still love me too?
“Sasha… I—”
“No! Don’t say anything!” Sasha exclaims for the second time, panic filling her voice. She clutches Anne’s hand like a lifeline. “I don’t want to hear it!”
Anne pauses, her eyes going wide. “You don’t?”
“Yeah,” Sasha sighs, her voice barely above a whisper. Marcy has to lean forward to hear it. “I can’t… I don’t want to hear you say it. I’d rather not know right now… and just tell myself you feel it too… I just—I’m just not ready to know what you really think, one way or another.”
Marcy winces.
Damn, that can’t be healthy.
Anne gazes down at Sasha and cups her cheek with such compassion and warmth written in her face that Marcy’s heart aches just looking at her. “Oh, Sasha… I—man, this is a lot to process. I won’t tell you, then, but right now I’ll fucking promise you that we will still always be friends at the very least, no matter what.”
Sasha sighs, leaning her face into Anne’s hand. As she takes a deep breath, it’s like all of the stress leaves her body, and she slumps tiredly forward, letting her cheek come to rest on Anne’s inner thigh. And Marcy hears Anne’s breath hitch at that from almost six feet away.
“Anne—” Sasha starts, tilting her face upward again. She puts her hands on Anne’s thighs, one on each, and suddenly the scene strikes Marcy as sensual beyond words, charged with more tension than she’s ever experienced before. At the same time, she aches with jealousy, wishing to be part of it, but her body also thrills to be witnessing it, how perfect Anne and Sasha look together. Sasha kneels between Anne’s legs, with her back turned now, but Marcy can still hear her shallow little breaths and see the slight fluttering of the folds of Anne’s tank top where Sasha’s panting moves it.
Sasha hovers a few inches from Anne’s stomach, gazing searchingly up into her face. With trembling hands, she traces her fingers up Anne’s thighs. “I… I want to give you… I would do
anything
for you, you know?”
Anne swallows visibly, her throat bobbing. “Sasha… that wouldn’t be… you don’t even know if I… I couldn’t take advantage of you like that.”
For the first time in this encounter, Sasha’s old bravado flares up. “I don’t care! You’re not taking advantage of me. I told you I’d give you anything, everything, and I meant it, and it doesn’t matter what you actually think, just whether you’ll take it or not.”
Anne swallows again, blinking rapidly as if she can’t believe what’s happening, the heat of Sasha’s skin on her own, the tension in the air, Sasha’s heavily implied proposal hanging between them.
“Anne,” Sasha says, but it’s really a whisper this time. “Tell me to stop, and I will. Just say the word. But until I hear you say it… I’ll keep going. Forever if you want me to.”
And technically, as her fingers dig into the waistband of Anne’s shorts, Sasha realizes she’s about to take, after all, just as much as she’s about to give.
Anne sits with her hands braced against the bench, biting her bottom lip, breathing soft and open-mouthed as she raises herself slightly off the bench, letting Sasha slip her shorts down her legs. As the cool air surrounds her newly exposed skin, Anne sucks in a nervous breath, closing her legs. A pretty blush deepens over her face, already flushed from exertion, and Marcy is suddenly so overcome with unexpected awe that she has to bite down on her hand to stop herself from gasping out loud. Still, her palms tingle in excitement and vicarious anticipation.
Sasha makes a soothing “mmmm” sound, stroking Anne’s leg with her left hand while she lifts Anne’s top with the other, running her fingers over her exposed stomach. She leans forward, and Anne’s legs fall apart to accommodate her as she tentatively touches her tongue to Anne’s stomach, licking up the faint lines of her abdominal muscles.
They’ve turned slightly to the side now, so Marcy can literally see the slight ripple of Anne’s abs, shuddering under Sasha’s tongue. She tries her hardest not to make a single sound, still biting down on the side of her hand, though her back and waist ache from leaning carefully around the corner, and her hand has become slick with spit.
As Sasha dips her head lower, nosing her way between tense brown thighs, Anne throws back her head and moans, an agonized, blissful sound that makes Marcy lightheaded. Triumphant, Sasha locks her arms around Anne’s lower back and pulls her in closer, deeper, and Anne starts gasping and whining and scrunching her face up, sounds and expressions that Marcy has never imagined seeing on her best friend’s face. It never occurred to Marcy how good Anne would look getting taken apart under Sasha’s tongue.
Hesitantly, Anne lifts her right hand off the bench, letting it rest in Sasha’s hair. When Sasha lets out a muffled moan—something electric goes through Marcy as she remembers exactly what Sasha’s mouth is muffled by—Anne tangles her fingers in the messy blonde hair, pushing Sasha’s face deeper.
Marcy watches Anne’s hand, splayed across the back of Sasha’s head, following her movements as Sasha’s head works up and down, her ponytail swinging behind her. Anne tips her head back again with a low groan of ecstasy, revealing the long column of her throat. The locker room fills with her desperate, happy noises, the slick sucking sound that Sasha makes with her tongue, and the occasional scrape of the bench as it rocks and moves across the floor with Sasha’s vigor.
Marcy whimpers. For a second, she’s terrified that they’ve heard her, but no, Anne and Sasha are lost in their own little world, and Anne’s moaning up a storm—there’s no way they could have heard her. She still squeezes her eyes shut and darts back around the corner, breathing heavily, her back pressed against the wall.
She sneaks her hand into her pants. JUST to check, of course. Damn it. She’s embarrassingly wet, a lot more than she was while reading that smutfic—she checked back in the gym, too. Marcy wonders what she should do. She can’t stand here forever with her hand in her pants. Eventually, Sasha will stop…
oh my god, Sasha is going down on Anne on the other side of this wall. This is real. It’s actually happening. Oh my god.
To her own surprise, Marcy suddenly realizes that she’s got two of her fingers inside herself already and she’s sliding down with her back against the wall, knees bent, masturbating hard to the glorious sounds of her best friend getting eaten out by her crush.
Oh my god. What am I doing? When did my life stop being so nerdy and start getting so… scandalous?
Marcy’s cheeks feel hot as she extracts her hand from between her legs, wiping her arousal on her own lips.
Haha. Free lip gloss.
She absolutely can’t stay here anymore, not while Anne’s moans are rising in pitch and volume, not while she’ll be tempted… so much…
“Oh—
fuck
—Sasha, yeah… just like that—”
Marcy takes a deep breath, turns, and flees.
|
"tommy? are you alright?"
.
.
it all started somewhere near october. him and tubbo liked to joke about moving in together – having weird sense of humor about it and exciting their viewers whenever they mentioned it.
well, they joked about it. they never thought they end up in a one house, together with ranboo.
ranboo was a great guy, don't get him wrong— tommy just.. felt strange being around the two.
they always had a better friendship dynamics than him and tubbo, they we're comfortable with platonic flirting, unlike tommy, who flinched nervously or groaned in annoyance everytime the older made some psychical contact. (He really wanted a hug, he just didn't know how to express it.)
he felt like a third-wheel hanging out with them; they had almost the same sense of humor, having funny inside jokes together – unlike tommy, who was just loud, obnoxious and mean.
he would always hide a groan inside everytime ranboo spoke nicely or smiled lightheartedly at him. it wasn't an annoyed groan, nor a playful or a happy one.
it was just this weird feeling. (Tommy didn't know if he could describe this as jealousy, although he felt like Ranboo was a better in everything than him.)
and who was he to lie about it? ranboo was better than him. his self–esteem fell to 0 whenever ranboo did or said something. maybe he was being over-dramatic– or jealous,
but, it's still hadn't helped him with the fact that he felt like a piece of thrash compared to the taller and older boy.
now, he was sitting in the bathroom floor, leaning against the door and crying like a fool.
he had an amazing life, supportive friends and a career of his dreams, yet he still cried every night, complaining about how much of an moron he is.
he let out a shaky breath and a sob, followed by hearing a knock to the door.
.
.
"tommy? are you alright?"
ranboo wasn't a fool. he could tell when the blonde was feeling upset, even if he was so "good" at hiding it.
he could see the looks tommy gave him when he talked to tubbo, or was genuinely nice.
and he understood.
he was just a small streamer, came from nowhere and dared to replace the famous duo.
he kind of ruined their dream's of moving in together, and being amazing friends.
but, who was he to say no when tubbo asked him to move in with them?
at first, ranboo though that was some sort of a joke. even tommy seemed happy about it when they talked together!
then, when he finally moved to brighton together with the two, he felt relieved.
of course– if felt weird at first, suddenly moving in with his friends out of nowhere, but it was great having some sort of 24/7 support whenever he felt like shit.
even if they weren't always home, there was someone to talk to him whenever he was stressed, or overwhelmed.
that someone was mainly tommy, to everyone's surprise.
tubbo was helping him too, but it was tommy who found him crying in the kitchen at 4 in the morning, and helped him clear his thoughts.
he listened to everything ranboo said to him, and even said his own part.
later on, they played mario kart and tubbo found them passed out together in a couch in the living room, taking a picture and using it for blackmail, of course in a joking way.
tommy was there to comfort him when he was low.
so, now it was his duty to do the same.
tubbo went shopping a couple of minutes ago, leaving the two home alone. he felt like something was wrong, the atmosphere was tense and he couldn't hear the boy yelling and laughing from his room.
he decided to check on him, heading into his room, before knocking on the door.
no response.
huh. he entered the room slowly, noticing no alive soul. maybe he went together with tubbo?—
and that's when he heard a muffled noise. sob, to say at least.
he rushed to the bathroom door, carefully knocking to not scare the other.
"tommy? are you alright?"
he asked, listening for any noise. he could hear a shaky breath, and tommy trying to speak.
"y– yeah, uh." a hoarse voice spoke, sniffing a little. "go away, i'm shitting."
ah, of course. he always joked when something was wrong.
"you sure?" ranboo asked, lifting an eyebrow.
there we're a couple of seconds of silence.
"can i come in?" he asked, yet again, getting a humm of approval from the boy.
he heard a muffled shuffling behind the doors, and tommy unlocking it.
ranboo pulled on the handle, opening the wooden door and revealing the boy himself.
"oh.." he murmured.
"yeah." tommy sniffed, looking at the ground.
he looked like.. shit.
his right arm was bruised and slightly bleeding from scratching it with fingernails, his hair was flung to the sides and messy, and his blue eyes looked like he cried the whole night.
oh.
oh no.
"uh.. i–" he looked at the boy, nervousness visible in his voice.
tommy bit his lower lip. "sorry for making it a big deal." he said, playing with his hands.
he stiffed, his mind going crazy. "oh, no, no! it's– it's okay, you shouldn't.. apologize." he responded, looking at the floor.
this is awkward.
"can we..– can we hug?"
silence reigned in the room, the younger's words going unnoticed.
"sorry, i—" he got cut off, the taller approaching him into a tight hug.
that's where he couldn't hold it anymore.
he broke down, crying into the other's chest. it wasn't very 'tommy–like', but he didn't care. he was so, so touch starved, he just wanted a fucking hug.
it was all too much, and all he could do was cry.
"i– i'm so fucking upset." he said, letting out a broken laugh.
ranboo comforted him, whispering kind words. "it's okay, you're fine now."
eventually they left the bathroom, heading downstairs to the same couch as earlier.
.
.
"hey, dude– i don't.. i can't really help that much, but i hope you're feeling okay." the blonde said, giving the other an
akward
smile.
ranboo returned it, smiling as well. "yeah, no.. it's not that big of a deal, but thank you for being here."
they sat in silence for a couple of minutes.
"do you.. do you wanna play mario kart?" he asked jokingly, but to his surprise was met by something else.
"sure, let's go." the taller smiled, both standing up from the couch.
.
.
they sat on the maroon couch, looking at the turned off and blank tv screen.
"so.."
the older said, catching tommy's attention.
"do you want to talk about it?" he asked, the atmosphere heavy.
...
"i mean, i.. we can, if you want." he said, struggling to find correct words.
ranboo shrugged. "it's your choice, i'm not gonna force you if you don't want to."
...
"it's just– it's been stressful, alright man?" he said, leaning onto the couch.
"i feel like i'm worse in everything than you." he continued, glancing at the brunette.
oh. so that's why he was crying.
that's.. tough.
"i– and i don't mean it like, i don't know.. " he said, looking back at the wooden floor.
tommy exhaled quietly. "i just– i like you, and you're an amazing friend, not only to tubbo, but to me, too.."
ranboo hummed softly.
"i think i'm jealous." he said spontaneously.
ranboo leaned back to the couch as well, nodding.
"you're a better friend than me. tubbo enjoys spending time with you– you're kind, you're quiet, you're not obnoxious– i.."
"—and i'm happy that tubbo's happy, and even that– you're happy, but it just feels like.." he continued, groaning in annoyance.
"fuck, just– nevermind, forget it, i'm rambling again, being a piece of shi—"
ranboo cut him off. "hey– hey, it's okay!" he said, placing a hand on the other's arm slowly.
"you're not rambling. you're allowed to have feeling, you're allowed to feel upset or jealous."
tommy looked at him.
"i know, but.. it just feels stupid. i'm literally complaining about you, to you." he joked slightly, but without a laugh.
"i can talk with tubbo about it i you're feeling like a third-whe—"
"no, don't!" tommy suddenly raised his voice, the room going quiet for a couple of seconds.
"sorry." he murmured. "i just, i wan't you guys to be happy, but i'm feeling like i'm worse than everyone.. it's stupid."
...
"well, it's not stupid." the older replied, making tommy look up.
"and it's not that big of a deal too, i talked with tubbo before, and he was even concerned about you spending less time with us." ranboo said, smiling sadly.
"and i was too." he continued, "i fully understand that you're feeling left out sometimes, or that you feel like uh, shit, when you think we're third-wheeling you, but i promise that it's not like that."
tommy smiled.
"maybe you're not that bad." he said quietly, coughing to clear the hoarseness in his voice.
ranboo chuckled slightly. "do you.. do you want to play mario kart?" he asked, making the other suddenly stop and go still.
...
"i think we're gonna be great best-friends, ranboob."
.
.
later on, they fell asleep together on the same couch as before, mario kart playing in the background. tubbo returned shortly after they fell asleep, taking another picture and using it as his background on twitter.
|
“If you awake to a knife at your throat, if monsters dig their claws into you, if death comes knocking at your door...Call out my name, Adeptus Xiao. I will be here when you call.”
“Hey, Xiao? Are you around?” Wind blew around her, ruffling her clothes with the chill of the night breeze, but there was no response. Lumine sighed, feeling mildly disappointed that there wasn’t any sign of the adeptus. Perhaps he was busy with his duties tonight. And after she spent so long perfecting his favorite dish too! “I’ll just leave this here,” she said, placing the Sweet Dream down gently on the railing before taking her leave, not noticing a figure watching her from the rooftops of the inn.
When Lumine went to pick up the plate the next morning, she found it scraped clean with a single qingxin flower laid on top of it.
Once Lumine saw the Mitachurl lifting its blazing axe, she knew she was in severe trouble. Immediately, she ducked to the side, raising her weapon to deflect the attack. But the blade sent her sword flying and slashed her dominant arm, the force of the swing throwing her back into a large boulder and knocking the wind out of her.
Lumine crumbled to the ground, coughing as blood streamed down from her injury. It didn’t feel broken, but the cut was deep and long. Her body screamed as she struggled to her feet, already swaying from exhaustion and the blood loss making it worse.
If monsters dig their claws into you…
“…Xiao.” The adeptus’s parting words floated to the front of her mind, but she shook her head. She was on the other side of Liyue, far from Wangshu Inn. There was no way he would make it in time, even if he heard her.
The Mitachurl approached menacingly, lifting its axe for another blow. The Traveler grit her teeth and stood her ground as she raised her uninjured hand, wind swirling in her palm.
A figure plunged from the sky with a burst of condensed Anemo energy, creating a huge dust cloud and causing Lumine to release her hold on the skill she was charging and raise her arms to cover her face instead. Unfazed, the Mitachurl infused it’s axe with Pyro and jumped, only to be knocked out of the air by the swing of a jade-colored spear. Lumine caught sight of a familiar Yaksha mask as her savior leapt forward to plunge straight onto the hilichurl with a growl, reducing it to smoke in a matter of seconds.
Shaking with relief, Lumine fell to her knees, unable to remain standing any longer. Xiao walked over to her in a few strides, a rare look of concern on his maskless face as he crouched down to assess her injuries. “Foolish Traveler, did I not tell you to call me should you need my aid?”
She chuckled sheepishly. “I thought I could handle it…”
“Mortals.” He reached over to place an arm under her legs and another to support her back, and with no effort, lifted Lumine easily, startling a gasp from her.
“X-Xiao?!” she cried out, flustered.
“You require medical treatment.”
“I apologize for taking up your time, Traveler. Thank you for indulging in my request.”
“Oh, it was no problem Zhongli. I was in the area anyways.”
Lumine walked alongside Zhongli, her footsteps heavy on the concrete path. The burden of his request weighed on her mind, having just tossed Harvia’s relics into the sea, as they approached Liyue Harbor.
“By the way, you mentioned you were heading back to Wangshu Inn, were you not?” The former archon stopped walking and turned to face Lumine, hand on his chest. “Could you perhaps assist me with one last request for today?”
She nodded amicably, never one to turn down an ask for help. “Is it the usual for Xiao?” The wind picked up, her bangs blowing into her face as her eyes squeezed shut. When the breeze calmed, she tucked her hair back behind her ear and extended her hand in invitation. “Sure. I really should be making regular visits for this, shouldn’t I?”
Zhongli chuckled, hiding his mouth behind a hand. “There is no longer any need.” He turned away from Lumine to gesture subtly at a tree located in the corner of the plaza. “It would appear that he has decided to grace us with his presence.”
She spun around to stare intensely at the same tree that Zhongli was looking at. There was… the fluttering of a long, gold-lined sleeve… and a glimpse of teal-colored hair?
“Xiao?!” she yelped, surprised that the adeptus had wandered so close to the harbor when he typically avoided crowds so adamantly.
Caught, Xiao stepped into view, lips pursed into a thin line as he stared at a single spot on the ground, stubbornly avoiding eye contact with the pair in front of him.
“W-why are you… here...” Lumine’s voice drifted off and her eyes widened as the reason why Xiao came to the harbor became clear.
I just said his name…!
Her face flushed at the realization and she turned away. Zhongli glanced between the pair, evidently amused as he clapped his hands together.
“Well now, since you are both here, how about we share a meal together at the Xinyue Kiosk? I assure you that I have the Mora with me this time.”
Lumine’s arms were aching, having scaled the numerous cliffs around Qingyun Peak in search of qingxin. The last flower一the last one she needed一was peeking over a ridge just above her. Just a bit more climbing…
She stretched and rolled her head side to side a few times before gripping the rock wall and starting the way up, one step at a time. Her fingers burned and her toes cramped from shoving them in the small notches along the cliff edge, but she continued her journey upward.
About halfway up the cliff, the amount of holds that were available were starting to dwindle; the only ones that were left were narrow and hard to hold. Adjusting her grip, Lumine took a deep breath before reaching up to grab another small outcrop of rock and heaving herself up, not noticing the earth cracking under her weight. Shifting her weight to her arms, she clutched the wall to move her foot higher just as the rock crumbled and suddenly…
She was falling.
Immediately Lumine twisted her body around as she mentally berated herself for not checking that the hold was secure before putting her weight on it. Wind buffeted her face, sending her hair flying in all directions as she struggled to catch her breath and get her bearings. She tugged several times at her glider, desperately trying to release it while free falling through the air, but nothing happened.
Horror seeped into her veins as the ground continued its rapid approach. A nightmare flashed before her eyes, one that she’s had ever since she first woke up in Teyvat wingless and powerless, where she fell through endless darkness without a wind glider.
She gasped for air as her mind raced to find something, anything that could stop or slow the impending collision. In a split moment of despair, she called out the first name she could think of.
If death comes knocking at your door...
“Xiao…!”
There was a slight upward draft, and Lumine could feel her descent slowing ever so slightly as gentle arms wrapped around her. Immediately, her momentum shifted as she was tucked against a warm chest with her neck and head cradled protectively. The sudden change caused her to lose her breath for a brief moment and as she glanced up, she could see a familiar mask surrounded by the dark emerald glow of karmic Anemo energy.
When they finally landed on solid ground, Lumine couldn’t help but feel disoriented, even as Xiao gently set her down but continued bearing most of her weight. Her whole body shook, her breathing ragged. The sudden events flooded her mind and she realized just how high up she was.
I could have died.
“Are you alright?” Wide eyes turned to face the adeptus, whose mask dissipated into the air and revealed concerned amber eyes. Lumine wanted to answer一the expression looked so out of place on Xiao’s face一but she just couldn’t get enough air.
Firm hands gripped her trembling shoulders and she found herself staring into golden depths.
Grounding her.
“Breathe. I am here.”
She sucked in a shallow, shaky breath, holding it for a moment before forcing herself to exhale slowly.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
Each breath she took was easier, the air filling her lungs and chasing away the last remnants of panic. A few more and her shivering had stopped, her mind cleared. Xiao nodded, satisfied, and released her shoulders.
“T-thanks…” Lumine whispered, inclining her head in thanks.
“It was no trouble, Traveler.”
Loneliness was something that Lumine was becoming unwillingly familiar with; even having Paimon as her companion didn’t ease the aching hole in her heart. She could talk about it, attempt to explain the feeling, but no one would understand the true meaning of losing the other half of your soul.
(No, that’s not right. The only one that could was…)
“Xiao…”
The name slipped from her lips, unbidden, as her mind drifted to the lone surviving Yaksha, the one who had spent his life repenting for his actions and will continue to do so for years to come.
She couldn’t even begin to imagine what a heavy burden that was to carry alone for so long. Even just these few months of being away from Aether were already too much for her to bear. Lumine pulled her legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them in an feeble attempt of self-comfort as she stifled a sob.
The leaves rustled as a gentle gust of wind blew through the campsite. “...You called?”
Lumine jumped (it really shouldn’t be a surprise to her anymore) as she turned to face the adeptus standing over her, whose pose and expression were uncharacteristically neutral. “I… umm...” A blush spread across her face and she ducked her head down, biting her lip and mentally cursing herself for saying his name so easily. He had told her to call for him when she was in danger, not when she was battling a night of solitude. Surely Xiao had more important things than to keep checking up on her.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Xiao glancing around their camp, searching for any danger when there was none. No, the only danger to her right now was the emptiness of her heart and the anguish eating away at her being. Tears welled up in her eyes and she turned to the side, not wanting to seem weak in front of the Yaksha. She had already inconvenienced him enough, causing him to come out here for no reason.
Xiao’s eyes bore into her as if reading the inner depths of her soul. Then, as if coming to a decision, he walked over to her side and crouched, balancing carefully on the balls of his feet. His gaze stayed firmly on the plains in front of them, carefully avoiding eye contact with Lumine.
“Demons lurk at night,” he offered by way of explanation at Lumine’s look of incredulity. A small smile grew on her face as she wiped the tears streaming down her cheeks, immensely grateful for the company.
The hollow feeling in her chest eased, just slightly.
Xiao had been patrolling the area, making his rounds when he caught a glimpse of white in the distance. Curious, he made his way closer and saw Lumine weaving effortlessly through a Hilichurl camp, her form graceful and elegant. With a stomp of her foot, Geo constructs bloomed around her, throwing the enemies backwards to a respectable distance as she readied her sword and charged. It was as if he was watching a dance with the enemy, one with their lives at stake.
Lumine was in no immediate danger, he decided, and yet his gaze never left the battle below. It wasn’t until the last Hilichurl vanished that Xiao released the breath he didn’t know he was holding, loosening the grip he had on his spear.
“Lumine…” he whispered. She turned to face his direction and Xiao froze; whether she heard him say her name or not, he doesn’t know.
Lord Barbatos must be bored if he decided to carry Xiao’s words across the winds.
She smiled and waved at the adeptus, her excitement visible even from the distance. Xiao sighed as he made his way over to her, readying himself for another day filled with mundane commissions.
He couldn’t bring himself to care.
|
Hey little girl, you look so nice.
In that pretty red dress with those pretty black eyes.
Hello Mr. Wolf, oh what a surprise,
To find you here so deep in the night.
- Me and Mr. Wolf by The Real Tuesday Weld
Kakashi’s chest rose exponentially as he breathed in the cool night air. The magic laced in the dead of the night made him lightheaded, followed by a high similar to any stimulating drug. He could literally feel his dark pupils dilate at the overwhelming sensation.
Hunger.
The thirteenth moon only comes every two or three years, and according to supernatural law, werewolves are allowed to feast during this time to their heart’s content. Tonight however, the moon is closest to the festive night of Samhain, so not only does he feel stronger, but also hungrier.
So who is he to not enjoy this night like every other supernatural?
The young-bloods of this generation had to be kept a closer eye on by the elders because they were practically drooling and baring their fangs more and more as the veil between the realm of the living and the stream of magic thins out. It made him remember his first thirteenth moon and how his father had to literally hold him back by the scruff the closer it got to his first hunt.
But that’s a story for another time. Tonight, is a time for a hunt.
Kakashi slipped his jacket on before he locked his apartment. His ears, more sensitive than they already were, heard the distant and suppressed howls from his fellow creatures of the night. His father had invited him to join his pack for their own hunt but he refused, as always. Kakashi had only ever joined a hunting pack once and immediately concluded to do his hunts alone from then on. Joining packs for fights (mostly territorial) is one thing, but hunting with others did not give him the same sense of thrill, of exhilaration, as when he does so alone. Plus, he wasn’t the type to share his game. Nonetheless, Hatake Sakumo never fails to invite him every thirteenth and Hunter’s Moon.
Now out on the streets, the lightbulbs from the lampposts were the only sources of light in this late hour. Not that he needed them though. With the thirteenth full moon high and bright, his senses became sharper and deadlier than ever.
For tonight’s choice of dining though, Kakashi headed straight towards the Rusty Kunai. A local pub owned by a changeling fae whom he knew. It’s an establishment frequented by both humans and the supernatural alike.
“Yo!” he greeted with two fingers raised. His silver hair and mask stood out even in the dim, red-orange-saturated tone of the bar.
“Was wondering if you were gonna stop by tonight,” Genma huffed but otherwise moved his hands fluidly from behind the counter. His words and sentences were still as clear as ever even with the ever-present sharp stick between his teeth- a normal toothpick to the human eye, but actually a thorn of death eater flower. Just the slightest pinprick could paralyze any human within seconds. “You just missed Obito. Said he’s going to do his hunt with his clan’s young-bloods tonight.”
Kakashi accepted the glass of normal-looking amber fluid. Horned Lamb’s blood diluted and mixed with lemon was always the best drink to set his blood on fire.
“Yeah, he already told me,” he took just the slightest sip of his drink and a shiver instantly ran up his spine.
What a way to loosen up.
He was about to take another sip when his nose picked up a very peculiar scent. Not wanting to look suspicious, he turned around his stool and leaned his elbows back on the shiny counter. His drink nestled between his fingers. Dark eyes scanned across the pub, watched the many faces talking and laughing without a care in the world. Some of the pub goers had already fit his preferences for a suitable meal; that being virgins fresh from their cycles and had unknowingly been touched by magic, or simply those with high magic sensitivity who could give him a good fight. His father did say that he was a picky eater, and Kakashi wasn’t ashamed of it. However, it seemed like this prey of his doesn’t belong in his usual menu.
At the second whiff of that tantalizing smell, Kakashi almost visibly shivered and audibly growled. It was strong, heady, and indescribable. Like a weird combination of sex, flowers, and honey; it was addicting, and it came from the woman in a red dress sitting on the other end of the long bar.
Pink hair, slender figure, cream-colored skin, long smooth legs, and dazzling green eyes. Just from her sight alone, anyone could’ve mistaken her for a fae. And he would’ve thought so too, if his nose didn’t say otherwise. For despite her looks, she’s purely human.
A really, gorgeous woman at that. And that’s saying something because he’s never found his prey attractive.
Might as well try something new then-
She seemed to have felt his gaze and turned to look back at him. But what really did him in was when she smiled coyly and deliberately searched for the straw of her drink- with her tongue. She sipped, and an audible pop released from her lips before she winked.
As if that wasn’t enough, he caught another whiff of her scent and his pants instantly felt constrictive.
“Hi,” he greeted as casually as possible as his inner beast practically roared at him to jump her then and there.
“Hey,” she greeted back with a higher curve of her lips and he felt his cock twitch in his pants.
.
Everything else became a blur then. One minute they were sharing a couple rounds of drinks, enjoying each other’s company, flirting and sneaking a teasing caress every now and again, and the next they were shamelessly groping each other and making out in a dark part of an alley.
“Wow,” she gasped breathlessly at the hungry nibbles and licks over her throat, “you’re a wild boy, aren’t you?”
Kakashi groaned. Whether it was from the alcohol or the intoxicating scent constantly bombarding his sensitive nose, he’s too far drunk on this woman’s body to care even if a voyeur decided to stop by and watch the show.
Slender hands held onto his shoulders as he was pushed away. The sudden suspicion of how she was able to overpower him lasted only momentarily before that delicious scent drowned him back to his high.
“My place?” she smirked between panted breaths. Fingers trailed up to the edges of his mask, pooled under his chin, and traced her thumb across his bottom lip. “What do you say, handsome?”
Breathless himself, Kakashi could only nod in his haze of desire. Her giggle sounded like bells in his ears as she patted his hands, which were supporting her up the wall by her ass all this time. He reluctantly set her down and the pinkette quickly pulled him out of the dingy alley.
She led him to a motel room. Hers. A passing thought made him remember that she and a couple of her friends have come to town for a Halloween party or something.
The second the door closed, she was onto him and his own hands resumed back to cupping her backside and trapping her between himself and the door. His palms on her luscious thighs travelled up, outside, and then inward, until her blood red dress bunched around her stomach. Kakashi groaned- growled? He wasn’t sure anymore, at the sight of black panties decorated with red ribbons and butterflies.
He felt her hands on his shoulders again and for a moment he thought she was going to push him away. Instead, she did the same thing he did and slid her hands over his torso, through his sleeves; until his jacket fell to the floor with a quiet thump. His shirt and mask followed not a second later.
Her once mint eyes clouded with raw lust and became an emerald green that almost glowed in the darkness of the room illuminated only by the moon outside the window. This time, Kakashi literally howled and ripped her dress off. The screeching sound of fabric being torn by raw power fell on deaf ears as he let his beast overtake him.
“Whoa! Easy there, wild boy,” her words barely registered in his ears as he threw her on the bed. For a second, he thought she would be angry for being so rough (and for literally ruining her dress), but then she giggled and raked her hands over his silver locks.
Oh fuck… the feel of her fingernails over his scalp was divine.
“Well aren’t you quite the horn dog?” she chortled, and with a finger, lifted his chin from where he had been staring at her modest chest cupped with a matching set as her panties. “Don’t worry, puppy. We have all night.”
He knew she was just teasing him, but for some reason, hearing her call him all these pet names made him oddly happy and excited. So much so that he didn’t notice his own tail manifesting over the cast of their shadows, wagging like a common dog.
In a huff, Kakashi climbed atop his attractive pinkette and started another round of kissing, petting, and groping.
Her body, her scent, her taste… sweet hellfire she’s perfect.
A little too perfect.
What little sanity he had left, whispered. Never had he ever been attracted to a chosen prey before. He’s not the type to have sex before eating them either. There’s some flirting at the beginning at first, sure, but that’s just to coax them out to the hunting grounds. Feasting afterwards was always most rewarding after a good chase.
So what makes this one different?
A strangled gasp, almost a yip, came out of Kakashi the second he felt lithe slender fingers cup the bulge in his pants. Her touch felt like fire even through the cloth. He responded in kind with a long, almost teasing lick of his tongue from her stomach, through the valley of her breasts, up to the shell of her ear.
“Eager, aren’t we?” she whispered hotly in his ear as he panted on the junction of her neck and shoulder while that hand of hers continued to fondle him.
Kakashi trembled when she snapped his button and fly open and took out his cock from his boxers. Before he knew it, he found himself on his back and his clothes gone along with hers. Charcoal eyes stared at a nude back and a delicious rear atop his chiseled stomach. The beast within him howled in approval at the sight.
Lean hips raised along with another hitch of his breath when the all-too-familiar sensation of a tongue licked the bead of precum from the mushroom head. While one hand wrapped around the veiny length, another fondled at his twin sacks as she did her deed to please his cock. Which was practically twitching at the teasing way she licked and kissed at his length but never once took him in her mouth besides licking through the slit of his cockhead.
Still, as pleased as he was for the attention, the alpha in him refused to be left on the receiving end. Large, rough hands smacked on the rear globes and a smirk graced his lips when the pinkette arched her back and let out a gasp in surprise. His eyes met hers briefly when she looked over her shoulder, and resumed his task of reciprocating her gestures.
He grabbed onto her hips to jerk her body up effortlessly before parting her legs wider to see puffy pussy lips for his viewing pleasure. Slick had already begun to coat her nether lips and matted pink curls. For all her coolness, her body seemed to be in just as the same state of lust as he was. Now up close, when he brought his nose close to catch the raw source of her arousing scent, he felt his eyes roll at the back of his head.
If he wasn’t fully aroused before, he certainly was now.
“Y-You’ve gotten bigger,” he heard her say and felt his throat rumble at the feel of her hands sliding up and down his cock.
Like a dog in heat, Kakashi felt himself pant in excitement as his eyes zeroed in on her slick-covered pussy. When he sampled a taste, he didn’t stop. He barely even heard Sakura gasp as he practically drove his mouth to her pussy. Alternating between licking and sucking between her folds. Even when he felt her hot mouth finally wrap around his rigid length, and felt the gentle scrape of her teeth, Kakashi retaliated with his tongue stabbing her pussy followed by a finger.
In that little bubble of sex and arousal of theirs, it felt like magic itself circled and formed a barrier around them. Making them forget everything and everyone but the person in their arms and the joys of pleasure shared between their naked bodies.
She was so tight even with just one finger. It made him wonder how tighter she would feel around his cock. Soon that single finger became two, then three, and when she swallowed the whole length of him to the base and felt him hit the back of her throat, he wiggled and scissored his fingers while his other hand used the copious amount of her juices and flicked her bundle of nerves.
The only warning he received for his oral and finger service was the pitched moan that reverberated around the room. Her back arched like a taut bow as a wave of her nectar spilled into his mouth to which the silver-haired drank obligingly.
He couldn’t remember the last time he was this sexually charged before. Probably never.
A minute whine escaped his throat when he was suddenly deprived of the delicious fruit he had been savoring only to let out a long, male groan at the feel of those wet nether lips tracing a path over his cock over and over again.
Panting, Kakashi forced his lust-hazy eyes on the woman on his lap shamelessly grinding their sexes oh so teasingly. Her natural pink lips were swollen from his kisses and he delighted to think the slick sheen at the corners were a mixture of his precum and her saliva.
He felt his nails extend into small claws as he gripped the sheets of the bed in tight fists. Her earlier suddenly stop over the ministrations on his length left him aching and wanting for more. The way she practically coated what’s left of her juices over his twitching cock was unbearable and he was torn from drinking the rest from her cunt and just letting her continue.
“Look at me,” her words felt like a command- a command in which he had no objections in following. He was lost in the sea of her emerald depths and couldn’t find himself to look away even as she finally guided his length to sheath inside her.
“Oh my…” she gasped; her lips just as parted with her panting breaths as his own.
Kakashi’s heart thundered in his chest at the most delicious constriction he’s ever felt around him. Tighter than any virgin, and wetter than any whore. She was a divine grace incarnated for him to relish all on his own.
He was supposed to hunt tonight. He was supposed to take advantage of this beautiful night to find himself a worthy feast to feed his starving beast. Literally. Instead of blood and viscera slicking his skin, wetness of a pleasurable kind raced down his nether regions. Instead of raw meat between his sharp teeth, his tongue and lips suckled on the bountiful soft flesh that were her breasts presented before him like an offering. Instead of the tear of meat, the grind of bone, desperate cries and whimpers, there was only the pants of ragged breaths, high-pitched moans, barely-controlled grunts, and the constant prayer for-
“More.”
Hips met together in loud, sloppy slaps. Despite their positions, Kakashi reared himself to meet her flawless derriere thrust for thrust. The female before him was exquisite. Her body willingly opened for him as the only resistance he’s ever felt were the tightness of her walls that only brought them immense pleasure. Tight enough to feel every inch of her walls but loose enough that it was hardly painful every time he thrust into her. There was an odd sense of suction too, as if her cunt refused to let go. Fortunately, Kakahsi would be damned if he so much as lose a moment’s connection with her tight, molten snatch.
Uncaring at this point whether parts of his control slipped to manifest his claws and sharp teeth, Kakashi held the moaning, writhing body close to him tightly as if wanting to meld their bodies together. His one arm circled securely over her shoulders as the other gripped possessively over one ass cheek to help drive her hips together with his unrelenting thrusts. His animalistic side demanded that he release inside the exquisite female and make her accept all of his seed.
A phantom image of her swollen with his pup flashed in his mind and Kakashi growled his release before he could even stop it.
The sensation of rope after rope of his cum shooting into her was not missed and shivers racked them both from head to toe.
Kakashi felt his claws retract only slightly after his high as he willed himself to look at his supposed-prey. His lips trailed down and mapped the soft mounds of her chest before finally looking up.
Her lust-filled eyes bore down on him along with a pretty smile until it turned into a smirk.
“Good boy,” she purred and a newfound wave of pleasure ignited in his stomach.
It was in that moment that he finally noticed, thanks to the minute sense of sanity granted after an orgasm, the magic practically filling in the room. His head darted here and there and though his eyes are not strong enough to see magic in its corporeal form, his nose was practically overloading- apart from the sex- with the thick, empowering, sweet scent that could only be hers.
A delicate hand wrapped around his wrist and pried them off his face. He didn’t realize he cupped them to his nose as he puzzled the pieces together.
“Finally figured it out?” the pinkette asked teasingly. Her eyelashes fluttered as she dropped a chaste kiss over his nose.
Kakashi inhaled sharply, “Are you a succubus?”
Her eyes widened slightly before she let out a cute giggle and pushed him back down on the bed again. His cock twitched at the feel of her walls constrict teasingly around him. Meanwhile, she traced invisible shapes over his torso and abdomen.
“I’m flattered you think I have their charm,” she dipped down to kiss his lips this time, “but no. Try again, puppy.”
Kakashi knew there was magic on her fingertip as she drew on his body. Any other time then he would’ve bolted at the first brush of contact, maybe even brace himself for a fight. He’s not above killing other supernatural beings no matter their gender, if it meant his survival. But deep inside him, that swirling, howling beast that made up his very being, was succumbing to her ministrations. Letting her do as she wished as it growled in pleasure under her attention alone.
There’s only one being who could manipulate the very threads of magic to their will.
“Witch?”
Her walls tightened once more, causing his head to rear back with a fierce growl that sounded more animal than man. Her hips grounded back on his lap, bringing his half-hard cock back to fullness.
“Getting close,” she said, this time she placed both of her palms on his pectorals.
Dark eyes snapped back at her in genuine surprise. His hips not once stopped in meeting her sensuous grinding.
“High Witch,” at his correct answer, her cunt squeezed impossibly tight and magic coursed through his very veins.
His resounding howl was piercing, primal, and carried with it a raw power that befit his kind. He could hardly feel the stretch in his bones, the coil of his muscles, and the growth of his fur that usually came whenever he transformed.
The second his howl died down his throat, Kakashi slowly locked eyes with the female above him. Her stature now significantly smaller compared to his greater frame. His dark eyes were now endless black pools that pulls in the very soul. It was Sakura’s turn to suck in a breath. Her own emerald orbs hungrily took him in, as if she was memorizing every part of his primordial form.
Her delicate hands lifted from his chest to cup what she could of the thick silver fur around his neck until they rested to his cheeks. The only feature that remained of his tertiary- human- form was the long scar that crossed his left eye.
“Will you think weird of me, if I say that your primal form is just as handsome?” he inhaled her sweet breath as she leaned in to kiss his canine lips. Completely undeterred of the sharp rows of fangs that had teared flesh after flesh with no remorse.
With his inner beast completely taking over, Kakashi snarled and twisted them around till she was on all fours before him. His werewolf body towered menacingly over her. His shadow alone enveloped her lithe body effortlessly. Black lips pulled back into a snarl, baring his teeth as they gleamed under the moonlight as if ready to feast on the female’s flesh.
It had been years since Kakashi manifested in this primal form of his. The last being in a fight between territories against a rival pack. But missing the power that came with this form of his, and the wariness of how she was able to force him into this appearance, was the last thing he had in mind at the moment.
“High Witch,” he growled. His voice echoed a mixture of a human’s and a beast’s, “Why?”
The silver werewolf felt his tongue lick his snarling lips hungrily as he watched, mesmerized, at the way the pinkette squirmed and turned her head to look over her shoulder. The darkness in the room failed to dim the sinister glow of her eyes.
Sakura smirked, “It would be cruel of me to deprive you of your hunt in this beautiful night. Now, allow me to sate your magical hunger, Ka-ka-shi.”
Without further preamble, Kakashi lunged at her. The weight of his body and the heat that came made her gasp in pleasure before turning her head to where his massive wolf head rested on one shoulder. His maw parted as he panted heavy breaths to the point his equally canine tongue lolled out to the side in unbridled lust while his throat rumbled out soft growls.
Unafraid and equally turned on, Sakura slipped her tongue between his sharp canines and Kakashi responded immediately with his bigger, longer tongue till he was practically shoving it down her throat.
“Do… do it…” she keened after given a chance to breathe before he thrusted his tongue in her mouth once more.
Cock morphed into an odd resemblance of both a wolf’s and a man’s, Kakashi only had to trust his instincts to sheathe himself once more inside her. Below him, Sakura’s fists tightened on the sheets as she was overwhelmed by the intrusion of a much, much larger member. She had to take deep breaths and summon every ounce of her will to keep her body relax.
“So big…” she gasped out as her werewolf kept pushing and pushing inside. Fully determined to fill of her hot cavern. The slight taper of his girth forced her walls to widen more and more with every inch he sheathed.
There was a moment’s pause before Kakashi completely bottomed out in one hard thrust. At that point, something also snapped in both of them that reduced their minds into their most primal state.
Sakura could barely conceal her cries and moans as Kakashi’s furry pelvis met her pert derriere. Each loud slap echoed within the four walls of the room and aroused them even more. The silver werewolf fucked his pink witch with wild abandon like the beast he was. He may have been denied a regular hunt tonight to sate his hunger for flesh and blood but he’d willingly starve himself again if it meant he’d be feasting on the pinkette before him.
Apart from the relentless thrusts that fired pleasure after pleasure in their nerves, raw magic swirled between the two of them like an invisible knot. Tying, binding, and feeding. Having his stomach filled was nothing like being sated with magic. It came with a different kind of high that infinitesimally heightened all of his senses that left him roaring from the overwhelming power.
“K-Kakashi!” she screamed after a particular thrust that had her seeing stars. Her lower stomach felt heavy and full unlike anything she’s ever felt before. The unapologetic, bestial thrusts only stoked the flames of her arousal. The only part of her brain that remained functional was the instinctual part of her that held the reins of control of magic. Later on, Kakashi would learn that it’s the only reason no one has heard of their sex-induced cries.
“Name…” he demanded in her ear. His snarling maw felt intimately close to the side of her face, “Give me your name.”
Unlike other creatures, names held a great value and power by spirits, demons, and witches. For their names alone held magic that could bring both fortune and misfortune to those who were granted the permission to use them.
She kept panting.
“Give me your name!” he roared, his massive hands shot to her hips to plow onto her harder and faster.
“Ka- ha! -kashi!”
“Your name, High Witch, your name!” the tell-tale sensation of the base of his cock swelling made him desperate. His control by now was practically nonexistent.
“It’s Sakura!” the pinkette shouted finally, “My- ha! Name… Haruno S-Sakura!”
“Sakura…” he growled, testing the way her name felt on his lips and found that he liked them.
Despite finally getting what he wanted, Kakashi’s thrusts never faltered. If possible, he only drove deeper and deeper, faster and faster. The head of his cock was practically kissing her cervix.
“Sakura… Sakura! Sakura!” he chanted her name. completely unaware how it only fueled the magic around and within them.
Lost in the great haze of sex and magic, it only came into an abrupt stop when the swell of his knot finally sealed them both together. Whether Sakura’s scream was from pleasure or pain at how his claws reflexively gripped her waist, he wouldn’t know, as all of their senses focused on one acute point. That being the torrent of sperm released by his fertile sacs spilling into the empty chasm that was her womb.
Sakura keened and stretched her sore, sweat-covered body as she relished the continuous jets of cum. Her previous trysts couldn’t even hold a candle at how full she felt. Both from his long, and girthy cock to the heavy knot at the base, and- oh seven hells, he just keeps on going!
Meanwhile, the silver werewolf howled long and loud the moment his orgasm peaked. His mind could only focus on the delicious massage of flesh milking more of his seed, and he was just more than happy to oblige.
Sanity only returned to him when he finally felt the last of his cum drip into her molten snatch. His knot was the perfect seal to prevent even a drop of his sperm from escaping. With labored breaths, Kakashi stared down at where they joined as one before finally appreciating her beautiful body with clearer eyes. It would be a while before they could part.
This time, Kakashi gently let himself down; considerate of his weight. His pinkette was breathing heavily with moans slipping between her parted lips. No doubt she’s still riding onto her post-orgasmic high. Delicately, Kakashi licked her cheek and the corner of her mouth as alternative for a kiss.
Pink lashes fluttered open and she smiled so sweetly at him. Still unafraid of his canine features.
With all her effort, Sakura pressed another chaste kiss to his snout and Kakashi returned it with folding his long, muscled, hairy fingers with her slim, flawless ones.
He’s never felt so full in all his life.
.
BONUS
There was a frown fixed on Sakumo’s face as he stared down at his son. He knew his only cub was not one for social affairs, but he’s told him more than once how important his attendance is for tonight’s festivities. An esteemed coven would be visiting tonight- the first one after a hundred years- and as the son of the pack leader of one of the werewolf clans of this region, his presence is just as important as his.
“Honestly Kakashi,” he sighed exasperatedly to which the younger Hatake shrugged, “You’re lucky the High Witch hasn’t arrived yet.”
Though he wouldn’t count on it, there’s a probability that the High Witch and her witches would choose one of the denizens of this region as their bond. No, he’d never force Kakashi to be with someone he didn’t choose, but as a father, he’d be pleased if his son would finally choose a potential mate at least.
His cub has been a lone wolf long enough.
“Please don’t be so hard on him,” the older werewolf spun his head around to meet the visiting coven’s High Witch in all of her ethereal visage. Dressed in flowing red robes with jewels that sparkled like stars on a bloody sky, the pinkette walked over until she stood closely by his son’s side. A little too close in his opinion, “His tardiness is every bit his fault as mine.”
Sakumo didn’t miss the way she threw his son a knowing smirk that colored his son’s ears a deep shade of red.
“Sakura, please not in front of my father.”
She giggled but Sakumo could only feel himself freeze on the spot at how casual Kakashi addressed the High Witch… by her name!
“Ah, Hatake Sakumo, was it?” the pinkette finally addressed him, “After tonight’s festivities, I hope you would grant me a bit of your time. Kakashi and I wish to talk to you about a… consequence that come with a magic hunt. Don’t we, puppy?”
Manifested in Kakashi’s shadow, his wolf tail wagged excitedly.
|
Hermione smiled as she sat down opposite Draco and spilt her books across the table. She sighed as she released the weight from her hands, as the majority of tomes in the Hogwarts library were heavy and unwieldy.
“Aren’t you courting danger by sitting here?” he asked as he raised his head from the parchment he was currently scribbling on.
“Gryffindor has Quidditch practice and who else is going to find us all the way back here?”
He nodded his head before bending it back over the book he was currently flicking through. Silence prevailed for another ten minutes before Draco, flinging his book across the table and then leaning back in his chair, disrupted it.
Hermione looked up in enquiry. “What’s up with you?” she asked as she observed the pout on his face.
“Stupid Muggle Studies. I have to take a special course to prove that I’m interacting with Muggle culture as part of my release.”
She couldn’t help but giggle. “I’m glad you find it amusing,” he said bitterly.
“Well, you have to admit, it has its funny parts.”
He frowned at her before grinning back and her breath hitched in her throat. Would she ever get used to the blinding smiles he was capable of producing? She looked down and cleared her throat quietly. There was no need to give him any idea of how big her crush was getting. “So, what are you stuck on?” she asked.
“This module regarding the Internet. I’ve been set an essay about how it’s impacted on the life of Muggles. I’m still not sure what the Internet is.”
She grimaced. “To be honest, I don’t think I’m much help. I haven’t really been at home all that much in the last few years, so the Internet revolution has pretty much passed me by. When I finally contacted some old Muggle friends from primary school, they were all asking me for my email address and inviting me to join them on something called IRC Chat.”
He groaned. “I was so hoping you’d be able to make some sense of it all.”
Hermione held out her hand. “Give me the book and your essay question. I’ll look through it and see if I can make head or tail of it.”
“Thanks, Princess, you’re a life saver.”
“Not that again. I thought we’d got rid of the stupid nickname.”
He just smirked at her. She rolled her eyes and buried her head in his Muggle Studies book and was soon deciphering the world of cyberspace.
------------
Draco was back in the world of the familiar and tackling his Ancient Runes translation. “What?”
“The Internet. It’s fascinating.”
“If you say so.”
“I’m going to have to see if I can get my hands on a computer. I wonder if there is anyway to get a dial-up modem installed in a magical building? Hmm … No, I distinctly remember Hogwarts: A History outlining reasons why Muggle technology doesn’t work inside the castle,” she muttered distractedly.
“Granger, if you’ve quite finished rambling on about illegible things, would you care to explain the purpose of the Internet to me so I can write the damn essay?”
She smiled and launched into an explanation that Draco was hard-pressed to follow. But soon, with copious amounts of Hermione’s help, he had managed to complete his essay.
“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” she asked.
“Says you. I hate having to do this stupid extra course. If anything, it’s making me resent Muggles even more.”
A few months ago, she would have taken that statement at face value, but now she recognised it for what it was: Draco mouthing off to show his annoyance at being forced to do something he wasn’t good at.
“It wasn’t that bad. You even asked me additional questions about Muggle things,” she pointed out.
He looked a little embarrassed at that. “It wasn’t too bad with your help, I guess. At least you make it sound interesting.”
“Draco!” Pansy called, coming around the corner. “So this is where you’ve got too.”
“Hi, Pansy,” Hermione said. “Anyway, I better go. Quidditch practice will be finishing up, and Harry and Ron will want to bore me with all the new tactics they’ve designed.”
Pansy laughed. “Good luck with that. Luckily for me, those days are behind me.”
Hermione groaned. “How I envy you. Only a few more months of it and then they’ll be finished with Quidditch. Well, playing it anyway. Let me know if there’s anything else you need any more help with, Draco,” she said as she grabbed her bag and left.
Draco’s eyes involuntarily followed the curly-haired witch until she disappeared around some stacks. He then looked up at his unusually quiet best friend. Pansy was grinning at him.
“So you and Hermione are friends again now, huh?” she said, waggling her eyebrows.
He just scowled at her. “She helped me out with an essay on Muggle stuff.”
“She called you Draco,” Pansy said in a singsong voice.
“It’s Granger; if you talk to her for longer than three seconds she thinks you’re best friends.”
Pansy flopped down in the seat that Granger had vacated. “You don’t fool me one bit, Draco Malfoy. You’ve actually smiled in the last few days. Have you given up trying to stay away from her?”
“I think I’m going to stay away from you in future,” he muttered.
“Tut, tut, Draco. Stop stalling and tell Aunty Pansy all about it.”
He rolled his eyes. Pansy was insufferable when she was in this mood. She would tease and torment him until he gave up what she wanted to hear. “Okay, so we’ve decided to stop avoiding each other.”
“More like you’ve decided to stop cutting your nose off to spite your face,” she murmured.
“Do you want to hear this or not?”
“Okay! Okay! Keep your hair on.”
“Well, stop interrupting then.”
Pansy made a zipping motion across her lips, mimed locking them and throwing away the key.
“She went to McGonagall about something I told her in confidence, I tracked her down, yelled at her, made her cry, and then realised that I needed to stop being such a git,” Draco summarised.
“Wow, Hermione is working miracles. She actually got to you to admit that you’re a git!”
“Ha, ha! Very funny, Pans.”
“So, the two of you are friends now?”
“I guess. We’re not going to start hanging out in the Great Hall or anything. I mean, I do want to live and her moron friends would probably think I’ve used the Imperius Curse on her and kill me for using their precious princess if they found out.”
Pansy smiled at her snarky friend. “I’m happy for you. I like Hermione. She’s a nice girl.”
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Why are you happy for me? It’s not as if I’m marrying her or something.”
“You can’t fool me, Drakey-wakey. You have a thing for her.”
“Use that name one more time and I’ll risk a life sentence in Azkaban. Oh, and I don’t have a thing for Granger.”
She leaned across the table and patted his cheek. “Of course you don’t,” she said condescendingly.
Draco scowled - he hated it when Pansy got insightful on him. Sure, he liked Hermione but he wasn’t going to do anything about it. Besides, she deserved better than him. “We’re just studying together.”
“That’s how it started with Blaise.”
“No it didn’t,” he objected. “If I remember correctly, you set your sights on Blaise in our sixth year. In fact, I think the exact words you said were along the lines of: ‘Blaise is fit. I think I’ll go for that.’ It was very eloquent.”
“Yeah, well, I started studying with him and one thing led to another,” she defended.
“Poor sod.”
Pansy flicked her hair behind her shoulders. “I think you’ll find that he is one lucky man.”
Draco smiled at his friend. Blaise was luckier than he realised, as Pansy was one in a million.
“I think you lorded the Quidditch thing over Granger too early, by the way,” Draco said.
She frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Blaise and Theo were chatting to Harper yesterday about helping him out with the last Slytherin match of the season.”
Pansy groaned and banged her head on the table. “No! I thought I had banished Quidditch from my life forever.”
“Come on, Pans. You don’t want us to finish last, do you?”
“Has Harper persuaded you back also?”
“No. I doubt my playing would add anything other than extra motivation for the other team.”
Pansy pouted. She got angry that Draco was so hated by the rest of Hogwarts -it was unfair. He’d been a messed up kid, dragged into something by his family and the Dark Lord. How many of them would have refused if they’d had to stand in front of Voldemort, and be told that if they didn’t do a mission then their parents would be killed? And lots of them had been more than willing to mock Potter, too; especially during their fifth year, when the Ministry was leading the smear campaign against him. The hypocrisy they now showed towards Draco - and Slytherin House - was infuriating. She sighed; no matter how upset she got over what happened in the last few years, it would change nothing. She could only hope that the future would be kinder to them all.
---------------
This brought her back to her friends. Would they ever accept something as radical as her friendship with Draco? She hoped they would. At some point she was going to have to speak to them about it. She didn’t want to keep things from them – it didn’t sit well with her – and she hadn’t fought a war alongside them to have to do so. But Hermione had also fought to end centuries old prejudices and she wouldn’t accept her friends being prejudiced towards Draco, either. She wasn’t asking that they become his friends or anything, but did expect them to accept that she was, and not push her to dismiss him.
“Earth to Hermione,” Ron called, waving a hand in front of her face.
“Sorry, I spaced out a little there,” she replied.
“You’re telling me. I’ve been trying to get your attention for ages.”
“Well if you are going to drone on about Quidditch, then I am going to zone out.”
“We finished talking about Quidditch ages ago,” Ron objected.
“You were talking about it five minutes ago, something to do with Hawksfeet Formations.”
Harry and Ron both groaned dramatically. “What?” she asked.
“It’s the Hawkshead Attacking Formation,” Ginny pointed out.
“You’d think you’d be able to retain such basic information in your head, considering you’re a walking encyclopaedia when it comes to everything else,” Harry said.
“It’s Quidditch and it’s boring, so I don’t bother to remember any of it,” she remarked.
“Boring? Boring?!” Ron exclaimed, scandalised.
She just smiled apologetically. “Sorry, but to me it is. I don’t care about Wonky Faints or Hawksfeet Formations.”
“Wonky Faints! Harry, how has she been our best friend for the past eight years?” Ron cried out.
“It’s the Wronski Feint, Hermione,” Harry corrected.
Hermione smiled mischievously. “I know that much. Viktor drones on about it in every other letter.”
“Oh, so when Viktor talks to you about Quidditch, you remember, but when little ol’ Harry or me do so, it’s not important,” Ron huffed.
“Are you still on about Viktor? I thought you got over that at Bill and Fleur’s wedding,” she said.
“I just think he’s creepy. I mean, what kind of eighteen-year-old asks a fourth-year out? It was gross.”
Hermione sighed and Ginny rolled her eyes. Ron was still insanely jealous of Viktor. She didn’t know why he was still so threatened by him. It wasn’t that he had any hidden feelings towards her anymore, as they had been there, done that - and it hadn’t worked out. Besides, he was head-over-heels for Hannah now.
“Ron, I was fifteen. It wasn’t that much of a massive age gap and it wasn’t as if we did anything other than kiss, once.”
He covered his hands over his ears. “La la la! I don’t need to know that kind of information.”
Harry sniggered at his best friend. “Ron, really, you’re being a bit ridiculous. Why are you having a go at Hermione about this anyway?”
The redhead scowled. “I just don’t get why she’s still in contact with that creep.”
“We’re friends, which is allowed. And he’s not a creep, he’s a nice guy.”
“He was a Durmstrang.”
She threw her hands up. “You are impossible. So what if he was a Durmstrang?”
“I still don’t trust them. They’re all into dark arts and stuff.”
Hermione looked sternly at Ron. “You need to stop being so prejudiced. It’s a reputation, and one that Viktor does not deserve. He’s more than proven that he’s not into things like that.”
“Yeah, come on, Ron. He’s not exactly Malfoy,” Harry pointed out.
Her stomach churned at that and her eyes flashed involuntarily to Ginny who looked pointedly at her. Hermione couldn’t help the flush that coloured her cheeks a pale pink. What kind of mess was she getting herself into? There was no way Ron and Harry would be anything other than hostile towards any friendship she had with Draco. Ron couldn’t even say anything nice about Viktor. And she hadn’t seen him in years.
“I just don’t get why Hermione can’t be interested in one of the Gryffindor guys,” Ron whined, bringing Hermione’s attention back to the conversation. “What’s wrong with Dean or Seamus?”
She tapped her foot irritably. “I am here so you don’t need to talk about me as if I’m not.”
Ron leaned forward confidentially. “Why don’t you ask Seamus out? He’s good looking.”
Hermione felt her temperature rising. She hated it when Ron got like this; he was so tactless at times and it drove her nuts. He had as much sensitivity as a bulldozer and he seemed to be continuously trampling all over her feelings. “Because I don’t like Seamus in that way. Why don’t you let me make my own decisions?”
“Because your decisions suck. Look at Viktor.”
“I agree with you in one thing: my decision ‘sucked’ when I decided to give it a go with you!” she yelled before storming out of the Gryffindor common room.
Ron looked, bemused, at his sister and best friend. “What did I say?”
Harry just groaned and Ginny smacked herself on the forehead. “You never know how to talk to Hermione,” she remarked.
“It’s not my fault she’s always so sensitive about everything.”
“Ron, you basically just attacked her for having a friendship with Viktor, who, I hasten to add, is a really nice guy, and then you acted as if she has a thing for dark wizards,” Harry said.
The redhead just continued to look confused. “You explain it to him!” Ginny ordered her fiancé. “I’m going to check that Hermione isn’t plotting some awful revenge on Ron.”
----------
When she had got her irritation out, she couldn’t help but feel sad. When Ron had mentioned Seamus as a potential boyfriend, the image of a tortured blond-haired Slytherin had flittered across her mind. She put face in her hands. She’d hoped that the attraction she felt for Draco would start to disappear but it was just getting stronger. Nothing but trouble lay down that road, but it was increasingly the only one that interested her.
There was a quiet knock on her door. “Come in,” Hermione said, praying that it wasn’t Ron. She thought she would completely lose her temper if it were. The familiar red hair of the Weasley clan popped around the door, but Hermione was relieved to see that it was Ginny rather than Ron.
“I don’t understand how he is my brother at times,” Ginny offered as an opening.
“He drives me nuts. He’s so judgemental.”
“I blame mum for insisting he have the middle name Bilius. All my brothers have our uncles’ names, apart from Bill, who has Dad’s. By the time Ron was born, there was only Uncle Bilius left and, sadly, he’s inherited some the old man’s traits. The inability to keep his mouth shut or to say anything with any tact being two of them.”
Hermione smiled weakly at that. She knew Ginny was trying to make her feel better. “You’d think after eight years, he would at least have some idea of how to talk to me.”
Ginny snorted. “He’s known me for seventeen years, and he still puts his foot in it on a regular basis. Ron, bless him, is one of those who never learns.”
“I don’t know why I let him get to me so much.”
“Because he can be an annoying arse at times.”
Hermione giggled at that and sat up. Ginny had her uses and cheering Hermione up when Ron drove her mad was one the main ones.
----------
Hermione stared up at her canopy. She felt as if she really needed to talk to one of her friends about this. It was playing on her mind and she was so anxious about it all. She wanted to explore her friendship with Draco, but was worried about the potential problems it could cause with her friends. She hated feeling so torn about it all. All she wanted was an easy last year at Hogwarts, not one that was defined by arguments with her friends. Ginny poked her arm and she turned to see that her friend had raised herself up onto her elbow and was staring at her.
“Well?” Ginny asked.
She sighed. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Are you still talking to him? I haven’t seen either of you making any eye contact recently, and, yes, I have been looking.”
Hermione took a deep breath and decided to go for it. What was the worst thing that Ginny could do? She could run and tell Harry and Ron everything, the cautious voice in her said, but she ignored it. She had to start somewhere if she was serious about keeping Draco as a friend, and Ginny was the least likely to have a temper tantrum about it.
“He was sort of ignoring me for a while,” Hermione finally said.
Ginny scowled. “What do you mean he was ignoring you? Shouldn't that be the other way around?”
“Ginny, please don’t make this any harder than it already is.”
The redhead remained silent and Hermione took that as her encouragement to continue. “He came to see me on the night of the anniversary of Malfoy Manor,” she said.
Ginny looked as if she was about to jump in so she raised her hand. “Please, just let me talk before you react. He wanted to check I was okay, and we spent the night talking.”
“The night? He spent the night here?” Ginny squeaked in shock.
Hermione really was jumping off the deep end. “Not at first. He left in the middle of the night, but I ran after him and asked him to come back and stay.”
Ginny groaned and pressed her face into a pillow. “Hermione, you really are something else. What were you thinking? Shouldn’t you have kicked him out on his ear when he first came? I mean, he stood there and watched you being tortured.”
She fired up in his defence. “He came to apologise and to see if I was alright. Besides, what was he meant to do that day at Malfoy Manor? He was hardly in the position to help me.”
Ginny looked at her in shock. “Why are you defending him so vehemently?”
“Because you’re being unfair towards him. Why should I chuck him out without even listening to him? He was coming to show he was sorry and I respect him for that. It couldn’t have been easy for him to do that.”
“Poor little Malfoy, he’s the victim in all of this,” Ginny bit sarcastically.
She sat up and glared at her friend. “Why am I even bothering to tell you any of this? You’re being so judgemental about it all.”
“Hermione, I think you’re losing your mind. This is Malfoy - he’s hardly an innocent caught up in it all.”
Hermione jumped out of the bed and starting pacing around her room furiously. “That’s where you’re wrong. He is innocent in a way. He didn’t want to be a Death Eater. Well, not once he realised what it involved, but he was in an impossible position. What would you have done if Voldemort threatened to kill your family if you didn’t do what he wanted?”
“I would have fought. I would have refused to bow down to the dictates of such an evil person.”
She looked at her friend sceptically. “Are you so sure? Even if you’d been brought up to think that Muggle-borns were inferior and that Voldemort had the right idea?”
“Yes!”
“You’re deluding yourself. If you had been in Draco’s position, I bet you would have done the same thing,” she scoffed.
Ginny’s face turned the red the same way Ron’s always did when he was in a rage. “I think you’ve gone insane. I know you believe in giving people second chances, but you’re wrong in this. You’re letting your attraction to him cloud your judgement,” Ginny said before leaving the room.
Hermione followed the angry redhead out of the bedroom and into her common room. Now she was just as upset at Ginny and this was descending into a nasty argument. “Oh please, just because I won’t see things your way, somehow I’m being irrational about it all. I’m the most logical person you know!” she yelled.
“You’re also a soft touch and I guarantee Malfoy knows this and using it to his advantage.”
Hermione screamed in frustration. “You go on about Ron, but you’re just the same. You’re just as narrow-minded and incapable of seeing beyond your own black and white world!”
“Why don’t you go and cry on the shoulder of your new best friends, the Slytherins, and see how accepting they are of you when they don’t need your reputation anymore!” Ginny shouted back.
The door clicked open, stopping both girls in the middle of their fight. Hermione’s chest was heaving from all her pent-up anger, and she closed her eyes as the tall figure of Draco Malfoy stepped through, carrying his book bag. He stopped as he took in the stilted figures in the common room and raised an eyebrow.
This was all that was needed to set Ginny off again. “Oh look, here comes your Death Eater to the rescue!”
|
Iruka’s hands shook as he dug through his backpack, searching for his baggy of seal supplies. This wasn’t how his mission was supposed to go. He wasn’t supposed to run into anyone, let alone Konoha’s White Fang, Hatake Sakumo.
Now they were hiding out in a tiny cave while the man was bleeding out.
Iruka gritted his teeth and swallowed down the sourness building up in his mouth as he willed himself not to throw up.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Sakumo grunted.
“It was,” Iruka insisted hoarsely. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
It was Iruka’s ever-present bad luck that had them running into each other.
Iruka had made chuunin barely a month ago, and he took his first solo mission the minute the probationary period ended. It was a c-rank courier mission to the border, simple and easy, and was on his way back to Konoha when he crossed paths with the White Fang, who was evading pursuers.
It didn’t take a genius to figure out what kind of mission the man was on. Jounin were always assigned the most difficult and dangerous missions for a reason. The same reason genin and chuunin were taught to flee and evade s-ranked enemies at all costs—only Iruka didn’t have the chance to flee and hide. The moment Sakumo had come into visual range, one of his enemies split off from the group and rushed Iruka. He wasn’t ready for the batshit insane speed his new enemy had, or the force of impact of their first as it connected with his stomach. Iruka was left to plummet to the ground where he’d be picked off… until he wasn’t. He had been saved, only for his savior to be mortally wounded, covering for Iruka’s shortcomings in the following skirmish.
He shouldn’t be allowed to be a shinobi if he was only going to get people killed…
“You should have just left me—”
“No, I did the right thing,” Sakumo insisted, wrapping his big hand around Iruka’s scrawny arm to comfort him.
Iruka exhaled shakily as a single tear of frustration escaped and slid down his face. He scrubbed it away as he fought desperately to keep himself from totally breaking down.
“You won’t be thinking that if I can’t stop the bleeding,” Iruka told him, his voice wavering only a little as he resumed his search.
Sakumo shook with quiet, labored laughter only to groan as he jostled his body with the exertion.
“Even if I die here, it was worth saving you. I don’t leave comrades to die.”
Iruka scoffed bitterly. He hated how proud Sakumo sounded saying a deadweight like him was worth keeping alive.
“We weren’t on a mission together,” Iruka pointed out as he pulled the plastic baggy containing seal paper, ink, and brushes from his backpack. “I was just in the way.”
Sakumo sighed heavily. He sounded a lot like the Sandaime when he was exasperated and fed up with Iruka’s stubbornness.
“We’re from the same village, Iruka. We don’t need to share missions to be comrades.”
Iruka forcefully opened the baggy, nearly ripping a new hole in it for the effort. “Don’t you think saving a younger, inexperienced shinobi over a seasoned legend is short-sighted?” He argued, dumping the contents out on the rocky floor.
Sakumo was silent for a moment, clearly thinking about how to respond. Iruka could feel his gaze on him, and he was proud of himself that he didn’t squirm as he quickly organized his supplies.
“No,” Sakumo emphatically denied, still watching Iruka. He didn't seem in a rush to elaborate, even as blood leaked out between the fingers clutching his wound.
Just to cover the bases, Iruka pulled the simple medkit from his bag too and set it out. Then he shifted toward Sakumo who was propped up against the uneven slant of a boulder.
“I need to see the wound,” Iruka stated as he reached out to unzip Sakumo's flak jacket. He swallowed thickly, trying to ignore how big the gash looked as it was currently, covered by the man's blood-soaked clothing.
“It doesn’t look good,” Sakumo said unhelpfully as he began to shuffle carefully out of the vest.
“I need to see it,” Iruka repeated, voice cracking this time as his panic bled through to his words.
The front of Sakumo’s shirt clung to his skin; Iruka pulled the bottom of it free from where it was tucked into his pants and carefully lifted it. He inhaled sharply when the wound was fully revealed.
Sakumo tried to cover it again with his hand, but Iruka stopped him. “Don’t.”
The man nodded and let his hand fall away. Iruka did his best not to fixate on how lethargic he seemed to be now.
Instead, Iruka focused on the actual injury. He ignored the leaking and looked closely at the torn flesh. It was not as big as he had first thought, but something had definitely been nicked. The blade went in cleanly, and the tear itself wasn’t jagged so he didn’t have to worry about anything on the inside being shredded. Good.
Iruka took a calming breath, and for the first time since entering the cave, he felt mildly relieved.
“So, I’m not going to die?” Sakumo asked, grinning at him.
Iruka gave him a baleful look and placed his hands around the hole in Sakumo’s abdomen, pressing a little harder than necessary. Sakumo let out a pained grunt even as he laughed. “It’s still a possibility. I need to check for poison and then I need to find where you’re bleeding out from.”
“I can’t tell if this is Tsunade’s influence or not.”
“You better hope it is, or you really will die,” Iruka grumbled and shut his eyes.
Iruka built up his chakra and let it flow steadily through his hands into Sakumo’s body. After a minute of concentration, he let out a relieved sigh when he detected no poison in the wound or his bloodstream. The nick was a little harder to find; the sword had gone deep, deep enough that it was a big possibility the aorta was cut. If that ended up being the source of the bleed, then there wasn’t anything Iruka would be able to do to save Sakumo. Iruka frowned and bit his lip as he tried to get a hold of his anxiety.
“Saving a young, inexperienced shinobi will always be worth it,” Sakumo said suddenly. It almost broke Iruka’s concentration. “You may be young and inexperienced now, Iruka, but you will grow up and gain that missing experience. You will learn new things and come up with better and more efficient ways to deal with problems. More importantly, you will learn from the mistakes of those that came before you.”
The sadness in his voice was unmistakable. It had Iruka wondering what kind of mistakes the man was referring to.
“Even if they get people killed?” Iruka rebuked instead.
“I’m not dead yet,” Sakumo pointed out, sounding smug. Not dying immediately wasn’t really an achievement.
There. The sword had skewered the shit out of his liver, but the angle of the blade’s insertion had it missing the important arteries. Unfortunately, Iruka wasn’t skilled enough to heal this kind of damage yet, it was too deep.
Iruka cut his chakra off and opened his eyes. “It’ll take you longer to die, I can’t heal this.”
He expected Sakumo to look sad, but the man just smirked at him. Iruka wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him stupid.
“You’ll think of something. Tsunade practically sings your praises when we go out drinking. You are her star apprentice, after all.”
Iruka snorted derisively and grabbed the medkit. “A star apprentice that can’t fix you.”
“You don’t have to fix me, Iruka. You just need to make sure I stay alive long enough for backup to arrive.”
Iruka glared at him hard then. “No one knows where we are, and we’re more likely to get picked off—You’re mortally wounded and I’m useless.” Don’t get my hopes up, Iruka added silently.
Sakumo still didn’t seem bothered. He was slowly bleeding to death and he still smiled at Iruka like everything was going to be ok. Like they were both going to make it home alive. Iruka hated it. He hated that stupid reassuring smile.
“My mission was an important one. If I don’t check in at the way station by nightfall, a team will be dispatched to find me.” Sakumo explained. Or your remains, Iruka tagged on. “I’m confident you can patch me up until then.”
There was something he had been working on for months now...
Iruka had loved seals since he was a kid. A love born from watching his mother craft her own. She had begun teaching him the basics of fūinjutsu before she had died, and Iruka loved every second of it. He loved how bewitching the designs were, and how versatile they could be for all kinds of situations. Then he decided to learn medical ninjutsu after a botched mission a few months after he graduated from the academy. It turned out seals had an incredible amount of use to keep people from spilling their insides out everywhere, among other things. It was how Tsunade noticed him and took him on as an apprentice.
During the probationary period after making chuunin, Iruka had been working himself to exhaustion on a theoretical barrier seal that would keep people from bleeding out due to wounds similar to Sakumo’s. The only problem was that it wasn’t a normal barrier seal, and Iruka still hadn’t gotten it to work.
Iruka sighed defeatedly. “There’s something I can try, but it’s a treatment we haven’t been able to successfully test.”
“I knew you—” Sakumo began to say, but Iruka cut in.
“It will either not work at all and you will still bleed out slowly, or it will make a bigger hole and you will bleed out in a couple of minutes, and it will be an agonizing death.”
Iruka would need to use his chakra to draw the barrier seal directly around the affected area. Inside Sakumo’s body. He never attempted this in a living, breathing person before. He shouldn’t be attempting it at all.
“Do it,” Sakumo told him.
He shouldn’t be attempting it at all, but he really didn’t want Sakumo to die.
Iruka set his jaw and got to work.
It was hours later when Iruka was startled out of his light doze.
He was propped up against the boulder next to Sakumo, who was supposed to be resting properly, but it was hard to break carefully trained habits apparently. Sakumo tensed suddenly and reached for the tanto still strapped to his back. Iruka watched in fascination as the man moved so fluidly, and without showing discomfort despite his injury. Having a barrier seal inside of you as you move couldn’t be a pleasant feeling either.
“Someone is coming,” Sakumo whispered.
Iruka nodded and shifted as quietly as he could, reaching down to his thigh holster as he went. It felt like the longest two minutes of his life.
Outside of the cave, twigs snapped and there was a loud bark. Maybe it was a wild dog or a wolf…
Then the cave entrance suddenly went dark, and a shadowed figure loomed over them.
“Yo.”
Sakumo relaxed instantly and dropped his hand back to his lap. He sounded relieved as he muttered “Kakashi.”
Hatake Kakashi.
Sakumo’s son had come to save the day.
Or rather... Iruka’s massive crush had come to torture him.
“You haven't kicked the bucket yet. That’s a good sign.” Kakashi commented casually as he stepped into the tiny cave and crouched next to Sakumo.
Sakumo must have read something in his son’s expression because his own softened. He reached up and affectionately ruffled Kakashi’s hair, who didn’t seem to be bothered by the action.
Iruka wondered what expression Kakashi even had since the lower portion of the teen’s face was hidden by a mask and a slanted headband covered his left eye.
“Iruka saved my life,” Sakumo told him, his small smile growing into a proud grin.
Iruka blushed hard, to the point where he thought he was going to combust when Kakashi’s curious gaze shifted to him.
“It’s not that big of a deal,” Iruka grumbled and looked away in embarrassment.
Sakumo snorted and ruffled Iruka’s hair like he had done to Kakashi only a moment ago. “You used a theoretical seal you haven’t successfully tested to keep me alive. It’s a huge deal, Iruka.”
Even as they hauled Sakumo out of the cave and prepared to leave, Kakashi’s eyes hardly strayed from Iruka. Once Iruka gathered his gear and exited the cave to join the small group a short distance away, Kakashi intercepted him.
Iruka expected Kakashi to thank him for saving Sakumo, but what he got instead was one-hundred times worse… or better depending on how you looked at it.
Kakashi walked into Iruka’s personal space and hugged him—tightly even.
Without Iruka’s permission, his arms reflexively curled around Kakashi and returned the embrace. He would very much like to blame the action on the fact that he had gone through such insane emotional turmoil over the last twelve hours that his body would accept any form of comfort at this point. Even a hug from Kakashi.
“Thank you for saving him,” Kakashi murmured against Iruka’s ear.
Iruka shuddered. “Y-you’re welcome.”
Then as quickly as the moment had happened, it was over and Kakashi was walking toward the group. Iruka followed him, slightly dazed from the interaction.
But not dazed enough to miss Sakumo’s teasing comment directed at Kakashi. “You look cute together.”
“I swear I will kill you and make everyone believe it was an accident,” Kakashi threatened.
“That isn’t a very nice use of the Sharingan, Kakashi,” Sakumo laughed at him. “I would hate for Iruka to have to save me again, he is very tired. I doubt you’d be able to get him to go out with you after that.”
Iruka’s cheeks were positively burning, but it was impossible not to laugh at the strangled noise Kakashi made. It was a good imitation of an angry goose.
While things didn’t go as planned, Iruka was grateful toward Sakumo for his unwavering faith in him, and his guidance. He still felt bad, but the burning pride he felt in achieving the impossible radiated within him.
|
Angry Words and Open Wounds
“I need a sword.”
Head Alpha Kim coughed on his spoonful of soup, spilling broth down his graying beard. He leaned over in his chair, trying to catch his breath. Jin leaned over and pat his father’s back, trying to help. He looked to Jimin, who was innocently chewing on a piece of bread, his eyes wide and confused.
“Why do you need a sword?” Jin asked, his voice a little shriller than normal. There was no reason for an omega to have a weapon, much less the next Head Omega. Jimin was the most respected and well protected member of the pack, especially after what had happened to Jin. Jimin swallowed his bit of bread and glanced to Namjoon, who was in an, apparently, extremely interesting conversation with Jungkook, Yoongi, and Hoseok.
The Head Family and Jungkook’s family had been gathering at least once a week to have dinner with each other after Jimin and Jungkook had hit their six month anniversary. The two of them mating had turned from a solid maybe, to a cemented, written in stone definitely. Even looking at the two sitting next to each other had changed over half the year. Where there had used to be an appropriate amount of space between the two, now there was none. Their legs were squished together, hip to knee. Their hands were more often times than not intertwined under the table.
Jin would have thought it was too much, vomit inducing really, if he and Namjoon weren’t exactly the same way, his leg twitching ever so slightly against Namjoon’s. He bit back a smile when the alpha’s hand came to sit innocently on his lap, almost out of reflex.
Once the Head Alpha had gotten past his coughing fit, he placed his hands flat on the table and leaned closer to Jimin, almost as if he was going to tell him a secret. “Absolutely not, my boy!” he whispered, though Jimin would argue it was more of a yell than anything as Taehyung’s chocolate eyes whipped to where he was sitting across from him. He had previously been paying attention to the Head Omega, who was softly telling Taehyung something, though Jimin doubted it was of any importance.
He didn’t think much of anything the omega said was important anymore. He and the Head had been drifting further and further apart, turning from ignoring one another to full blown arguments and fights. As his training went on, she faded more and more into the background, and at one time refused any sort of knowledge to Jimin at a crucial time, just because of how unfairly she thought Jimin was treating her. Jimin couldn’t have cared less, he decided. He hadn’t needed her for a long, long time, and he supposed it was fine if it stayed that way.
“What’s going on? Did Jimin ask to go hunting again?” Taehyung smirked, though when Kim’s head whipped in his direction it quickly disappeared. His eyes widened and he looked to Jimin, who had propped his hand up on the table, his cheek squished into it, his other hand idly stirring his soup. His green eyes rolled to the back of his head, and Taehyung again had to suppress a smile.
“No, Taehyung, he asked for a sword,” the Head Alpha’s gaze swept back to Jimin who sat up a little straighter. Taehyung’s eyes grew even wider. “Though I couldn’t possibly fathom why?”
Jimin opened his mouth to speak, but he was cut off by Jin; “Do you not feel protected enough?”
Then Taehyung spoke, his voice hurt and sad. “Even with me by your side, with Kook?”
Jimin shook his head, and tried again, his voice laced with frustration. “It’s not-”
“We can add more people to the patrols, especially at night, if that’s what you’re worried about.” Head Alpha Kim was halfway towards standing up and doing just that, when the Head Omega finally spoke.
“It’s not proper for an omega, especially the Head Omega to carry a sword. It’s unsightly, and it would make your alpha look weak.” She sipped some soup off her spoon as Jimin’s eyes turned acidic and his scent went acrid. She swallowed her bite and dabbed at her mouth with a cloth. “You wouldn’t want Jungkook to look weak, to seem like he can’t protect you, do you? You’ll ruin him, and his pride. Is that what you want, Jiminie? Just so you can show how much of an alpha you wish you were?”
There was a collective gasp from the Head Alpha and Taehyung. Jimin only ground his teeth and set his jaw as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving his mother’s.
“Mother…” Jin whispered, he himself standing. This finally gathered the attention of the other four in the room. Namjoon turned to Jin, a frown on his face. He stood from his chair, wobbling a bit as to not put too much weight on his damaged leg and gently touched the back of Jin’s neck as the omega’s scent changed from sweet to sour. Jin’s eyes suddenly filled with hot tears, and oh, how he hated hormones. They had gotten especially bad with his eighth month approaching. There was literally no reason to be crying and yet, here he was.
“Come,” Namjoon mumbled to Jin. Jin nodded as he and Namjoon slowly walked out of the room, Namjoon’s bad leg thudding and dragging against the floor.
The dining room was left in tense silence. The Head Alpha sat back down, his stormy eyes unreadable as he stared at his mate. She had changed. She would have never said something like that before, insulting someone’s nature, speaking down to her own son. She had changed, and he hadn’t been there to hold her together, to keep her, her.
Jungkook’s doe eyes glanced from Jimin to the Head Omega. He hadn’t known what had happened. One minute, he had been enjoying a nice dinner with a great conversation, his mate snuggled to his side, smelling so sweet and soft, and then the smell had turned smokey and painful to his nose, and Jin was crying and Namjoon was leaving with him. He jostled when Jimin suddenly stood up. Even he had to swallow when he looked up at Jimin’s face. He hoped that face would never be turned on him, so cold and devoid of emotion.
“Head Omega,” Jungkook grimaced at Jimin’s choice in words. “I would like to speak to you privately.” Jimin’s voice was so, so calm, and Jungkook had never been more terrified.
The Head Omega didn’t budge, and instead kept eating her soup. “I think not. I would like to finish my dinner. I appreciate the things that are given to me, and would hate to waste anything.”
Everyone heard the unspoken ‘unlike you’, and they all shrunk back a little in their chairs. Jungkook saw Jimin take a calming breath in, then out before he spoke again.
“So be it.” He looked around the table and then back up. “If I could have the room with the Head Omega?”
Yoongi and Taehyung were the first to stand. Taehyung held his hand out for Yoongi to take, and once he did, they almost ran from the room. Hoseok glanced to Jungkook before he bit his lip and left. The Head Alpha stood and looked down at his mate. When she didn’t look back up to him, he sighed and shook his head, leaving the room as well. Jungkook was the last to stand. He grasped Jimin’s hand and squeezed it. Jimin’s green gaze locked on his, and for a moment, his eyes softened. Jungkook only nodded at Jimin, and Jimin nodded back before he too left the room, leaving the two omegas alone.
The silence stretched as Jimin sat back down. Their scents, oranges and caramel fought and warped into something burnt. The Head finally chuckled, though there was no humor in it.
“You always had a penchant for the dramatics, Jiminie, I’ll give you that.”
Jimin worked his jaw. He felt his temper rise and he could feel it waiting to snap like a stretched band. “Don’t call me that.”
“Jiminie?” The Head asked, and Jimin growled out softly. “I have always called you Jiminie.” She said, rolling her eyes. Jimin’s lips twitched.
“And I have always called you mother, but look where we are now?”
That finally got some sort of emotion out of the older woman. She slammed her spoon into her bowl, and Jimin blinked as she finally stood up. “And whose fault do you think that is?!”
Jimin stayed in his seat, though his eyes turned to fire and his mouth turned downward. “You left him in heat, you refused to teach me anything, you still think we are untouchable, and you left father when he needed you the most!” Jimin’s voice had grown in volume with each word, and soon he was shouting. The Head Omega threw her hands into the air, knocking a glass of wine onto the table. Jimin’s eyes flickered to the burgundy liquid seeping into the wood as the omega in front of him started shouting desperately as well.
“I made one, one mistake,” both of her hands came down to point at herself, her eyes filling with tears. “I made a single mistake my whole time as the Head Omega, and you can’t stop condemning me for it!”
Jimin scoffed, and let out a puff of air. “You made a mistake that cost Jin his future!” Jimin flung his arm out to the side, as if gesturing to Jin. “You never even apologized!”
The Head nodded her head frantically. “I did apologize to you! I apologized and apologized, and you never cared. You were done with me!”
Jimin shook his head, just as desperately. “Yes! You apologized to me. What do I matter though?! And you only apologized for thinking we were untouchable, not for leaving him. You didn’t even care about him, just about how you would look to everyone else!”
The other omega put her palm flat to her chest. “As the Head Omega, it’s important for the pack to see me as as close to perfect as possible. Why can’t you seem to understand that Jimin?”
“No, you’re right!” Jimin finally stood, throwing his arms in the air. “I can’t come close to comprehending why how the pack sees you is more important than your own son!” To his horror, he felt tears come to his eyes. He couldn’t cry, not now. “An alpha came into our house, our own home, and raped my big brother, your son, and all you ever cared about before and after, is how the stupid pack sees you! Not even how they see the family, just you!” Jimin’s voice was growing hoarse.
“You will learn, that how the pack views you is important, Jimin! If they see you as weak in a time of distress, then they will trample all over you, and they will destroy you. You will learn-”
Jimin slammed his hand onto the table, barely wincing when he felt something crack in his hand. “HOW?!” He yelled, his voice breaking despite himself. “How will I learn anything when you will not teach me?”
The Head looked around, a sour smile coming to her face. “You expect me to teach you when you refuse to even look in my direction?”
Jimin’s hands came to his head, his left hand screaming in pain as he gripped his hair. “I tried. When that beta was having trouble birthing her pup, I begged you for help, and you only shook your head and locked me out of the room! It’s you who refuses to look at me, you who refuses to change because you are so disgusted with yourself. You refuse to look back and see anything as your fault, because you cannot stand it. You cannot stand that I am different, you never have been able to.” Jimin’s chest heaved as he felt tears leak out of his eyes without his permission. The Head Omega tried to speak, but Jimin wouldn’t let her. It was his turn, and he would say his piece. “When I was little, you tried so, so hard to make me fit in. You braided my hair just right, tried to make me smell normal. You silenced me at dinners and you only let me be emotional with you, just so I wouldn’t show anyone else that I was unhappy. You wanted to replace my mother, and congratulations, I loved you like you were her. But as soon as I spoke out, as soon as I had made it known that I was angry with you, you shut me out. You hurt your own family, and you failed as the Head Omega. Your family is broken and so, so angry, and you don’t even look to us to fix it. You go to the precious pack who cost you your own son’s place as the Head Omega. You turned away from father, when all he needed was his mate to hold him down. He has accepted that he didn’t protect his family, he grew from it and is trying to change for the better, to be here.” Jimin sat heavily in his chair, his hand throbbing. “And you can’t even look Jin in the eyes, or tell me that you love me anymore, because you are so sick of yourself and who you have become.”
The Head Omega stood in silence, her face wet with tears and hot with shame.
Jimin rubbed at his face with his uninjured hand. “You spoke of the pack trampling on me if I wasn’t strong, or respected.” His emerald eyes seemed to burn brightly, boiling like acid. “It seems to me that they will stomp all over us whenever they please, and they have proven that they will with Jin’s incident. So, you see, Head Omega, they never loved you, nor respected you.” The Head Omega shook her head, and Jimin pulled his leg to his chest. “You’ve always been weak in their eyes, but now you are weak in mine.” Jimin wiped the tears from his cheeks and took a deep breath. The Head Omega was beside herself. She couldn’t seem to move, and her voice suddenly seemed to have left her. Jimin took another cleansing breath and lifted his chin. He was sitting, but he was taller and mightier than any omega that had stepped foot in this house.
“And to speak of my alpha as though he is weak, as though I think of him as weak, is beneath even you. For my own mother to degrade my nature because I simply asked for a sword, who do you think you are ? I tried to be patient, and I tried to forgive, but to insult my pride as an omega, because that is who I am proud to be, and to insult my future mate is unforgivable.” The Head Omega’s tired eyes snapped to Jimin’s, and before she could speak, Jimin spoke over her once again. “I don’t want to see you at meals anymore. I don’t want you speak to Jungkook, or his family. I don’t want to see you talking with the pack outside this house, and I don’t want you to talk to me anymore.”
At this the omega did bristle, her cheeks turning red. “This is my house-”
“No.”
She stopped and her mouth opened wide. Jimin’s eyes were glowing, silvery green and his voice seemed to echo off of the walls. “This is my house. It belongs to the Head Omega, which is no longer you. I shall be taking the name Head Omega from now on in this house until it becomes my name to the pack in a months time.”
The former Head stepped forward and Jimin slowly got to his feet. “Of course, you could challenge me for it.” Jimin stared her down, his eyes burning brighter. The omega woman shrunk under his gaze. “Though, I don’t think you want to.” Jimin pointed to the door that led to the omega’s quarters. “Now, go.”
The woman just stared open mouthed at Jimin, and Jimin couldn’t help but let the rage inside of him wind even tighter. “GO!”
The thin omega closed her mouth slowly as more tears streamed down her face. She looked Jimin up and down twice before her feet slowly and painfully took her to the door, where she stopped once again. Before she entered her room, she looked back to Jimin one more time. “You are no son of mine.”
Jimin didn’t turn around, or flinch at the words, even when it felt like an icy hand had grabbed his heart. He waited for the door to creak shut, and once it did he collapsed onto the chair. His legs curled up in front of him as he began to sob, his right hand coming to his face.
He cried for the loss of his second mother. He cried for his loneliness, and for his family. He cried for Jin and for himself, and he cried for her. He had loved her once, and maybe deep down he still did, so he cried for that as well.
He didn’t notice Jungkook coming in and lifting him out of the chair, and he didn’t notice his father trying to get into his mother’s room. He only noticed the pain in his left hand and how his throat choked on his words. He only noticed his world going dark, and his dreams turning to ashes around him as he mourned the loss of someone he couldn’t forgive.
…
It’s Not Always for the Best
Namjoon led Jin towards the washroom, hoping to grab a cloth for Jin to wipe his face with. He tried to ignore how slow he was moving, though he supposed that Jin wouldn’t be able to go much faster without him hanging off of him, what with how big Jin was getting to be. But of course, with the pregnancy making Jin rounder and rounder came hormones, making him moodier and moodier. Not that Namjoon minded. He never thought he would get to experience the joys of being someone’s mate, much less fatherhood, so no, he didn’t mind. Not one bit.
He didn’t mind rubbing Jin’s feet every night while he listened to Jin complain and gossip about the other omegas. He didn’t mind sitting next to Jin while he vomited well into the night, comforting him and holding him. He didn’t mind tying Jin’s shoes because Jin was too big to reach his own feet, and he didn’t mind reassuring Jin that no, he didn’t look like a fat peach waddling through the village, and that he was still the prettiest thing Namjoon had ever seen. Though Jin did look offended once as he told him; “I know I’m pretty, I just asked it I looked fat”. Namjoon didn’t mind that either.
What did bother him however was how hard Jin was trying to not make anything about himself. He seldom complained about his aches and pains, even when Namjoon knew that he was having them. He never spoke to the alpha about his troubles, and instead always focused on the way Namjoon was feeling, or how his leg was. Namjoon had watched as Jin closed himself off from everyone, including himself. It seemed like Jin didn’t want to feel anything, to become numb enough so that he could withstand whatever life threw at him. Maybe that was how Jin learned to cope from his mother, but Namjoon wouldn’t have it. He would have all of Jin; his emotions, his hurts, his fears. There was no part of this fragile omega that he didn’t want, and this was the one thing that Namjoon was willing to take.
They had finally made it to the washroom, and Namjoon led Jin to sit on the edge of the tub. Jin tried to protest. “N-no, you should sit, I-” he stammered, weakly pushing Namjoon closer to it. Namjoon, in a shocking show of grace, especially for him, spun Jin around and pressed his hands to his shoulders, almost roughly pushing Jin into sitting. Jin blinked, and he looked as though he was about to argue again, but Namjoon gave him that smile, all dimples and sun, and Jin couldn’t help but smile back, all tears and puffy eyes.
Namjoon brought his hand up and pat Jin’s cheek, his thumb rubbing the wetness under his eye. He laughed softly and turned to grab one of the cloths that were folded on the counter next to the water basin. He dipped it in some of the cold water that was left over in it from that morning. After ringing it out, he turned back to Jin and gently dabbed the cold towel under his eyes. Jin sighed and closed his eyes, letting Namjoon’s minty scent wash over him.
They sat in silence, Namjoon cleaning and cooling Jin’s warm face and Jin breathing deeply and calming himself and the rolling pup in his tummy down. He was revelling in his alpha’s attention after denying himself any sort of extra affection for so long. He hummed softly when Namjoon finished and he opened his eyes when he felt Namjoon take his hands. He looked down at the alpha as he struggled to lower himself to the floor, his left leg sticking out awkwardly on front of him.
“Is it stiff?” Jin asked.
Namjoon nodded his head, but he smiled up at Jin regardless. “A little bit, but I’m fine.” Namjoon knew that Jin was about to argue that he shouldn’t be sitting on the floor, so he leaned forward and kissed the omega’s soft hands. “Tell me how you are.”
Jin balked and tugged at his hands, only a little, but enough for Namjoon to tighten his own. “What do you mean?” Jin asked, smiling the most unbelievable smile Namjoon had ever seen. When he raised an eyebrow, Jin’s smile faltered. “I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.” Namjoon’s voice was soft, so soft, but it seemed to bounce off the bathroom walls and collide with Jin’s ears. Jin felt his eyes sting with more tears, and he was so over this crying thing. Namjoon thought Jin was going to try to deflect again when his glassy brown eyes swiveled around the small room, looking anywhere but him, and he got ready to push, just a little. His heart fell as a single tear slipped down Jin’s face and his lips trembled. Namjoon sighed and was about to ask Jin to talk to him, but Jin closed his eyes, more tears cascading down his cheeks, and finally, finally spoke.
“I’m so… tired ,” Jin whispered through the ball of emotion in his throat. At his admission, he felt his shoulders droop, as if the strings and bands holding them up had been cut. “I have been trying to do what is best for everyone, and yet my family is still falling apart. My own mother can’t look at me, can’t even stand to touch me. She hates Jimin, and Jimin hates her, and they fight all of the time. I thought I could fix that, talk to both of them and hope that they reconcile. I thought that if I just ignored what had happened to me that everyone else would too, I thought that it would be for the best.” Jin took a deep breath. “But I was wrong, so wrong. They run around hurting each other and themselves, and I can’t do it anymore.” Jin squeezed Namjoon’s hands and Namjoon leaned forward and softly kissed the omega’s hand, urging him to continue. “The only one who I seemed to have helped is my father, but even he can’t stand to be in the house for very long. He and mother haven’t spoken or even slept in the same room for months, but I can’t fix that or make it better, no matter how hard I try.” Jin swallowed. “It’s so suffocating being in this place when we are all together, and I wish we could go back to how it used to be, before everything, and I have tried and tried and tried, but nothing is working, and I’m so tired.”
Namjoon nuzzled Jin’s hand before passing them and laying his head on Jin’s knee, adjusting his body on the ground so that he was leaning more against the wash basin with his legs stretched out in front of him. He sighed and let Jin continue without saying anything, because he knew that Jin had a lot to say, and he wasn’t going to interrupt. Jin’s hands went to Namjoon’s hair, and he stroked his fingers through it as he spoke.
“My body hurts. My back feels like it’s expanding and compacting at the same time. I’m pretty sure my ribs are bruised from the inside. The pup basically lives on my bladder, and I have to pee literally every three minutes, but I have trouble even going by myself, and I know that Jimin is getting sick of helping me, even though he says he’s not. My ankles are swollen and my feet throb all day and all night. The pup squirms and kicks when I try to sleep. My shoulders are stiff and itchy, and I want to take a bath but I don’t want to burden anyone with helping me take one. My skin feels thicker than normal, and I hate it.” Jin seemed to have found the word that he was looking for as his scent suddenly got sharper, and Namjoon tried to hide a small smile. Everything Jin was saying sounded horrible, and it was so sad, but Namjoon would never get enough of Jin complaining. “I hate this,” Jin said quietly. “I hate being pregnant, but oh, do I love the child inside of me. But Joon,” Jin actually chuckled, a desperate and hysterical sound, and Namjoon looked up and smiled at Jin. “It’s horrible.” Jin kept laughing and Namjoon just nuzzled his face into Jin’s thigh. Jin finally settled and shook his head.
“I just want everyone to be happy,” he whispered, and his voice sounded so small. Namjoon sighed and finally spoke.
“But it’s not your job to make everyone happy, Jin.”
Jin stayed silent, so Namjoon continued. “It’s not always for the best to keep everyone happy. That’s not possible. People will be miserable or happy on their own accord, and sometimes there is nothing you can do, and that’s okay. I know it’s hard to see people you love fall to pieces, but it’s not up to you to put the pieces back together when you have your own puzzle to solve.” Namjoon looked up to Jin and let his minty scent escape and wrap around Jin as the omega stared down at him. “You’re going to have a pup Jin. A whole human being to look after, and he will actually need you to. Let everyone else figure out their lives themselves, they are big boys and girls.” Jin cracked a smile, and passed his fingers through Namjoon’s hair again.
“What about you?” he asked, his eyes softening. Namjoon felt his heart flip and his stomach erupt in butterflies.
“What about me?” Namjoon asked.
“Well,” Jin hummed, his cheeks turning a little pink. “I wasn’t planning on letting you go any time soon, and even if I shouldn’t, I would like to take care of you… as my alpha.”
Namjoon thought his cheeks were going to melt off of his face. “Jin, what are you asking me?”
Jin took a deep breath before locking his puffy brown eyes onto Namjoon’s honey colored eyes. “I’m asking you to mate me, Namjoon.”
Silence stretched between the two, and Namjoon swore he could hear Jin’s pounding heartbeat. His brain felt like mush, so he said the first thing that came to his mind. “N-Now?” he stuttered, his voice cracking.
Jin’s face was solid stone before he snorted and brought his hand up to cover his mouth as he laughed, high pitched and free. “No, you goof.” He caught his breath and looked at Namjoon again, all soft and gooey. “But, maybe after the pup comes. He’s gonna need a papa to look up to, don’t you think?”
Namjoon stood up faster than he thought he was able to, cupping Jin’s face in his hands as he kissed him. Jin hummed and sighed against Namjoon, his own hands covering Namjoon’s. Namjoon disconnected from Jin, but didn’t go very far as he placed his forehead against the omega’s. “Of course I will mate you, Jin. I have never wanted anything more.”
Jin laughed softly, pecking Namjoon on the lips once more before he leaned back, his eyes sparkling in a way that Namjoon hadn’t seen in a long time. “There is one thing that I want more than anything.” Namjoon only raised his eyebrow, and Jin smirked. He sat back forward, his lips almost touching Namjoon’s as he said against them “A bath. Will you help me?” Namjoon blinked and felt the blood from his face go south, though he was sure that his face was still beet red.
“I-If you’re sure,” Namjoon said, his voice coming out raspy, making Jin laugh again, and gods Namjoon would never trade that sound for anything.
Jin planted his feet on the ground and made grabby hands at Namjoon so that the alpha could help him stand. Namjoon smiled and tugged Jin up, and Jin immediately dropped Namjoon’s hands. He waddled to the door and called for Taehyung. When the beta appeared, Jin spoke to him for a moment, and Namjoon couldn’t help but look to the ground when Taehyung caught his eyes and waggled his eyebrows.
Jin kept himself busy as he waited for Taehyung to start pumping hot water into the wash basin. He smiled softly, shyly, at Namjoon while he grabbed a few cloths and placed them by the basin. He opened a small cupboard above the sink and pulled out some oils and soap, and by the time he had chosen what he wanted and had everything within arms reach, including a pile of towels neatly stacked on the ground for Namjoon to kneel on, steaming water began to spurt out of the copper faucet.
Jin fiddled with his hands for a moment, and Namjoon suddenly felt a sense of calm assuredness wash over him. He reached for Jin and gently touched Jin’s side and pulled him closer to the tub to stand in front of him. His hand left the omega’s waist and placed it on his cheek, slowly trailing it to his neck, then his shoulder. His thumb traced over Jin’s exposed collar bone, and he noticed the goosebumps that formed on his pale skin. Jin hummed and tilted his head, exposing himself to Namjoon, and Namjoon wasn’t going to hesitate. He stepped closer and tucked his nose against the juncture of Jin’s neck and shoulder. He nuzzled his nose against Jin’s scent gland, and both men shuddered at the smell of charcoal weaving itself with apple, and Namjoon felt something at the bottom of his stomach stir.
He lifted his face and softly kissed at Jin’s warm cheeks, trailing his mouth down Jin’s jaw, adam’s apple, and finally he softly bit at that sensitive gland on Jin’s neck, and he caught the omega as his legs nearly gave out, a soft gasp breaking the relative silence. He slowly brought his hands to the bottom of Jin’s tunic, lifting it painstakingly slow. He didn’t want this to be anything like what Jin had previously been through, and he wanted Jin to be comfortable at all costs. He lifted the tunic above his protruding stomach, his mouth moving to Jin’s jaw as the omega lifted his arms.
Namjoon broke off his soft kisses only for a second to lift the rouge tunic over his head. Jin sighed and hooked his arms over Namjoon’s shoulders, meeting Namjoon’s mouth in opened mouth kiss. Namjoon trailed his hands over Jin’s swelling chest, briefly sweeping over Jin’s sensitive nipples, making the omega twitch and groan softly. Namjoon smiled a small smile and let his hands travel lower. He applied a small amount of pressure on Jin’s stomach like he had seen Jin do a thousand times before, and Jin practically melted. He groaned again and leaned towards Namjoon’s own scent gland, latching on with his mouth, this time eliciting a soft moan from Namjoon as his skin turned to molten lava.
His hands traced the top of the legging Jin wore over his stomach, and he tried to gently hook his thumbs under the material when Jin suddenly grabbed his wrists.
Namjoon froze and looked to Jin, trying to capture his eyes, but Jin only looked to the ground. He seemed to take a number of deep breaths before he spoke. “I’ll… I’ll do this part. Just help me… get in?”
Namjoon hated that Jin sounded so scared, and it made his blood boil for only a second before he let it go, and answered Jin. “Okay. Take your time, love, I won’t leave.”
Namjoon could actually see Jin deflate as the tension left his shoulders. Jin dropped Namjoon’s wrists and turned around before slipping out of his leggings. Jin looked over his shoulder and smiled softly, and Namjoon reached out and took Jin’s shoulder in one hand and his elbow in the other, slowly guiding Jin into the hot water. It was a slow and careful process, Jin off balance and Namjoon’s leg getting in the way, but Jin did finally end up in the water.
Namjoon silently grabbed a cloth and dipped it into the water before squirting a dollop of soap on it. He gently leaned Jin forward and began to swirl the cloth against his back, digging in a little to give him a massage at the same time. Jin groaned softly and rolled his shoulders. Namjoon chuckled and massaged at a particularly large knot.
“Thank you.”
Namjoon hummed and shook his head. “I would have given you a bath any time, love, you just had to ask.”
Jin huffed and rolled his shoulder again. “I meant for listening to me, and loving me, even if I cry too much, and my feet stink.”
Namjoon smiled and leaned down to kiss Jin’s shoulder.
“I’m willing to listen forever if I have to.”
…
Hand Cramp
“This is stupid,” Jimin muttered, crossing another T and dotting another I. The Head Alpha rolled his eyes but didn’t look up from the paper he was reading. Jungkook softly kicked Jimin under the table, and Jimin caught Jungkook’s foot between his ankles, holding him there.
“I agree,” the alpha said, stamping the wax seal with the Kim Family crest into maybe the billionth scroll of the day.
Taehyung laughed and dipped his quill in a well of ink before continuing what he was writing. “I don’t know, I think it’s kind of relaxing.” Yoongi bumped his shoulder against the beta’s as he rolled up another scroll before passing it to Jungkook who rolled his eyes and poured the melted red wax onto the paper.
“Yeah, and we get to spend quality time with each other. I mean look at us,” Yoongi gestured around the tiny room. Jungkook and Jimin stared impassively at the omega, their eyes dull and bored. “All having fun and bonding.”
Jimin set his quill down with a dull thud, opening and closing his hand and waving it back and forth to try and get the feeling back into it. “Fun? My hand is cramping, and I can’t even use my left one.” The omega stared longingly at his useless left hand, which had been bound in a sturdy wrap, not even allowing the smallest of wiggles. Usually he would be able to switch hands, he could write pretty well with both, but alas. He had to go and break his hand.
Jungkook smirked and put his hand out for Jimin, and Jimin quirked his eyebrow at him suspiciously. “What?”
Jungkook shook his head, his hair falling out of the short ponytail it was in. “Nothing, I just think it’s super cool that you’re ambidextrous.” Jungkook scooched as close as he could towards Jimin with the table in the way, but Jimin shifted back, his eyes squinting.
“What are you playing at, Kookie?”
Jungkook pouted and gave Jimin his best puppy dog eyes. “Nothing, sweet one, I just wanna hold your hand and rub the cramp away. I feel bad that I can’t do anything about the other one, being all broken and all.”
At this the Head Alpha finally spoke. “I feel bad for my table,” he grumbled. Jimin ducked a little in shame. When he had slammed his hands against the table all those nights ago, he had actually cracked the wood and splintered some of the table edge, ruining a table that had been in the family for generations.
“Sorry table…” Jungkook mumbled before giving up on his hand massage and stamping a few more scrolls.
Jimin groaned and tilted his head back over the top of his chair. Taehyung poked his side. “C’mon Jiminie, these are the invitations for your wedding.”
Jimin groaned again and picked up his quill. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I don’t even know why we have to invite so many packs. It’s not like I know any of these people.” Jimin flipped his quill over and dusted the feather tip against the smooth wood of the table, his cheek squishing into his hand.
“My boy, it’s because-” the Head started.
“I know father, I know,” Jimin replied, a sheepish smile on his face. “Sometimes, I just like to pretend I’m not becoming such an important person in a very important pack is all. Let me live.”
The Head Alpha finally chuckled and shook his head.
Jungkook nudged Jimin’s feet with his own again, and Jimin smiled. He pretended that he didn’t enjoy this, but a little part of him loved to see his and Jungkook’s name next to each other.
Now if only his hand would stop cramping.
…
I Can Try
Jimin tucked the last of his hair into the loose bun on the top of his head. He wanted to get his hair cut soon, and maybe he could convince Jungkook to get a trim too. He thought about it for a second. Maybe he wouldn’t.
He startled a little when someone knocked on his door. It could have been anyone really. Jungkook’s family had moved into the East wing of the cabin which had been basically abandoned after Jin’s incident. But Jimin didn’t think that Jungkook would break the one rule that the Head Alpha had imposed on him when the question of moving in had been broached; not to go into Jimin’s room after dark.
“Come in,” he called out softly. He smiled gently when he saw the mop of brown hair emerge from behind the closed door.
“I was wondering if I could sleep in here tonight?”
Jimin came forward and grasped Jin’s hand, nodding exuberantly. It had been too long since they had slept together, and Jin had been in such a good mood these last few days, and Jimin wanted to know why. He also just wanted to be in Jin’s presence, and wanted to cuddle with his brother again. Jimin tugged Jin towards his bed and both the omegas clambered into it, both with the grace of a tripping elephant. They giggled as they laid down, facing each other. Jin’s arms curled around his stomach and Jimin smiled at Jin.
“What is it?” Jin asked, his eyes scrunching in amusement.
“You look happy,” Jimin whispered, snuggling closer to the other omega, letting Jin’s warm scent wash over him. Jin bit his lip but he couldn’t fight off the silly smile come to his face. “Are you?”
Jin seemed to think for a second before he slowly nodded. “Yeah,” he reached out and held Jimin’s good hand softly. “For the first time in a long time, I’m actually happy Jiminie.”
Jimin smiled back and swallowed the rush of emotions he suddenly felt. He had noticed Jin struggling for the past half a year, but he had no idea how to help him when he couldn’t even seem to help himself. He had just stood by and watched as Jin pretended to be happy, and push himself into the background, and he hated himself for it. But since the night of the fight, Jin seemed to have broken free of whatever was holding him back, and Jimin couldn’t have been more pleased.
Jin’s eyes were twinkling in a way that reminded Jimin of his father, and his skin seemed to get that glow back. “Is it Joonie?” Jimin asked, the corner of his lip tilting up. Jin pushed Jimin back a little bit, and Jimin giggled. Jin put his hand underneath his head.
“Yes, it was Namjoon… and myself.”
Jimin nodded, letting Jin continue. “Namjoon made me realize that I needed to focus on myself for once, and maybe if I did, then things would just fall into place. I’m still waiting for that to happen, but I think it will, slowly. I had to make myself realize that I can’t make everyone happy, and that I needed to be happy first. You could say that I had an epiphany, y’know?”
“Yeah, I get that,” Jimin mumbled.
“You’ll need to remember that too, Jimin.” Jin snuggled further into his pillow. “When you become the Head Omega officially, you need to remember that you are important too, and what you are feeling should come before anything else, even the pack. If you don’t, the pack will fall apart, just as you will.”
Jimin sighed and reached out to touch Jin’s belly, as if trying to find comfort. “I’ll try. I can’t promise that it will always work, but I will try.”
Jin nodded. “Of course.” They laid in silence for a long time before Jin’s face suddenly lit up. “Now, tell me about your plans for the wedding.”
Jimin rolled his eyes and flexed his hand. “Ugh, I can feel my hand cramping tomorrow already!”
|
“You can’t be serious, Minhyun.”
Jonghyun normally wouldn’t let himself be so vocal, and not so mean, not when Minhyun was in his current condition. But the news was so surprising, so far out, so inconceivable — and so alienating — Jonghyun’s tact took second fiddle.
“I mean,” Minki shifted uncomfortably. “It’s his choice, Jonghyun.” Aaron looked just as uncomfortable but smiled winningly at Minhyun, who for a brief moment looked relieved.
“Of course,” Jonghyun swallowed, and looked away. “Of course it’s your choice, Minhyun.”
“You can’t control everything,” Dongho said. It sounded more sad than critical, but Jonghyun bristled. How could Dongho understand? How could the idiot understand what something like this meant? It wasn’t any man’s place to think he could live forever. The idea was just ridiculous. Even as a—
Minhyun struggled onto his elbows and took a breath, trying to speak up again. But his previous revelation had taken everything he had. His breath hitched, and everyone in the room tensed. But it was just a hitch. Not the usual body-wracking, endless hacking that ended in blood spit up into a tissue.
“Thank you for understanding,” Minhyun croaked, and waved goodbye weakly. “I made the decision a few days ago. It took some time to figure out how to tell you. But I think this is for the best. After all this way we’ll still see each other.”
Aaron’s smile grew a little twisted. Jonghyun buried his face in his hands and Dongho just nodded.
“Maybe we should give you and Minhyun some time to talk about it. We should go,” Minki said. “I know he’ll respect your decision,” Minki said with a glare in Jonghyun’s direction. With a hand on Aaron’s lower back, Minki shoved him out the door. Dongho followed without a glance back.
Then it was just Minhyun and Jonghyun.
#
Jonghyun had come home one day from filming a variety segment and found their apartment filled with smoke, Minhyun bent over in the kitchen over the sink, retching. His hand was bright pink, burned. Before Jonghyun could even make sense of what he was seeing, the smoke alarm shrilled on.
“I just went to lie down for a moment,” Minhyun panted, as Jonghyun threw open the windows and threw ice in a mixing bowl filled with cold water. “And the pan got hot, and when I went to move it—well, I forgot how hot the handle could be. I’m sorry I burned the steaks.”
“No, no, no, don’t worry about that.” Jonghyun said. “Are you okay? What happened?”
“I don’t know,” Minhyun closed his eyes and let Jonghyun guide him over to the couch, his hand limp in the mixing bowl. “Nothing, probably. I just felt really weak all of a sudden.”
“You’ve been overworked,” Jonghyun said. Minhyun’s filming schedule had only recently finished, and this was his first week on break while the postproduction crew assembled the first cut of the movie. It made sense that Minhyun’s body decided to get sick now. “Just rest, okay? I’ll take care of you.”
But the illness had spread quickly. Too quickly for any of them to have caught it in advance. And only a month later, Minhyun was in the hospital. And he hadn’t come back out.
#
“You can’t do this. Those idiots don’t know what kind of technology they’ve put out into the world. It’s not right, to upload yourself like that.”
“Just listen to me, Jonghyun.”
Jonghyun jumped up. He walked briskly to the window and opened it. A cool breeze came in. “And who knows if they’re even going to be able to do this properly? Have they even done it before? I’ve heard terrible things about what’s happened to people who did that. They’re stuck in their own bodies for the rest of their lives, locked away underground somewhere. You really want that to happen to you?”
“It’s come a long way since that scandal,” Minhyun said softly. “They came to visit me the other day. It’s a different arrangement now, for celebrities.”
“What?”
“They’ve got integrations with the home technology devices. They’ll upload my persona to the cloud and it’ll power some of the AI home software. I could still be with you, Jonghyun.”
“I don’t get it,” Jonghyun shook his head furiously. “You’re going to—you’re going to become a — a —”
The word that Jonghyun was looking for was somewhere between an avatar, a persona non grata, and an android. But he couldn’t bring himself to say any of it. Because to him, Minhyun was flesh and blood.
There was a time not too long ago that Jonghyun could only watch Minhyun from a screen. As a face from a magazine cover. Smiling at him from candy wrappers and screen printed on subway ads and cosmetic cases. It was like entering an alternate reality. Minhyun was everywhere, all around Jonghyun, and yet nowhere. Minhyun, who was larger than life and yet nowhere to be seen. That Minhyun was a stranger to him. That year, the Minhyun he thought he knew—the quiet, humble, unassuming bookworm with the cool gaze and perfect laughs, flawless in all of his clothes—became a cipher. A projection of collective desires. A composite of their country’s hopes and dreams. The nation’s prince. From this persona there would be no true understanding. No real knowledge.
Minhyun sighed. “They ran some numbers. With the number of subscribers my persona is projected to generate, the revenue share will help keep me alive for a while. Maybe for as long as you.”
“But it’s not really you.” Tears streamed down Jonghyun’s face. He rubbed them away on the back of his sleeve, but they kept coming.
“Come here, Jonghyunnie.”
Jonghyun didn’t move. Outside, it was the kind of day where the sun baked the sidewalk to a crisp. In the distance, the air shimmered in the heat. The parking lot was empty.
“Please.” #
Months later there came an envelope under the doormat of his apartment where Jonghyun was now living alone. Jonghyun’s heart crept into his throat and stayed there and the envelope, unmarked, lay on his kitchen table for days.
Sujin came over unannounced one night. Just checking up on him, she said. She’d been doing that, probably on Minhyun’s wishes. It hurt him to see her, because she looked like Minhyun and Minhyun looked like her, but he hid his hurt as well as he could. She saw the envelope and raised an eyebrow elegantly. Cooly. You going to open that?
Jonghyun knew in his heart who it was. When Sujin left, Jonghyun finally with trembling hands opened the envelope. There was a USB drive the size of an eraser. He plugged it into his computer.
There was a single video on the USB drive. He double clicked.
“Jonghyunnie,” his old Minhyun said. The recording had obviously been done in a professional studio and the audio came crisp and clear and in surround sound. “I’m sorry.”
There was much more. Jonghyun replayed the video three times and went through a whole box of tissues. When he was done, he ran the USB drive through the sink disposal.
#
Jonghyun missed this the most: in all those years together, they had spent countless nights in countless rooms all around the world. There would be Minhyun curled up in bed, bedside lamp casting a soft glow on his angular features, the sound of the page turning every two minutes.
He used to fall asleep to the sound of those turning pages. To the sound of Minhyun sometimes reading aloud to himself, air passing through his lips in invisible whispers.
|
The first thing Mickey was aware of when he woke up was a small hand on his face. He originally assumed it was Harlow-who had recently figured out she could easily get out of her toddler bed in the morning-until he heard an incredibly high-pitched laugh. "Hey, little mouse."
"Guess you finally woke Daddy up, Key." Ian laughed from the other side of the bed, clearly sitting just behind Cian.
"Where's Max and Harlow?" Mickey groggily asked, his eyes still closed as he reached out to touch Cian's back-a habit he's developed over his time as a parent, any time his kids sat next to him-and meeting Ian's warm fingers.
"Still sleeping; it's only seven-thirty." Ian explained, clearly still tired, himself. "This little guy decided he wanted Papa to come get him so he could see his Daddy." Cian let out another high-pitched laugh and slapped Mickey's cheek softly.
"Feelin' the love, Cian." Mickey mumbled, opening his eyes just enough to meet his son's bright green ones and a wide, gummy smile. What caught his eye-however-was a small, white bump in his bottom gum. Mickey sat up quickly, taking Cian into his arms and looking at his gums. "Did he get a fever?"
"No?" Ian stated as a question, looking into Cian's mouth alongside his husband. "Guess he had an easier time with it than his sister, huh?" Ian asked, lifting Cian up and blowing raspberries against the baby's stomach.
"Got your first tooth, baby boy!" Mickey exclaimed happily, stealing Cian back and kissing his little cheek.
"Harlow was a happy baby, but I swear Key's the happiest baby on earth." Ian said, smiling at his son when the baby started to chew on his fingers.
"You forgetting how much he cried for the first three months?" Mickey asked with a raised eyebrow.
"No, but he's been incredibly happy for the past four months." Ian said simply. "You're a happy baby, aren't you, Cian?" Ian asked the infant, ticking his small, bare feet. Cian laughed, his whole body going limp in Mickey's arms as his legs kicked happily.
"Watch Daddy's face, mouse." Mickey said, nibbling on Cian's foot when it came close to his face. Cian may have been the reason Mickey was awake before eight o'clock on his day off, but he loved having time with his children and his husband.
"Papa! Tell Harlow to stop!" Max whined, trying to shimmy off the couch and away from his sister as she tried to bite his face.
"Harlow Rue Gallagher! We don't bite people!" Ian scolded his daughter, plucking her off the couch and turning her to face him. Despite generally being well behaved, Harlow was not particularly crazy about no longer being the baby of the family and would act up in an effort to get more attention.
"Want down!" Harlow screeched surging forward and trying to bite Ian's cheek.
"Harlow!" Mickey yelled, snatching Harlow away from Ian. "No! Papa just told you we don't bite!" Mickey walked Harlow over to the bright red "time out" chair-something Debbie had suggested when Harlow started acting out and neither parent wanted to spank their daughter-and started the timer.
"No!" Harlow yelled, trying to stand up, only for Mickey to sit her back down.
"Nope; you're gonna sit down and when you get up, you're gonna tell Papa and Max sorry." Mickey said in his "Dad voice" which made Harlow stop fighting him and look down at her feet.
"Gotta teach me how to do that." Ian murmured as he walked past Mickey to the side of the couch to check Max for bite marks. "Did Sissy bite you, anywhere?"
"No." Max said, allowing Ian to check his arms.
"Okay, bud, looks alright." Ian said, ruffling the boy's hair as he stood up. "Go play in your room while Sissy's in time-out, okay?" Max nodded and dashed off up the stairs, Hyde running along behind his boy. "We gotta figure out a way to stop this shit, Mick; she just tried to bite Max, for God's sake." Ian sighed, dropping himself onto the couch and looking over at Cian sitting in the playpen off to the side of the room with his beloved Mickey Mouse plush toy.
"Never had this problem with Max; he was always a good kid." Mickey replied, leaning against the wall behind him, his eyes still on Harlow.
"She was always a good kid until..." Ian didn't want to finish that sentence; didn't want it to appear that he was blaming their youngest son-who couldn't even walk or talk-for their daughter's behavior.
"Yeah." Mickey said, clearly understanding what Ian meant. "Too late to worry about that, now, though; he's here."
"I know, and I don't regret it, at all. But we've gotta figure out a way to handle Harlow's behavior." Ian said, smirking when Cian waved his Mickey Mouse at Jake through the sides of the playpen.
"Think Fiona would have an idea? Doubt with her raisin' five kids they were all perfect fuckin' angels all the time." Mickey said, glancing at the timer on the table beside the "time-out chair" to see how much longer Harlow had in time-out.
"Me and Lip where complete menaces, so she probably has something we could try." Ian agreed, knowing his older brother and himself had caused Fiona quite a few headaches.
"Times up. Go tell Papa sorry." Mickey told the girl, waiting for her to stand up.
"I sorry, Papa." Harlow said quietly, climbing onto the couch and hugging Ian.
"Okay, baby." Ian said, hugging the little girl back. "Come on, let's go upstairs and you can tell Max sorry."
"Ian went through a bitin' stage when he was about Harlow's age; Monica just had Debbie and he got real jealous and started bitin' me and Lip. I was only nine and since I was the one takin' care of him I had to come up with something. I tried lecturin' him, time-outs, whipping his ass, and then I tried bitin' him back and he finally stopped." Fiona told Mickey as he sat in the kitchen with Max and Ian while Max ate his lunch and Harlow and Cian took their naps.
"I'm not biting Harlow." Mickey said, causing Ian's eyebrows to shoot up and Max to stare at him with wide eyes.
"Just sayin' that's what I had to do to get Ian to stop. With Harlow? I'd say time-outs and talkin' to her should work after awhile." Fiona said simply.
"I got an idea. Tell you if it worked, later." Mickey said before ending the call and standing up.
"Hey, Ladybug." Mickey said as he entered Harlow's bedroom, finding her sitting on her bed and playing with two of her stuffed animals.
"Hi, Daddy." Harlow said without looking up. Mickey moved to sit on the edge of her bed and pulled Harlow into his lap. "Daddy's gotta talk to you, baby girl... You know Papa and Daddy still love you even though you're not the baby, anymore, right?" Mickey asked, looking down into shining blue eyes.
"You play with baby, more." Harlow pouted, making her look even more like Ian.
"The baby needs us to do more for him than you do, Ladybug. That don't mean we love him anymore than you. Do we love Max less just 'cause we had two babies after him?" Mickey asked the girl, knowing she was smart enough to understand even if she was only three and a half.
"No." Harlow answered, furrowing her little eyebrows as if she was trying to figure out the connection between the two things.
"Exactly. He's still our baby, even if he's not the baby, anymore, and so are you. But you know what? You're our only baby girl." Mickey stage whispered the last part, making Harlow laugh. "And you're the only one in the whole house who has their own room!"
"Yeah!" Harlow exclaimed as if this new information was the greatest thing on fucking Earth.
"So you're special to us, just like Cian; you're all special. Max is our first baby, you're our baby girl, and Cian's our littlest baby." Who was he and where the fuck was Mickey Milkovich? Where was the guy who would punch someone's teeth in for something to do?
"Okay. I sorry I bite... I no mean to hurt Papa or Max." Harlow said sincerely, her bright blue eyes shining even more.
"I know, Ladybug. But you gotta be nice to your brothers, okay? When you got no one else, you know who's always there?" At the shake of Harlow's head, Mickey continued. "Your family; you're gonna have me, Papa, Max, and Cian in your corner forever." He promised, leaning in to kiss the girl's forehead. "Come on; we'll make Papa make you some macaroni and cheese for lunch."
Mickey stood up with Harlow in his arms and walked down the stairs with her. He may have made himself fucking sick with how he had to handle the situation, but this was just another piece of evidence that he'd do anything for his babies.
|
The first few days and nights with la banda on the island were a predictable mix of fiesta, jetlag, story-telling, and reliving some of their best moments from the heists. The drinks flowed freely and after the initial pain and awkwardness of Tokio and the others realizing Rio hadn’t accepted the invitation to come, they fell easily into the banter and good-natured teasing (with some eye-rolling overtures from Palermo, of course) that had marked most of their time together.
Raquel and Monica were often up early, sipping cafe and prepping breakfast for the group, exchanging stories of motherhood, living life on the lam, loving wanted criminals and admittedly being criminals themselves now. They both worried over the future of their children - what it would take to make sure of a somewhat normal upbringing for Paula and Cinci and whatever future children there might be for Denver and Monica (“he’s been very interested in conceiving one here, I can tell you that, and then we can name him or her Managua or Nica or something,” Monica had shared with a laugh one morning. Raquel didn’t want to embarrass her by letting her know that most of the house was very aware of the fact that baby-making was on Denver’s brain, based on the noises that had been coming out of their room every night).
“Good morning, ladies . . .” Palermo’s voice called from down the hallway as he shuffled towards them in a long, flowery robe. His hair was a bit disheveled and he looked bleary eyed, but he had his characteristic shit-eating grin on all the same.
Raquel and Monica eyed each other over their coffees, both clocking that Palermo had come from a part of the house definitely not where his bedroom was. He also usually never joined the kitchen until well into communal breakfast time.
“Good morning, Palermo,” Raquel smiled warmly as he ambled over to pour himself a coffee. Black. He leaned one hand against the counter and drank deeply, as if his life depended on it. “So. How’s Helsinki?” Raquel teased.
“Sawing logs, back in his room. I’m surprised you can’t hear him from here,” he quipped, completely unembarrassed. “I think he finds himself very . . . relaxed,” he gestured out with his coffee, the robe slipping open to reveal nothing underneath.
“Oh, for the love of God, Palermo, shut that thing!” Monica cried, laughing as she and Raquel both shielded their eyes from the sight of his nakedness.
He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Straights. Always so prudish,” he quipped, but he pulled the robe closed and tied it tightly around his middle.
“Thank you. Please enjoy yourself and ‘reunite’ however you see fit in these weeks together, but . . . remember there are children here. And my mother. So maybe let’s not get too relaxed when it comes to clothing,” Raquel reminded him, trying not to laugh at the situation and finding it difficult.
“Oh right. I’m almost sorry then. Now, what were we talking about before I was kind enough to share your coffee? I wasn’t interrupting, was I?” he asked, hopefully.
“Would you care if you were?” Raquel questioned, teasing him.
“Not at all, so go on while this coffee brings me to life.”
“You probably need some water, too,” Monica offered, sliding off her barstool to head to the fridge.
“Yes,” he murmured. “Quite depleted.”
Monica and Raquel both grimaced and shook their heads at the images that were coming up. “We don’t need to hear anymore about it, Palermo,” Monica said, semi-sternly, pouring them all glasses of cool water from the fridge’s filtration. The humidity often sucked the hydration right out of their skin, and Raquel and Sergio kept at all of la banda all day long to keep drinking water, apply sunscreen regularly, and watch for signs of heat stroke. Tokyo had started calling them ‘Mom and Dad’ when they weren’t within earshot, but so far, no one had gotten a sunburn. They had all become very watchful about each other’s water intake. It was a banda thing, now.
“Weeeeellllllll, if you must know,” Monica continued, “I was just going to ask Raquel to tell a story you definitely don’t want to hear.”
Raquel looked surprised, just as Palermo looked delighted. “Is that so?” he asked. “Now I must stay and listen.”
“No, really!” Monica insisted. “You see, I’m betting it’s something sweet and romantic, and we know you are only interested in that ‘boom boom ciao’ lifestyle, so I wouldn’t want to spoil your morning.”
“Oh, really?” Palermo said.
“One hundred percent,” replied Monica.
“How can you be so sure?” Palermo pressed into her against the kitchen island.
“I promise you, you won’t want to know,” Monica replied, not losing an inch of ground, her nose coming up right against his as she stared down at him from her height. She'd come a long way from those first few days in the Mint.
“Hey! Monica, what were you going to ask me?” Raquel said, eyeing their exchange and tapping her fingernails against the kitchen island tiles in a somewhat nervous manner.
Monica looked at her friend with soft eyes and breathed in for a beat, pushing Palermo back. “Well, I wanted to hear how the Professor proposed to you, and about your ring,” she smiled shyly. “I know it’s kind of silly, but I really miss girlfriend stuff like that, and I’m just so happy for you both.”
"Oh, Mon!" Raquel smiled back at her and reached for her hands. Raquel felt all that Monica didn’t say in those moments - that she wanted Denver to propose, that she wanted the ring and the ceremony and all the official things. Raquel knew there was a contingency of people on the island that was living vicariously through their moments. She absolutely could go along with it, happy that she was that so many of them were all there. She took a breath and laughed at Monica. “Is that it? Is that all?? I’ve been wanting to tell you!” Monica giggled and came over to hug her friend. They laughed for a moment and then turned and looked at Palermo, who was, surprisingly, also smiling sincerely.
“I . . . well, - I actually really want to hear this, too,” he said quietly, in a serious voice that let both the women know he meant it.
“Why?” Raquel asked. “You’ve made it clear you’re not interested in relationships or romance or real love - ”
“Very clear,” Monica agreed.
Palermo shrugged. “Hey. You haven’t seen me in a while. Maybe I’ve changed. Maybe I’m really happy for Sergio.” He sipped his water and looked off at the ocean. “I know he wishes Andres were here . . . a hundred of any of us wouldn’t be the same as having your only brother here. I might be the closest thing he has to family present for this celebration.”
Raquel softened towards him and reached out to touch his hand. “I know he’s grateful you came, both as a member of the gang, a friend, and as a connection to his brother. Sergio has been missing him . . . we’re all missing people, of course.” She sighed and thought of her sister. “I have family I wish could be here - “
“ - family we could even send a postcard to, or pick up the phone and call and let them know we’re okay, our lives are wonderful, we miss them . . . “ Monica trailed off, looking suddenly surprised at herself that she’d said those words aloud. But neither Palermo nor Raquel seemed bothered.
“That’s all true, Mon,” Raquel agreed. “We don’t have normal lives. But we do have each other . . . and besides repeating for my mother the same story every day, I haven’t really had an adult to share the news with, so if you really want to hear about it?” Raquel bit her smiling lip and looked at the both of them.
“Of course!” said Monica. “I’m dying to know. How did the smartest and most strategic criminal in all of Spain, possibly the world, plan his proposal to the smartest and most beautiful ex-cop in all of Spain, possibly the world?”
Raquel paused, suddenly blushing and wondering if they would find it all quite silly when she’d told the story. “Oh, wait. Please, lower your expectations, because . . . well . . . it’s not a really long or particularly interesting story . . . “
Palermo interrupted with a hand out. “My dear, I have crossed the world to be here for this momentous occasion, to witness something I never thought would happen for a man incredibly special to me.” He put down his coffee and hooked his arm through Monica’s. “But more than that, the two of us are clearly desperate for some gossip and drama. So indulge me, bride! But - “ he grinned and leaned in, drawing the women in closer to him - “No matter how long or short it is, I say this kind of story calls for mimosas!”
Sergio had taken his morning coffee in his study. He’d normally be up with Raquel, but he’d recognized that she really enjoyed that morning time with Monica before everyone else was awake, so the last few days since la banda had arrived, he’d get the coffee started in the kitchen with her, then kiss Raquel on the cheek, and leave her to wait for Monica to sneak out of her room. He’d leave them to their chats and catch up on emails and surveillance reports before joining the rest of the gang for breakfast.
But this morning when he’d arrived at the kitchen, no one had been there except Helsinki, who was drinking a huge cup of water and scrambling eggs in his boxers, his tattoos a fiesta for the eyes. “Buenos dias, Profesor,” was all he’d said, taking the lollipop out of his mouth to gulp down more water, and Sergio had wondered at the curious, satisfied smile on the large man’s face, before shaking himself and going off in pursuit of Raquel.
She wasn’t that hard to find, in the end. He simply followed the sounds of laughter, and discovered not only his fiancee, but her best friend Monica and his brother’s best friend Martin, a short walk down on the beach, crowding on one blanket, an empty prosecco bottle on the sand between them.
Raquel somehow sensed his presence, turning as he drew nearer and smiled widely at him with shiny eyes. “There he is! Come here, baby!” Raquel cooed and reached for him and kissed him sloppily when he bent down to greet her. “Hi. I’m having a bachelorette party,” she told him in a stage whisper.
“Right now?” he asked, bewildered.
“No, silly! Before we get married. You can do what you want with that information,” she giggled like she'd said something very clever.
“I see,” he pulled back and stood up fully, moving so his shadow blocked the sun and Raquel could look at him without getting blinded. He did not move for his friend’s comfort though, eyeing Palermo suspiciously as he poured himself a glass of bubbles from another bottle that had miraculously appeared from behind him at the sight of Sergio’s accusing stare.
Palermo finally chanced a look up at the imposing figure standing before their impromptu beach brunch. “Hermanito! Don’t look at me that way. It was Monica’s idea to have so much to drink.”
Monica’s curls bounced as she nodded aggressively while holding out her glass for Palermo to pour into. “Was it? I don't remember but . . . guilty as charged! I couldn’t help it - I was inspired by all this talk about romance and wooing and weddings . . . I think what you all have planned for this beach ceremony is going to be beautiful -” she swept her arm out towards the ocean, sloshing a bit of drink - “absolutely stunning, and even though Raquel said it wasn’t necessary, I say it is, as her self-appointed maid of honor.” Monica finished her speech, grinning at Raquel before taking a big sip.
“Uh, Raquel?” Sergio questioned, looking at her swaying slightly as she sat.
Raquel waved her hand at him. “Don’t worry, my love.” She knew what he was thinking - did that mean he needed a best man? But they had already agreed there would be no one part of the ceremony save for Paula. Raquel threw her stare at Monica’s glass and then looked back at Sergio meaningfully to assure him it was just the bubbles talking. He relaxed his shoulders just a bit as he picked up on their silent communication.
“I think this calls for a toast - salud - to the couple that brought us all together!” Palermo cheered, raising his own glass of bubbles.
“Oh, it was just the Professor who brought us all together,” Raquel said lovingly, gazing up at him, even as she raised her own glass. “I had nothing to do with getting everyone here, really.”
“Nah.” “Not really.” Monica and Palermo said at the same time.
“What?” Raquel and Sergio said, looking at their friends and then each other.
“Well, um, I mean, it’s just that . . . “ Monica started, but then raised her glass and her eyebrows at Palermo in silent request for him to take over.
He nodded. “Vale, with all the love in my heart, if our dear Professor had successfully pulled off the first heist and ended up in, where were you again? Cameroon? Mongolia?”
“Palawan,” Sergio and Raquel murmured at the same time, looking at each other with smiles that held all the memories of that special place.
“Right, over there, well . . . even if the gang had had to get together again to save Rio or someone else, if there wasn’t a Lisboa in that equation, I don’t think there was much of a chance we’d be reuniting for something this pleasant, would we, Professor?”
Sergio twitched his hands at his sides and looked around. “Well, it does take a significant amount of effort, and I - to be honest
-”
he shifted his feet on the sand, looking up and away
.
“You’re correct in assuming there is no reason that I would have tried to call you all together to be in the same place at the same time.” He swung an arm around hopelessly, then nudged at his glasses and sighed. “If I were still alone, as when you all first met me - “
“Hey, hey now - we’ll never have to know the end of that sentence, mm?” Raquel’s voice cut through the fog of emotions that Sergio’s assumptions and recollections were creating.
He sighed and smiled softly. “No, mi amor.”
“You’re mine for life,” she said coyly, hoisting her glass in the air at him.
“That’s right - Sergio finally got smart and put a ring on it, but we definitely need una despedida - bachelorette and bachelor parties beforehand,” Palermo chimed in.
“Yes, Sergio! Raquel told us about the proposal and we love the details of the wedding, mixing tradition with your own twist. We love that you’re writing your own vows for each other. That will be beautiful,” Monica smiled at her friends. “But Palermo and I insist on the stag and hen dos.”
“But I don’t - “ Sergio attempted.
“Bup bup bup -” Palermo put a hand up. “If you won’t do it for you, you must do it for us.”
Sergio shook his head. “If you want to throw a party for yourselves, you may do so. But I have no interest in the kind of tasteless celebrations I know can happen at these soirees. There’s no need for a send-off to my being single when I didn’t even really notice it in the first place, and I’m just happy to - I’m just looking forward to - “
“My love, let’s talk about it later, hmm?” Raquel smiled, sensing his anxiety creeping up. “No matter what, Palermo, I promise you will either be at my despedida de soltera or his. But either way, we will be having nothing but a good time from now until the moment you all leave, so cheers!” she chuckled, lifting her glass to her friends. Palermo accepted the offering and tipped back the liquid, reaching to fill his glass up yet again.
“Have you seen my baby this morning yet, Sergio?” Monica asked, her hand moving to cover a hiccup threatening to escape her lips.
“Which one?” he quipped drily.
“Oh wow, even adopting a sense of humor! Raquel - you have truly worked a miracle on this once hopeless man. A toast to you,” Palermo chuckled and both Raquel and Monica stifled a giggle.
“Okay, it’s quite warm out, and I think that is quite enough toasting,” Sergio grumbled, reaching for Raquel’s hand and pulling her to her feet. She swayed into him, bringing a hand to his chest and looking up into his face. He felt her warm skin against his and saw her hazy, loving smile up at him. Even though she was slightly tipsy and he was slightly annoyed, he couldn’t help but feel himself melt a little bit under her attention, regardless of the audience. He managed to tear his gaze away from her and address the group. ”You might all regret this in a few hours if we don’t get back to the house for some water and I believe a rest would serve you well. Helsinki’s working on eggs, there are fresh tortillas of course, veggies from the garden, and I think Maravi has managed to make some cheese from the goats’ milk.”
“Oh I LOVE cheese!” cried Palermo.
“What are the vegan options this morning?” asked Monica.
“I’m pretty sure you have to make those happen on your own, my blonde goddess, as the rest of us are quite carnivorous,” Palermo slurred just a little as he rose to his feet, gripping his glass in one hand and the remaining bottle in another. He and Monica held on to each other and started weaving their way back towards the house.
“Hello, you,” Raquel’s voice was like honey as she hooked her arms around his middle, holding him back to let the others walk to the house first. “You could have joined us, you know. We were having a good time.”
Sergio paused for a beat. “Oh. Did - did I ruin it?” he asked.
Raquel shook her head. “No, not at all, and I’m sure you’re right that we were getting close to drinking too much. Palermo might be already there.”
They turned to watch him raise both the bottle and his voice and start singing something loudly, Monica bent double in laughter.
Raquel giggled. “I’m just glad I convinced him to put on something underneath that robe before we came out here! He gave Mon and I quite a show this morning.”
“He what?!” Sergio gasped, but Raquel just laughed. “Oh, it was nothing. Look at him - he’s having so much fun. He’s said a few times now how much he’s enjoying himself, how much he needed this time.”
They shared a smile at the scene before he tucked her closer into his side and they began walking towards the house. “Mama? Paula?” she asked.
“I heard some giggles from behind your mom’s door this morning. I think they’re still enjoying their sleepover.”
“Oh, that’s so sweet. I love that,” she said softly.
“Me too,” he added, kissing her forehead.
They walked a few steps more, collecting their thoughts. Raquel breathed in deeply. “It’s nice knowing there are so many adults around to watch over Paula, if I’m not there or you’re not around for some reason. And to look out for my mom, too,” Raquel said thoughtfully. “I probably should be more worried than ever about our safety, but somehow it feels better, having the whole gang here. We’re our own little village of misfits, taking care of each other. I’m much more relaxed than I thought I would be.”
“Hm. I’m glad, my love.”
They walked slowly in the direction of the house, Raquel’s arm around his waist, dipping up under his shirt and stroking his back in a way that almost tickled, building like static electricity. His arm was slung over her shoulders and holding her close, their footsteps falling into easy synchronicity.
“Wow, I haven’t had mimosas and gossip for breakfast in a long while,” she observed, giggling a little. “My stomach and my head are telling me that I need water and pancakes soon, but it was fun to chat with them both about everything.”
“I’m glad you had fun. Ah - and, what exactly was the ‘everything’ you talked about?” Sergio asked, somewhat nervously.
Raquel laughed. “Things! You know . . .”
“I do not, that’s why I asked.”
She sighed in good humor. “Just like . . . when I knew you were the one, how you proposed, how we’ve planned the wedding. Just the kind of things that women talk about when getting ready for a wedding. The stories and the romance and all that.”
“I see.”
“Don’t worry - I kept it very simple. Minimal details. Just enough so they could share in my happiness and excitement.”
“Well, hey, I - I wasn’t worried,” Sergio muttered, unconvincingly.
Raquel laughed breezily and reached up to kiss his cheek. “Mi amor, I know what a private person you are. Don’t you know I would never share something that might make you uncomfortable? Don’t you trust me?”
“I’m sorry. Of course. I trust you, only you,” he said, looking down at her and smiling gently. “I guess some of this has just caught me off guard.”
“Ah, I know. About Mon being a bridesmaid and the parties and all of that.” She yawned widely as they neared the house. “I promise it’s fine, it’s still as we planned, and it will be okay, but do you mind if we talk about it later? That nap you suggested earlier is really, really speaking to me right now. I’m just going to say hi to Paula and mom and then maybe tuck in for a bit?”
He stopped their walking, near to the house as they were, the voices of their friends and family close enough to hear. Sergio turned Raquel towards him to look in her eyes as he reached for her hands. He smiled as she swayed a bit, smiling back at him. “Tipsy Raquel is usually a pretty handsy Raquel,” he said. “What’s all this about a nap?”
She pushed out a breath and shrugged. “Turning a new leaf?”
“Oh, please don’t. I would miss handsy Raquel,” he teased.
“Ha. Well, if you come and nap with me, and wake me up in just the right way . . . “ she suggested.
He chuckled and shook his head. “No, my dear. As tempting as that sounds, I think I will help you into bed and then make sure things are going smoothly out here.”
Just at that moment, Palermo could be heard opening a new bottle of bubbles and giving a yelp as the cork flew into the air.
Sergio sighed. “I’m needed back on supervision, it seems. Someone has to enforce the rules around here.”
“Ohhhhh, the disciplinarian. Sexy. Let’s try that later; we’ve had so much fun with that role in the past,” she flirted, but then immediately broke into another yawn.
Sergio laughed, wrapping his arms around her for a moment. “We’ll walk straight past these crazy people to our bedroom, hm? Then I’ll get you some water and a stack of pancakes - “
“With syrup!” came Raquel’s request, muffled against his chest.
“- of course. I’ll put them on the nightstand. You can see Paula and your mom later, I’ll tell them.” Sergio rocked their bodies back and forth, feeling her relax into his embrace. “You need a nap. You deserve a nap, my love.”
He managed to walk her into their bedroom, change her into pajamas, and dip out to the kitchen and back with the requested pancakes and pitcher of ice cold water without drawing too much attention. Tucking her into bed, with a promise to wake her up in a few hours if she overslept, Sergio realized that he’d never seen Raquel have a night out with friends, or come home after a brunch, or really do anything without him or Paula ever. Ever.
As he tucked her tipsy self into bed, kissing her forehead, that realization led to all kinds of thoughts, questions, and speculation in his mind and in his heart. He knew that he’d already asked her about these kinds of doubts a thousand times. He knew within his own complicated heart of hearts that they were meant to be together. But even with all her reassurance, it could still blindside him to realize how abnormal their lives were - what a different existence she had chosen for not only herself, but her mother and daughter, just to be with him. And truly only to be with him. There were very few other people they got to interact with, and that’s what made these few weeks with la banda all there for their wedding even more exciting and special.
He walked back to the kitchen, where some of their friends were still lingering over breakfast and making plans for the day, and leaned up against the counter thoughtfully, looking out over the group, laughing and teasing each other. Sometimes it was easy for him to slip in with the group - either he went unnoticed or could share insight when called upon. But he was never able to simply integrate on his own into group situations. Raquel was his human credential, and he missed her presence whenever she was away from him now, even just in the bedroom.
Sergio was thrilled that la banda had accepted her in their own ways - some faster than others, like Monica. Marsellie, and Helsinki. Some in ways he wasn’t sure were purely colleague friendly, like Bogota. And although it was hard for him to express, he was happy beyond measure that they’d made the journey around the world to be here for a very important day. There were just still some things about the day that, to be honest, despite all they’d been through together, made him incredibly insecure and nervous. And the conversation he’d stumbled into on the beach between Raquel, Palermo, and Monica, had done nothing to assuage his fears.
For now, Raquel was napping, he could take some time to observe their little band of misfits, and think about what lay ahead.
|
A loud creak echoed in one of the courtyards of a manor complex. It had originated from two large stone boulders that were rotating around each other in the air. The devilish sound had come from yet another mistake Councilor Lynara had done during her telekinesis practice.
"Mistress, it would seem it is a good time to take a break," a blue-haired half-elf maid named Mina voiced. Her green eyes were locked on the silver-haired beauty that dominated the yard with her two floating decorative stones.
"Break to do what? Look at more documents? I told you just to approve them with my seal," Lynara shrugged and made the stones spin like she was performing in some party. She wore a fancy purple dress that almost matched her eyes.
"Please stop trying to get me executed," Mina replied with a shift of her ponytail that rested on her left shoulder. She stepped back into the shadow of the side pillars like she gave up on her suggestion.
"Nobody would know, in fact, some might even appreciate that someone read the papers before they were approved," Lynara replied while grinning at her maid that wore a blue and white outfit.
"Please take dealing with the matters of your district a bit more seriously, there are hundreds of thousands of people that rely on you to make the right choices," Mina voiced with a calm tone. Like she was more than used to talking to her mistress like this.
"Well... I have been thinking, since the District Councilors are elected into the office, why can't I just set an election booth to let the people vote if they want to stamp the papers or not," Lynara said and moved the rocks to create a shadow to guard her against the oppressive summer sun.
"Please stop trying to avoid doing your job, people voted for you to do that so they don't have to," Mina said. Her serene voice easily carried the distance it had to.
"But why would they do that? It's not like most of these things affect me in any way," Lynara shrugged and let the stones drop to the two spots on the yard they were lifted from. Then she gave a short stroke to the left side of her freely flowing silky hair.
"Your sister would be so disappointed if she heard you talk nonsense like this even after getting an actual job," Mina retorted while she watched Lynara walk to hide behind a nearby pillar.
"I wish she was here to be so, ever since this dumb war started, I'm barely allowed to leave this damn manor and she barely writes to me," Lynara flared and glanced at the sun that she could have sworn was hotter than before the war. Though she immediately looked away to blink as there was no way she could stare at the object in the sky to change its temperature.
"Please don't call the war to resist the planet turning into a minotaur slave pen dumb," Mina said. There was a small alteration in her tone like her mistress finally said something that made her show slight emotion.
"Fine, I just wish my sister was not the one fighting it," Lynara voiced even as the sturdy pillars now blocked the vision between the two women.
"If she was not, would you have volunteered to fill the House quota to our republic?" Mina asked. She shrugged and began walking towards the voice of her mistress.
"I thought you don't do jokes? What could my role be? Dropped from an airship to annoy the enemy to death?" Lynara grinned. There was odd sadness in her tone while she moved along the pillars to avoid being seen by Mina, like in some game of hide and seek.
"I'm sure the minotaur Horn Lord would appreciate your enthusiasm in his city spawning slave harem," Mina stated while she managed to see a glimpse of her mistress' dress.
"Is that something you think often?" Lynara asked with a head tilt from behind a pillar.
"Excuse me?" Mina uttered and shifted her eyes to the ground.
"That your mistress is enslaved by minotaurs and forced to serve them?" Lynara said with a slight smile. "How my body is used to pleasure their monstrous manhoods?"
"Please don't say something so improper," Mina voiced with a hard swallow and looked up to glare only to see that the silver-haired head had disappeared again.
"Fine, for a moment there I thought you would be more fun than usual," Lynara pouted and relocated behind the pillars at the end of the courtyard.
"Please reconsider what you consider as fun," Mina said while her eyes followed the purple shadow dash with a magical blur between the white marble. At least her playful mistress was using this as an opportunity to further practice her magic.
"So you never think about your naughty mistress being punished?" Lynara asked from behind Mina with enough surprise to make the maid jolt.
"Of course not, please consider taking a rest to clear your mind," Mina said with a lick of her drying lips. "You must have been too long in the sun."
"Fine, I think a nap on the hall couch would be in order," Lynara voiced and headed for a door.
"Please use your bed, did you forget the pain you had last time?" Mina voiced after her mistress. She just waved while walking away.
** * **
By the time Lynara walked to her bedroom, she was no longer feeling tired from the strain of the magic practice. So she ventured to her balcony to look at the walled garden below it. It was a rare sight in the large industrial district that surrounded the official residence of the councilor that had been elected to govern it.
Even if Lynara had resided in the manor for months now, there still were some places she had not explored yet. One of them was the roof and it just happened her head maid was nowhere to be seen and the mist from the factories was forming around the manor to even block the cursed sun. Just the perfect opportunity for the noble lady to use her magic to float up from her balcony and onto the roof. So she did just that.
The mist smelled a bit funny but it was purified with magic seals to the point it did not even kill plants, so Lynara did not mind while she walked along the rooftop. Her first stop was to go overlook the courtyard she had been just practicing on. It had no windows for safety reasons so the noble lady had never seen it from high before.
A weird whistling sound jolted Lynara and her attention was drawn to one of the marble pillars at the edge of the yard. She saw a shadow of a figure move and heard a short murmur followed by an oddly familiar whimper. So the noble lady tilted her head from curiosity and silently floated down while using the pillars as cover.
The moment Lynara saw a maid in blue and white being held by an orc, she froze. The orc wore the green uniform of the orcish guard units, but his pants had been dropped down and the pale thighs of the maid were embracing him. She was being held against the pillar from her ass by big green hands while her torso leaned into the marble.
It took several seconds for Lynara to realize the maid with a gaping grin was Mina. She had never seen the blue-haired half-elf look so wild and uncollected. Just seeing it was enough to make the noble lady flash a devious smile. She was not going to let her personal head maid forget this had happened.
Lynara took almost silent steps towards the two while hiding her lips with her right hand. The smile on her lips had trouble calming down like she had just caught her teacher doing something she had forbidden her doing multiple times.
"So this is why you wanted me to take a break," Lynara voiced while suppressing her grin from her voice. Her words immediately jolted the two to stare at her.
"Ooh, don't stop on my count, carry on please," Lynara said while gently tilting her head to see how the front of Mina's top was open to show the gap between her breasts.
"Gurak, let me go," Mina uttered while Lynara could have sworn she saw her green eyes dilate. It took almost a second for the orc to lift his hand to let the maid fall to her legs with great agility. She immediately began fixing her dress to hide her skin. But when the orc tried to do so, his hands froze in the air like he was in the process of surrendering.
"Not so fast," Lynara muttered while using her magic to give her time to see the soaked orcish manhood for the first time. It looked a lot like some exotic weird meat roll or other delicacies that were sauced by transparent juice.
"Mistress, I'm sorry you had to see this, can you consider our long relationship and forget this?" Mina pleaded while only giving the orc a short side glance. Lynara was too focused elsewhere to see a moment of fear in her maid's eyes.
"Forget this? My sister would beat you up for subjecting me to such a derange sight if she was here," Lynara mused without letting her eye trail from the cock that looked increasingly hard and swollen with pulsing veins. Like the maid had squeezed it into a tighter state within her.
"Then please stop looking," Mina uttered like her moment of fear suddenly got confused.
"So you keep saying please to him too all the time?" Lynara asked while being still careful to hide her twitching smile.
"Mistress, this is not proper, please consider your station and let me explain later," Mina pleaded and stepped to block the noble's sight to the lewd green rod.
"Not proper? How so, would you mind explaining to me in detail how this is not proper?" Lynara asked. Now that the maid had stepped forward, she saw how something transparent had dripped to soak spots on the stone ground.
"Mistress wants to see us keep going?" Gurak asked.
"Gurak," Mina flared.
"I guess if you show me more about what I should forget, I might get bored of it and forget," Lynara pondered and stopped constraining the orc's hands with her magic.
"Mistress, you can't possibly mean," Mina uttered while she was cornered against the pillar by the bulkier orc.
"What's the matter? You looked like you were having fun before," Lynara voiced while stepping closer. Gurak stopped moving after the initial reaction from Mina was not as inviting as he was used to.
"Please think of the people who voted for you, you should not be doing this," Mina uttered while tilting her head so that Lynara did not see her face.
"How is that related? Or do you mean they only voted for me because I'm a pure elf maiden they want to defile?" Lynara pondered while stepping almost next to the orc.
"Mistress, it would seem Mina is not in the mood, could I interest you to examine my cock closer?" Gurak said while turning to face Lynara. Mina watched almost in horror while her mistress licked her lips and lifted her right hand like to ponder what to do with it.
"Absolutely not," Mina flared and grabbed the cock with both hands to tilt Gurak to face her again.
"Why not? You finally let me see something new and interesting," Lynara pouted.
"I will let you watch... and only watch, but you have to step back," Mina voiced while turning to almost hug the pillar.
"Fine," Lynara voiced and walked behind a nearby pillar to peek from behind it. "Carry on, please."
Gurak had a wide brutish grin while he lifted Mina's dress to show her ass that she tilted to give him better access, her hands were clutching her stomach like she wanted to keep it covered while her shoulder leaned into the pillar.
Lynara bit into her lower lip while she watched the green orc joust his cock on top of Mina's ass only to slide it down. The maid had tilted her head so that her mistress did not see her face but the lewd grin she had seen before was vivid in the noble's mind.
"So are you taking it in the ass or pussy?" Lynara asked while Gurak slid in. The ease his large rod did so only added to the noble's fascination.
"Lady Mina only takes into her high-class cunt," Gurak exclaimed with a slap of the maid's ass. He was leaning back his torso while only holding from Mina's hip with his left hand to give Lynara a better view.
"Please don't teach our mistress anything weird," Mina muttered while the orc slowly soaked half his tip inside of her. The other side was a bit tilted to show the bulged green veins to the single audience member.
"Do you do this often?" came Lynara's next question.
"Do not answer that," Mina flared and Gurak just grinned and gave another slap with his right to the maid's ass.
"You are doing this all the time when I'm not around, right? Like I do when others aren't around," Lynara voiced even as what she was thing was comparable to climbing on roofs and such.
"Please stop asking things," Mina muttered with ragged breathing. It made Lynara grin a bit more while still hiding her own lips with her hand.
"Isn't it the job of a maid to obediently tell her mistress what she wants to know?" Gurak asked with yet another slap of Mina's ass. By now it was redder than Lynara had ever seen her skin.
"Gurak shut up and cum," Mina commanded with enough force to immediately trigger the orc to slam his hip into her ass. Though he still only held support with his left hand to give the spectator the full view of his pulsing cock entering the half-elf.
Lynara did not even comment while she stared with gaping lips the orc hammer into the maid she had known her entire life. The devious grin the noble had before had fully converted into one of lewd desire. She had no idea her body could be filled with so many tingling sensations. Not only was her core feeling weird, her nipples pushed against her top while oddly dry feeling made her feel thirsty.
Bit by bit Lynara gaped her lips like she was getting ready to taste the green meat her eyes stared. It looked so soaked that she knew that it would be more than enough to sate her thirst. But when a moment later a burst of creamy slime shot out of Mina's rear, the noble froze for a moment like she did not know what had happened.
"So so much, so raw," Lynara uttered while the smell from the sheer quantity of the feral orc semen shocked her. She did not even register the whimpers Mina let out from having her insides assaulted by the blast of hot pressure even as most of the seed kept flowing out of her. Though her legs did not even shake even as her pointed ears twitched.
"Is my mistress satisfied with my performance?" Gurak asked and two women uttered "yes" almost at the same time. Though both were almost equally flustered to hear it.
"Such a mess... looks like sweet cream was wasted on the floor," Lynara uttered while she suddenly hid entirely behind the pillar.
"I'm so fucked," Mina muttered while stepping to remove the cock with great agility. Despite the load on the floor, she had managed to avoid almost all stains on her dress with skillful maneuvering with her hands.
"How so, your mistress seemed to have liked it," Gurak grinned while looking at the pillar like he was not sure if Lynara had left. Though from the change in Mina's demeanor he could tell that at least the maid thought so.
"Exactly the problem," Mina flared while thinking about some of the previous male masters she had served. After that, she proceeded to avoid Lynara for the rest of the day.
** * **
The next day, Mina could have sworn she was being followed and it did not take long for her to realize the silent shadow was her mistress. So she used a corridor turn into a staircase to set up an ambush. The moment Lynara's head peeked from behind the turn, she was staring into politely smiling Mina.
"How may I be of service, mistress?" Mina voiced. She stayed completely calm while Lynara had to collect herself from a second of odd shock.
"I was just wondering if you were going to do anything fun today," Lynara said while elegantly hiding her lips with her right hand. Though the demeanor change looked mostly comical to the maid, especially when combined with the meaning behind the delivered line.
"Please reconsider what you consider fun, though considering that you haven't really listened to my words for years, that might be a vain hope on my part," Mina stated with mild frustration on her face that had the perfect blend of elven eternal beauty and human sharpness.
"I do listen to you, it's just that every day I spend on looking at those dumb papers and talk all proper to those guild delegates, I feel like I'm slowly being drained of all life," Lynara pouted.
"And you think having some fun on the side will help you?" Mina voiced and Lynara simply nodded. In the next moment, the maid stepped forward to grab her mistress' shoulder to push her against the nearby wall.
"What are you doing?" Lynara uttered while Mina's right hand slid down her dress to feel the shape of her hip.
"What's the matter, did you not want some fun?" Mina whispered while pressing her lips next to the noble's ears. "Should I strip you bare, put a bucket on your head and parade you to the whole guard unit?"
"Huh?" Lynara gasped while her eyes twitched. The image of the described event filled her mind to the point it tilted with all the details.
"Ooh, was that too much for your chaste mind?" Mina asked and stepped back. She flashed a tilted smile while Lynara heard heavy steps in the stairs above. They competed with her heartbeat while the maid walked away at a quick pace.
For several moments Lynara simply stood there while leaning to the wall. The harder she tried to get the image the maid had created to her mind to disappear, the stronger it became. Though she was not sure if the woman under the bucket was her or Mina.
"Mistress, your humble servant greets you," Gurak said with a small bow when he turned at the midsection of the stairs to see the elf woman. The sight of her silky silver hair being pressed against the wall alone made the scene look odd. Like the owner of the manor had forgotten there were chairs nearby if she needed to rest.
Lynara simply nodded as a greeting and turned around to sallow hard to correct herself. Then she simply stood there like she waited for something to happen even if she did not know what. But the green orc simply looked at her for a moment before stepping down the stairs and turning away from her.
"Wait, I need to talk to you," Lynara voiced before the heavy steps barely moved away from her.
"You do now?" Gurak asked with a slight grin on his brutish face. As he turned, Lynara had to look up to look into his yellow eyes.
"The thing you showed me, I should punish you, but I won't... if you show it to me again," Lynara stated with a strong tone that might have made Gurak feel fear with most magically strong elf nobles. But due to the situation, only a glimmer of excitement flashed to his eyes.
"You only need to ask, do you want me to do it here? Or somewhere more private?" Gurak asked.
"Here... I mean... in a room nearby," Lynara voiced and Gurak took steps to a nearby door to open it. He held it while Lynara walked in, she was too busy to stare into her feet to realize it was a utility closet before the door closed behind the orc that clocked the entrance just with his bulk. The only light came from the single magic crystal on the roof.
When Gurak dropped his pants, his cock sprung into Lynara's vision and she had to step back to stop its tip from touching her dress. Though she only barely managed to do so due to the shelf behind her.
"Is my mistress pleased just by seeing it?" Gurak grinned while the noble elf just stared down at the hard pulsing veins.
"It's hard... to see all of it from up here," Lynara voiced as a weird correction.
"My lady can kneel down, to have a closer look, I swear to not tell even the dead," Gurak said. It made Lynara swallow hard but a moment later her knees began to bend while her hands adjusted her dress to let her kneel on the ground. The elegance of pose she did so was almost unnatural even to her and she had never done so outside of practice long ago.
Now the orc cock towered over Lynara's face and her eyes tilted up to look at it, but then Gurak grabbed his base and angled down the mighty rod. He moved it around like to pose it with her perfectly sculpted elven face without letting the two touch.
Gurak just grinned while he watched the gape on Lynara's lips widen and her face blush. But he was still surprised when she suddenly leaned to give his tip a quick lick. She quickly retreated from it while holding her lips.
"S-so sweet," Lynara uttered. The sugary aftertaste even lingered on her tongue while she licked the top of her mouth.
"Heh, Mina likes it that way, even makes me wash it with that potion daily," Gurak explained.
"Can I lick more of it?" Lynara asked.
"Sure you can," Gurak grinned and lowered his tip to point at the noble's lips.
"Thank you," Lynara uttered before her soft lips kissed the raw orc meat. For a moment she was still while her tongue examined the bit of flesh that was surrounded by her. But then her jaw parted more while his hip moved forward to let her fill her mouth with the hard-pulsing cock. She barely managed to take half of it in before the tip began pushing her throat.
"That's it, slow and steady," Gurak said while he swapped his left hand to hold the base of his cock, and his right moved like he wanted to caress the elf's hair. She was giving a steady hard suck like she was actually trying to eat him without using her pearly teeth.
Gurak's tip kept pushing into the back of Lynara's mouth like she was exploring ways to take it deeper. When she looked sufficiently mesmerized by the process, Gurak landed his right hand on her head to gently feel the silver hair. Even as her ears almost jolted from it, it did not stop her from suckling the orc cock even for a second.
"If you want it deeper, tilt your head," Gurak instructed. He knew from experience that even half-elves were elastic enough to let him ram his cock down their throats, but despite the situation, he kept thinking about how he needed to please the noble for more reasons than just pleasure.
Lynara's mouth burned from the unnatural sweetness of the green meat, but it did not mean she did not want it deeper. Though her core that burned from the desire to be touched was not something that could be reached through her mouth, so even as she tilted the tip down her throat, she only wanted it deeper.
"Ooh fuck mistress, I guess I'm finally voting in the next election," Gurak grinned with a grunt like he had been waiting to say that joked for some time by now. It made him almost laugh as his only audience was too full of his meat to even attempt to do so.
It began a bit awkward but Lynara quickly learned how to take the green rod down her throat in a quick burst to really feel it pressure her depths. That moment made her burn almost like in promise of release but it only made her urge to repeat the motion harder due to the false promise.
"Start to decide if you want to swallow or not," Gurak grunted. He gave the warning too early and Lynara swallowed his meat as deep as she could to hold it in.
"I take that as a yes," Gurak grinned and began jerking his base. He barely had any room to do without hitting the lips that gaped around his cock, but Lynara also swayed her head enough to let him drive his climax.
"Cumming," Gurak announced at the same time that the first burst of his seed shot down Lynara's throat. She closed her eyes to receive it without even needing to swallow. Though it did not stop her from sucking the shaft while it released deeper into her.
Gurak held Lynara's head with both hands while letting her sway to breathe. Even after the seed stopped coming, she did not stop gulping done the sweet taste that refused to leave the green skin. Though once the cock began to deflate, she pulled back with a lick of her saliva dripping lips.
"Your cum was not sweet... so raw," Lynara pointed while suddenly feeling the urge to hide her face with her palms.
"I'm sorry if that disappointed you... but I don't think even Mina can swallow all of that without spilling," Gurak voiced like he wanted to change the topic.
"It still burns... and makes me feel," Lynara muttered. "I did not want to make a mess... so I had to swallow, you understand that, right?"
"As my mistress says," Gurak nodded.
"When can you... do this again?" Lynara asked in a coy way that almost surprised the orc.
"I'm completely drained... but if you want to have more fun, you can come to the basement at midnight," Gurak offered.
"Mina does not like me to go there, she says it's dangerous," Lynara voiced while thinking of the lock that was designed to be too hard to open with telekinesis. Not that it meant she had not tried it before.
"The only dangerous things there are the fun toys the last councilor left and I can invite the most trusted guys of the guard unit for safety... and they don't even need to know it's you," Gurak explained.
"What do you mean?" Lynara asked with a head tilt. She also lowered her hands to let her eyes see the orc's face.
"There are several toys that let you keep your, anonymity," Gurak voiced.
"I guess... I can come and see... if I'm bored enough," Lynara muttered and began to stand up. Gurak helped her do so.
"Well, I should go do some paperwork now," Lynara suddenly announced.
"As my mistress says," Gurak nodded and backed out of the closet after making sure nobody else was on the corridor. Then he watched with a grin Lynara walk away with a bit messy hair.
** * **
The next night, when Lynara showed up to the basement door in her white nightgown, it was unlocked. So she opened it and walked down the stairs to a corridor filled with side doors. Only one of them was open so she walked there to see Gurak sitting on a sturdy wooden box. Though it took only seconds for Lynara's eyes to wander to the weird racks, poles, and crates stored in the room.
"Mistress, I'm glad you made it," Gurak grinned and stood up.
"I should at least know... what is stored here," Lynara voiced while focusing on the orc as she really did not know what most things in the room even were.
"Mind closing the door?" Gurak asked and Lynara just waved her hand even as it was not really needed to use her magic to do so. But the door closed behind her regardless.
"Did you come to return the favor?" Gurak asked while examining the perky elven breasts that had their shape revealed by the white gown.
"What do you mean?" Lynara asked.
"I showed you mine... so it would be only fair... to return the favor," Gurak replied.
"I guess that is fair," Lynara voiced while her hands landed on her thighs to clutch on the gown. Just with the speed she did so, the orc was able to tell the noble had thought about that as an option more times than one, and that meant she must have thought about many other things too.
"You want to touch it?" Lynara asked while her smooth but shapely legs were revealed in the pale magic light.
"I'd rather see the rest first," Gurak voiced even as Lynara's puffed pussy and silver pubes on her well-defined mound were revealed. It triggered the noble to pull the gown over her head and slip her hands out of it only to leave the fabric cover her face. Like she wanted to show everything else but her face while the orc stared at her perky mounds that gaped just like to invite his cock to be slapped between them.
"Chastity pearl, I see you came prepared," Gurak voiced while stepping closer. His eyes barely focused on the purple pearl that was seemingly stuck in the noble's navel.
"It's sealed in, but that does not mean I'm bored enough to let... just anybody defile me," Lynara voiced even as she stood there with only her head covered. A big hot hand landed on her stomach and its center pressed her pearl. Another hand landed on her hip only to slide along it to feel her side.
"I can let you play with four cocks as much as you want, if you can see that as fun?" Gurak offered.
"Huh?" Lynara uttered.
"Just think about it, the box I sat on would completely conceal your identity and you could examine them as much as you want," Gurak explained. Lynara pulled her gown to see the box but all she saw were the orc's hands touching her.
"I guess it would be... more proper if I was not being touched," Lynara said and the orc backed away to present the large box that had padded holes on each side. He walked to it to open one side to show that inside was just enough room for a tall elf like Lynara to kneel so that her head was surrounded by the round holes.
"Think of it as a barrier that guards you against... undesirable touching," Gurak grinned while the noble took steps to lean down a bit. She only swallowed hard before kneeling down to slowly move into the box while wrapping her gown into her arms. The bottom of it was covered with some magical substance that was easy to clean but felt soft at the same time.
"The lock is on the inside, just wait here silently while I fetch my buddies," Gurak said and pressed the door open. The click from the simple mechanical lock was heard only seconds later.
There were no further words while Gurak left the room to come back only a few minutes later. He was accompanied by several more heavy footsteps.
"Hey, Mina," one of the orcs exclaimed oddly cheerfully.
"What did I say, Jurk? She wants to do it without names today," Gurak flared.
"Huh? Aren't we the ones paying to her?" another orc named Muck asked.
"Don't complain, you can't find high-class half-elves everywhere," an orc named Zigzag exclaimed. The fourth new orc named Hunk just stared at the box that had clearly been pulled to the middle of the floor for a clear purpose.
"That's the spirit, just stick your cocks in and enjoy being played with by a pretty elf-thing," Gurak grinned. After that, it only took moments for four of the five orcs to drop their pants and ram their cocks into the box. All of their tips poked into Lynara's head and the one from the front slid along her face until she grabbed it to keep it against her lips.
"Sergeant just going to watch? Makes this seem like a trap," Jurk asked while his tip pressed into Lynara's left ear.
"Naah, she drained me before, so letting you guys go first," Gurak explained. He went and sat down on some other weird box at the edge of the room.
"Damn it, Mina, stop giving our sergeant here special treatment, my silver is just as good as his," Jurk flared with a thrust into the box. The padded hole was just enough to give him enough pressure to do so.
"Is she using both hands or am I the one just poking at her hair?" Muck asked.
"No hands here," Hunk grunted.
"Mina if you want us to do this, don't use both hands to touch yourself like some elf pervert," Jurk exclaimed.
"She's not, both hands and mouth are on me," Zigzag grinned.
"Ooh fucking hell," Jurk flared yet again. He had no way of knowing that Lynara was reluctant of making more than one cock climax at the same time. After all, it would more than mess her hair if she was not able to swallow it all, even if that too felt like an absurd idea due to their orcish volume.
"So, who did you guys vote for in the last district election?" Gurak asked like to distract from the topic.
"Lynara of course, that last shit did not even share the whores he had locked up in here," Jurk announced.
"Why you asking? Want to talk about how big of a tool that walking cock magnet is?" Zigzag asked even as Lynara was giving the full service to his cock. Though she froze the second the words came out of his mouth.
"Don't say that, I bet you would become her slave just to fuck her," Jurk said.
"Naturally, but that just means I only voted for her to get that annoying old man out of this manor, haha," Zigzag replied. "And sorry Mina, I thought you did not care what we say about that noble."
"Just come out of the box and we can apologies to you," Jurk offered. But suddenly the door slammed open.
"Here you are, you guys promised to spend your salary today," Mina flared. Her eyes immediately trailed to the object the orcs were surrounding.
"What the fuck, you know how much I need the money, I thought we had an arrangement," Mina flared even before any reply came.
"Don't worry, she is not doing it for the money and I'm sure she can share," Gurak offered while standing up.
"Yeah right... ooh, fuck... please tell me it's not who I think it is," Mina flared but her tone changed into the middle of her words.
"If you need money, I can just give it to you," Lynara muttered from her box. Just her voice alone was enough to jolt everybody else in the room.
"Mistress, do you have any idea how much trouble I am in if your House hears about this?" Mina voiced while walking to the box to push the orcs away. "All of you, if you don't like being executed, never say a word about this."
Mina made the orcs turn around while she knelt down the grip on the box door hard enough to tear it open even with the lock. The sound from it jolted people in the room almost more than Lynara's voice had. But the maid simply pulled her mistress out of the box and towards the door. She did not even notice how the noble elf had left her gown within the box.
"So, you two in for some fuck?" Muck asked without turning around.
"That is not happening," Mina flared halfway to the door.
"Is twenty gold enough?" Lynara asked. She did not even need to use magic to stop her maid from pulling her.
"What?" Mina uttered and turned around while all of the orcs tilted their bodies to see naked Lynara.
"If you are doing this for the money, then can I just pay to see you fuck?" Lynara offered with a head tilt.
"Damn, don't do this, she never going to work for silver after that," Gurak exclaimed with a grin.
"Fine twenty gold, don't go back on that, I want it today, and you must always obey me when we have our fun," Mina voiced with a hardening stare.
"What do you mean?" Lynara asked.
"I'm the one telling you what to do and you will never tell me what to do, understood?" Mina explained while stepping closer to hold her mistress' hand almost next to her breasts.
"What do you want me to do?" Lynara asked with a hard swallow while her hands rose to cover her lips.
"Don't be so worried, the focus is on that you will never tell me to do anything... and I will make sure... you are having fun, understood?" Mina voiced while pressing Lynara's hand between her breasts while the maid's other hand landed on her hip to push her to step back.
"Okay," Lynara nodded.
"Great, now let us make these orcs swear on their honor and god to be obedient playthings," Mina said with a suddenly devious grin. His stare alone triggered Gurak to speak.
"Gurak will never betray Lady Lynara," he voiced. "So I swear in the name of the mighty god-warrior Koraga."
"Muck will never betray Lady Lynara as long as she shares her body with me at least monthly," he grinned. "So I swear in the name of the mighty god-warrior Koraga."
"I'll take that oath too," Jurk exclaimed.
"No you damn don't," Mina flared but Lynara landed her hand on her shoulder.
"If it's an oath... I should honor it," Lynara uttered with heavy blushing on her face. "I mean I have no choice but to agree."
"Please shake the orc seed out of your brain and try to think to what you are agreeing to," Mina voiced.
"I mean, will they really not tell everybody... about my dark secrets... if I don't give proper... compensation," Lynara muttered.
"You could try rising their pay instead of making your secret darker," Mina flared.
"It's not that dark... I mean everybody is doing it," Lynara retorted. Her words jolted Mina as she could not refute that at least every male noble she had served under was not fucking their servants.
"Ooh for... do what you want then but you better take all the blame if you get exposed," Mina voiced.
"I will," Lynara nodded with odd eagerness.
"Fine then, do the oaths, the rest of you," Mina instructed and the remaining orcs did the altered oath with benefits. Gurak simply grinned like he saw no reason to even think of altering his own while staring at Lynara that was not bothering even to cover anything that was not her face.
"Since it is your first time taking an orc, you should be bound for your safety," Mina voiced and pointed the orcs to drag to the center of one of the metal racks. They did so with great efficiency.
"Huh?" Lynara uttered while staring at the metal-pipe structure. It had red padded binds and back support.
"What's the matter? You said you would obey me when we are having fun," Mina voiced.
"If it's for safety, I guess I don't have a choice," Lynara uttered and walked to the rack only to realize she was not sure how to use it. But then Mina's hands guided her to turn around and step into padded rings she quickly locked to spread her legs. Then the maid pushed her mistress to lean down to lay on the back support.
"Feeling comfortable?" Mina asked as Lynara used both of her hands to cover her face after realizing her nethers were now presented to the orcs. Though she still only nodded to the question and Mina saw a weird grin on the noble's lips through her fingers.
"What are you doing?" Lynara uttered when Mina tried to lift her left hand off from her face.
"Binding your hands," Mina replied.
"B-but, then they will see," Lynara uttered while clutching her eyes shut.
"See what? At this point, it would be easier to say what they don't see," Mina mused while Lynara let her hand be moved to the padded bind and locked next to her head.
Lynara volunteered her right hand to its bind while she heard the heavy steps of the orcs surround her. Jurk was positioning to be the first one to enter her even as Muck was almost pushing him.
"Now, take off your clothes, your mistress wants to see all you have to offer," Mina instructed even as Lynara was clutching her eyes closed while only gaping her tilted lips. The orcs only grunted and quickly removed their uniforms into piles on the floor.
Then Jurk knelt down to joust his cock but Mina sat down to grab his balls when he came close to the noble elven pussy. The maid's head was leaned over Lynara's left thigh while her hands reached from under it.
"You will follow my instructions exactly, understood?" Mina asked while twisting the balls a bit.
"You were never this strict with your own," Jurk grinned.
"Understood?" Mina asked with a harder tuck.
"Understood," Jurk saluted with the hand that had been holding his cock like he knew it was no longer needed.
"Good, and let my hands guide you," Mina voiced and took a hold of the orc's base with her left hand while her right ventured to its tip. She made it press into Lynara's vulva while her fingers explored the state her mistress was in. Just parting the nether lips caused a small spill of juices to drip out of her so she seemingly dragged the orc from his cock to press deeper.
"It seems our mistress is hungry for her green dinner," Mina voiced to the keenly observing audience. Even Lynara was parting her eyelids just enough to see what was happening to her with a tilted head.
Mina held Lynara's clit with her right hand while the orc cock pushed into the noble's folds. Their swollen state only meant that they only needed to be pushed apart while the intruding mass shaped them to match it.
"Mistress sure welcomed me with warmth, unlike her maid," Jurk voiced while his tip pushed to form a small bulge next to Lynara's chastity pearl. The side cavity of her inner gate almost jerked his tip with the rhythm of her breathing.
"Now hold still while I make sure, the mistress is ready," Mina instructed and tightly grabbed Jurk's balls like to lock her hip to a position.
"I'm ready," Lynara uttered. By now her purple eyes were completely open and she stared at the penetration with a gaping grin. She was full up to her core and her walls were imprinted with every pulsing vein on the cock.
"Not until I say you are," Mina said and took a gold of Lynara's clit with her index and middle finger while her thumb pressed like a massage staff between it and the cock. The way the maid's hand was on top of Lynara's stomach let her apply even more pressure at will on top of the internal one.
A drop of Jurk's drool fell to Mina's hand while he watched her massage her mistress. He could tell how her walls were pulsing and burning, and the maid was only making the sensations stronger for him.
"C-can someone let me taste... I mean lick the shaft part... while you wait," Lynara uttered.
"Sure mistress," Muck exclaimed and stepped to kneel down on the right side of Lynara's head. The way he did so lowered his balls to her tied hand while his shaft landed sideways to her lips.
"So raw, not sweet at all," Lynara exclaimed before she remembered the sugary taste had not been a natural orc thing. It triggered Muck to pull back.
"I did not tell you to take it away, bring back my rod... I mean your," Lynara flared but then uttered while she used her magic to pull the orc back where he had been.
"I see my mistress is too used to getting spoiled," Mina voiced while the orcs just grinned harder. Though Muck used his left hand to press his cock into Lynara's mouth like to gag her. But the noble lady just licked his pulsing vein while letting her pearly teeth dig a bit into the green meat.
"My mistress is ready, start slow and steady," Mina instructed while still holding Jurk's balls. He took grips from the metal rack and let his hip sway slide his cock while trusting that the grip of Lynara's insides kept his in. Though what truly limited him was the maid's tight hold on his balls. It barely let him drag half of his length out and even that was only possible by stretching his skin.
Fingers of Mina's right hand kept playing with Lynara's clit while she rested her neck on her thigh to keenly observe the penetration. Even if the noble lady more than felt it, she still closed her eyes to mainly focus on licking and sucking the cock that was horizontal across her lips. Though when the novelty of it wore off, Muck shifted his cock just enough to slip his tip past her lips.
Lynara's mouth was tilted by the sideways blowjob into her inner cheek. Muck even began to thrust a bit to bulge it. But the noble just kept sucking it harder like it had turned tastier.
"Do I need permission to cum?" Jurk asked while the tight side cavity of Lynara's inner gate was alone driving him towards a climax. Just his tip entering and exiting it was enough to pressure his shroom to twitch.
"My mistress is being too spoiled, it's finally the time to teach her to eat what is available, when it is available," Mina voiced and let go of Jurk's balls to focus on stimulating Lynara's clit. Though the orc still only did short focused thrusts to focus the pressure on his tip.
Meanwhile, Muck was stroking Lynara's spared hair while her purple eyes tilted to stare at his cock. Her head was swaying almost like she was desperately trying to eat his cock that was far too sideways to sink deeper. Though the moment hot pressure burst into her core, she almost looked like she was gagging into the green meat.
Jurk released his seed with a hard thrust only to holster all of it in to let his rod pump his load on its own. Though as Lynara's walls convulsed with a strong throb of her clit, his seed burst out of her with a wet blast.
"My first noble elf," Jurk announced with a grin while watching his seed past his cock and spill to the floor. His knees retreated just enough to avoid it only to release more of the load out of the elf.
"I don't think this one counts to bring glory in the eyes of the god," Gurak voiced with a tilted smile while staring at Lynara's purple chastity pearl glow a bit.
"It's the sentiment that counts," Jurk exclaimed and pulled out entirely to better look at the mess he left behind. Lynara's vulva was even moving like it was breathing his seed out before the gape closed with elven elasticity to trap some of the semen behind.
"I'll let you have this time, but next time you are going to be punished for implying you are not here to serve the mistress," Mina voiced while focusing her water magic to burst out the rest of the seed and make it flow across the room into a drain. She did so with clear practiced efficiency and it was clear that most of Lynara's wetness was left behind.
"Guys, I think we are doomed, haha," Jurk commented and began to laugh. Some other laughed a bit too but their focus was mostly on the show that was still going.
"Mistress, was this enough for today?" Mina asked while finally noticing the mess the other orc had caused to Lynara's face.
"Next please," Lynara slurred through the cock gagging her mouth.
"As our lady commands, Hunk, come here," Mina instructed and the mentioned orc moved to kneel before the noble's nethers. Then the maid guided him to enter her mistress and begin slow thrusting. But then a weird sound jolted Mina to look behind her.
Muck had blasted his seed all over Lynara's mouth and face in a second and she almost looked like she was drowning with it. So Mina once again used her magic and cleaned her mistress's face. She made the seed flow in ways that drove Muck away but he only grunted with a feral grin.
Mina turned around to look at Hunk's slow thrusting only to hear her mistress utter again and this time the maid saw how Zigzag had lowered his balls to her forehead.
"What do you think you are doing?" Mina flared and the orc stopped.
"She likes sucking," Zigzag replied.
You are going to get punished for your insolence," Mina announced. "No noble elf cunt for you today, all you get is hard jerking and cum on her breasts."
"Heh, I'm doomed," Zigzag voiced while Mina stood up to grab his cock. Though she did nothing to make him step away from the crouched position that rested his green sack on Lynara's head while his cock towered above her purple eyes.
From the start the jerk Zigzag's cock was subjected to was forceful even with orc standards. Lynara stared at her maid's hand to blur above her while the cock was tilted over her eyes. Though while it happened Hunk grabbed from the noble's thighs to start thrusting a bit harder.
Lynara bit into her lower lip while her body was overloaded with sensations. Hunk accelerated to even slap his balls into her ass but no matter how hard he tried, Mina managed to blast Zigzag's seed on the noble's breasts first.
Mina watched the orc unload on her mistress' breasts. The creamy seed was shot to cover both of her mounds and it dripped between them into a slimy flow. The maid jerked the cock until no more came and then grabbed from both of the creamy breasts.
Lynara watched her maid squeeze her breasts and lean in to give a lick to her nipple. Her tongue slid to clean the seed while her hands felt up the shapes and spread the semen more evenly.
Hunk suddenly stopped thrusting to stare at the next stage of the show. Lynara felt his cock twitch but she was sure it had not climaxed. Though all focus in the room was on her breasts which Mina was working on with single-minded intent. Like she was cleaning some antique artifact that needed care.
Lynara's spine tingled while she watched her maid work but then Hunk thrust again. He accelerated again only to stop again but this time his seed was released into the noble's core.
"Ihii hii ighii," Lynara let out weird moans as Hunk kept thrusting past his climax. His seed too spilled to the floor but Mina was too focused on manually cleaning her mistress' breasts with her tongue to even care.
After that, nobody took time on how long Mina kept going to deal with Lynara's breasts. The audience simply watched with almost full silence.
** * **
The moment the group had entered the large bathing hall on the ground floor of the manor, Mina had been very strict on what was happening. Lynara had been guided to stand waist-deep in the water while four of the orcs were kneeling around her with silky sponges.
Only Gurak was washing Mina but she was sitting on his lap at the corner of the pool like she was simply there to oversee the group bathing of others. Lynara was once again hiding her face with her hands even as Jurk was using his sponge to make sure her pubic mound was very clean. Not that the other orcs were doing any better with the actual goal as both of her breasts were being grabbed by two different orcs while the same was happening to her ass.
"I guess I know who I'm voting for in the next election," Jurk joked before suddenly licking Lynara's chastity pearl.
"Me too," the other orcs grinned.
"T-thank y-you for your v-votes," Lynara uttered while staring between her fingers at how an orc was sucking her navel.
"I see mistress has found a way to secure her re-election," Mina voiced while trying to massage Gurak's cock erect.
"Too many," Lynara uttered while her mind fried from trying to think about doing this to every male of her district.
And so Lynara came to learn the joys of one of the most common forms of entertainment among nobles. Fucking their own servants.
|
Deep within the caverns of the hidden church, screams of bloody murder echoed across the stone walls, doomed to be left unheard by the unknowing, worshipping villagers aboveground.
“Please, please! H-Have MERCY!” An injured man cried from the rafters, desperately crawling away from the growling wolf-men who’d cornered him on the rafters above and behind the altar. He reached his hand out in a final plea for any shred of humanity. That, too, would be left unheard by his captors: the Lords of the village, and their leader, Mother Miranda. His eyes finally landed upon the figure responsible for his demise. The Lord’s face was obscured by his hat, sunglasses, and the cloudy smoke from his Cuban cigar—save for his effortless, self-important smile. The tortured man was dragged away from the scene, each limb clawed at and tugged by an individual lycan. For all their ferocity and snarling, they clearly waited for something.
With a single, sharp whistle, the deed was done. They ruthlessly pulled until the man was split into pieces. Finally, the lycans were allowed their meal.
Little Angie cackled with delight, clapping at the rain of blood. The ever stoic Mother Miranda grew a satisfied, but cruel grin—which of course, prompted Moreau to also giggle and applaud the display of violence. Anything that pleased his Mother, pleased him. Heisenberg flourished and bowed like a sick maestro, all to which one spectator dared to huff in disapproval.
“Not impressed, sis?” Heisenberg quipped, head cocked in her direction.
“Hardly,” came Alcina’s terse reply. Her condescending eyes leered at him from underneath her wide-brimmed hat. He scoffed as if he were personally challenged.
“Oh don’t worry, I’ve got plenty more ideas.” After all, the unending caves below their private meeting grounds offered a variety of possibilities. The paths could provide a glimmer of hope for escape to the next poor soul, only to be crushed by a number of traps or sadistic monsters. He couldn’t wait to take advantage of that labyrinth. Ever ready with an opinion, the giant woman was about to speak... But she held her tongue as Mother Miranda turned to address him.
“Splendid demonstration, Heisenberg. Your precise control over the lycans is commendable. I was right to entrust their loyalty to you.”
“Why thank you, you’re too kind.” He took great pleasure in catching Alcina’s attempt to hide her dismay. It’s the little things in life.
“I leave patrolling the village borders to you. However, the next time an outsider trespasses onto our grounds, keep their body intact for experimentation.” The decrepit doll whined with disappointment; this surely meant no entertainment for a while. Nevertheless, he nodded in understanding. With his control proven, she directed her voice to the whole room.
“This family meeting is adjourned. Go now, my children.”
Each Lord took their time bowing in respect before making their way to the exit. Even the growls of the lycans began to fade off into the caves. Meanwhile, Heisenberg kept his trademark smirk on his face as he made to leave. He was pleased to know he was in Mother Miranda’s good graces… for now. Playing the obedient son would afford him time to work on his army—
“Heisenberg. A moment.”
—without suspicion. Right…? He steadied his breath and forced his smile to appear casual before turning back to her.
“Yes?” The fact that she waited until the others had left didn’t escape his notice.
Her quiet, holier-than-thou walk towards him was agony. He swore his heart was beating louder than her footsteps. It felt like ages as she scrutinized him under that damn mask of hers. With or without it, he hated that he couldn’t ever get a clear read on her calculating expressions. A dangerous question hung in the back of his mind every time he was with her, a noose around his neck waiting to tighten:
Does she know?
Once she finally reached him, she remained silent. She regarded him in calm contemplation until, at last, she spoke.
“...I have some failed experiments from my laboratory that need disposal. They are of no use to me, and the villagers must not find their corpses. Burn them in your factory.”
Heisenberg hid his relief with a practiced tilt of his hat.
“Of course.”
Carting the corpses was such a pain in the ass—especially with all the contraptions on the way to his factory—but he couldn’t contain his grin the entire way as he relished this golden opportunity. The dead bodies for his Soldats were usually either from the village or snoopy trespassers. Even the occasional unlucky hiker made their way into his army if their body was good enough. But failed experiments from Mother Miranda herself? That karmic idea was too good to pass up. Resurrecting them to wreak his revenge on her would be so satisfying. Who knows what side effects their already implanted Cadou could have on them? The possibilities invigorated each heavy step in the snow, all the way to excitedly preparing for revitalization surgery. He hadn’t felt an energy like this since he’d created his first undead recruit.
Unfortunately, each attempt dampened that energy, bit by bit.
Firstly, about half of the pile was too decayed to bring back. He discarded those on a wide metal sheet for burning later. Useless. Secondly, he had to carefully construct their mechanical hearts and control devices around their Cadou, many of which were simply unresponsive and refused to adhere to their nervous systems. Also useless. And finally, those whose Cadou were just barely compatible with his machinery... were absolutely fried by the voltage. Sure, they flailed a bit, but the electricity eventually won out. Several of the remaining bodies were halfway burnt before they got anywhere near the incinerator. No signs of resurrected life whatsoever... They were failures twice over. Hours and hours later, he was just about sick of the smell of charred humans. He shut off the latest audio log before slamming his fist onto a nearby table.
“GODDAMN IT!!” He roared into the empty hallways of his factory. Heisenberg began to pace around the dirty operating room.
“Is this a fucking trick? Some elaborate mind game? Does she KNOW about my methods and gave me these worthless sacks of meat on purpose?!” No, there was no way she knew. He was nothing but careful. How else could he have survived all these years without drawing suspicion to his revolution? This wasn’t the time to be doubting his own skills. Yet the frustration and paranoia ate away at him like termites to rotten wood. Unable to come up with any conclusion, he stomped over to the cart and pulled away the tarp for any more bodies—his tirade came to an abrupt halt upon seeing the final corpse.
A girl. A child.
From the looks of it, she couldn’t have lived more than eleven years, give or take.
“...Fuck,” was all he could muster, breathless. She wasn’t that much older than when he was taken. Just one more victim to add to the pile. Miranda’s cruelty truly had no limits... Heisenberg screwed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw. Shaking his head, he forcefully repressed whatever unwelcome memories and emotions boiled to the surface. When he finally looked at her again, he brushed an errant strand of her dark hair away from her cold face.
“Well... At least you didn’t live long enough to be a part of Miranda’s ‘family,’ so...” He shrugged, sympathetic but defeated. This was the only solace he could glean. With a sharp exhale of his nose, he carefully lifted her back from the cart. That is, until he caught a glimpse of where Miranda had implanted the Cadou.
Dead center in the child’s chest, through a torn line of her peasant dress’s neckline to just below her sternum, was one of the most seamless Cadou implantations he’d ever seen. No unusual growths or tumors... If he was unfamiliar with the shape of the Cadou, it could’ve passed as some odd but somewhat clean scarring. Wait, was it... pulsing?
Curiosity piqued, he bit a fingertip and removed his free hand from its glove to press onto her neck. No pulse, and deathly cold. He put his ear as close to her mouth as possible without touching. No breath. He gingerly placed two fingers on the Cadou below her collarbone... Warm.
He immediately brought her to the gurney.
For once in his life, Heisenberg didn’t think so much as react. He quickly placed her small body down and strapped down the canvas belt across her arms and torso before clumsily preparing his audio equipment.
“Medical log, revitalization surgery,” he started, willing his voice to stay level in the face of this new development; he didn’t even remember how many bodies he’d gotten through, and promptly skipped that detail, “Subject’s name: unknown. She’s suspected to be around ten to twelve years old. Body’s in surprisingly good condition, with no discernible injuries. Details of her previous experiment are also unknown, but Cadou implantation appears successful prior to this... Or perhaps a delayed reaction, after—” He took a breath. “—after she was declared a failure.”
Heisenberg shook his head, remembering to try to keep Miranda’s name out of his documentation. Time for the chest incision. He powered up an oscillating bone saw, the buzzing ringing in his ears and the blade eager to cut through flesh. If he was careful and quick, he could keep the Cadou intact and combine it with the mechanical parts needed to restart her blood flow. He steeled his resolve, and slowly made a shallow cut into the body... only for the incision to start closing.
“...What the fuck?” He removed the blade. The recovery rate was nowhere near as fast as Alcina’s, but it was healing, regardless. By the time he finished his observation, the cut was halfway back together, but didn’t progress further. He placed another experimental cut on the opposite edge of the Cadou; the previous cut finished healing before working on the latest wound. Suddenly, the medical tool sputtered a few times before stopping altogether. He pulled back the dead equipment.
“What the fuck?” Was it out of battery or something? He was hung up on observing the second cut healing again when he heard the slightest breath from the girl. Heisenberg scrambled for the nearest scalpel while speculating out loud.
“Subject’s Cadou appears to be capable of healing her body. Attempts at a chest incision with an oscillating bone saw are futile, and the damn thing died on me mid-use. Unless…” Finally just summoning a scalpel to his hand with a single thought, he made one more cut into her chest. This time, blood flowed freely. It didn’t heal.
“...Could electricity be the key? Skipping ahead to running electric current through the brain stem.” With that announcement, he made a quick but precise incision to the back of her neck and applied the necessary wiring and attachments. He practically hopped over to the control panel, took a breath, and pulled the switch.
He started the voltage low, unsure if 6600V would be too much for a child’s body. She was shaking, thankfully no signs of burning yet. He turned a knob to slowly but surely up the voltage. Was this enough? He peeked over and saw that the second cut had healed completely; the first was almost nonexistent. Returning his hand on the switch, he waited. If the timing were anything like his Soldats, she’d open her eyes... right... about...
...Now.
Dark pupils greeted his lenses as he shut off the machine. The girl took a moment to breathe... before screaming her lungs out!
“Holy SHIT!” Heisenberg yelled, clamping his ears shut on instinct. But he noted it wasn’t a scream of pain. Rather, it was absolute rage. This was an unexpected development.
“Where is she?!” she demanded.
She demanded.
With coherent fucking words. On the other hand, all the surprises left Heisenberg speechless.
She twisted wildly against her canvas restraints. She grabbed the belt with her hands and—accompanied by loud, crackling noises—appeared to burn her way through before tearing it apart. Once freed, the girl ripped the clamp connecting the wire to her brain stem, heaving with effort and gritting her teeth as the bleeding from her neck slowed to a stop. He watched, dumbfounded, as she slipped off the gurney and angrily threw the wire to his feet. As she lifted her furious gaze to him, he put his hands up as if he weren’t a threat, or trying to calm her down.
“WHERE IS MOTHER MIRANDA?!” Her mouth curled back into a feral snarl, eyes wild on him, yet distant as she impatiently waited for an answer.
...Heisenberg simply pointed a thumb to the open door.
Finally with a direction, she growled and yelled, knocking over utility carts and pushing tables obstructing her way... until she collapsed just outside the door frame. From his frozen and still very much processing position, he could hear her haggard breathing. It seems she went unconscious.
As Heisenberg lowered his arms, so did the floating metal debris and scalpels he had at the ready. She was so frenzied that she apparently hadn’t even noticed his powers. She had a one track mind on Miranda. Interesting... Stepping carefully over the chaos, he readjusted the fallen audio equipment.
“...Ending recording.”
The next time the child awoke was much less violent. Her eyelashes fluttered, slow to take in the sights around her.
A dimly lit room. Grungy. Some sort of fencing surrounded her... bed? It felt plastic-y for a bed, and smelled like some awful mix of sterile and burnt. She carefully sat herself up, only to discover her wrists felt heavy.
Metal shackles kept her trapped in the “bed.”
Before she could panic or observe any further, the concentrated mumbling of a mysterious man past the fence caught her attention.
“Subject appears to need steady electrical currents to maintain mobility—”
“Where... am I...?” Her raw voice struggled past a sore throat.
“—and consciousness. She briefly exhibited temporary control—”
“Who are you?”
“...t-temporary control over—”
“Please, what’s—what’s going on—”
“Oh my god, shut up!” he snapped. He pushed a button on a device and began to take pieces of it apart, “Waste of goddamn resources... You have any idea how inconvenient it is to record this shit?”
She flinched at his temper. Not out of fear, just... confused. She did not, in fact, know the inconvenience of talking to a small box. And even stranger, his annoyance left as quickly as it came. He offhandedly tossed the device to a distant table.
“Well. You caused quite a ruckus here in my home! What do you have to say for yourself?”
She looked around. Even though the room collected dust and grime, it was surprisingly free of furniture, aside from her “bed.” She turned back to him innocently; clearly, there was no evidence of a ruckus. He scoffed at her silence before grabbing a chair—or did it move on its own?—and sitting on it. He lit something by his lips, breathing in something smelly before continuing for the both of them.
“Got a name or what?”
Then her steady gaze faltered. She blinked down, searching, thinking. A name... A name...
“I’m... I-I’m...” Fear began to creep into her soul. “I... don’t know...” she shakily realized. She held her arms and pulled her legs closer, curling in on herself. “I don’t know...!”
The man didn’t speak. He only regarded her with a slow exhale of smoke before intently leaning forward, ever so slightly.
“...But you do know Mother Miranda.”
Her eyes snapped back to him. His face was indecipherable behind those dark lenses, his scarred mouth flat and unmoving. That name brought a number of flashing images and feelings to mind:
Screaming, crying for someone—anyone—a cold table, unwanted medicines, searing pain, Miranda’s heartless laughter—
“She hurt me,” the child hissed. She was comforting herself before, only to be so quickly replaced by resentment. The man seemed to like that. With a wave of his hand, her shackles came undone by themselves. She gasped at what must be some sort of magic, though he apparently didn’t intend to explain anything.
“C’mon, you must be hungry.” He worked on unlocking the fence’s door. Well, now that he mentioned it, maybe that’s what the pit in her stomach was. It sounded right. She’d barely swung her legs off the edge when he suddenly held up a halting hand.
“Oh, and uh, don’t forget to bring that.”
He pointed to a box next to her with wires... Following them led to a tear on the neckline of her dress, tucked under bandages... and into her chest.
The girl’s breathing grew heavy. What is this? It didn’t hurt, but it didn’t belong. She began to hyperventilate as her shaky fingers ghosted over the fabric, afraid to look but even more afraid of the unknown. Before she could unravel it, a gloved hand snatched her wrist.
“Breathe, kid. Don’t look if you can’t handle it. All you need to know is that if you remove it... you die.”
He didn’t have a lot, but his bare bones kitchen had enough. He served her a plate of old bread, berries, tough cheese, and a mug of mostly clean water. It tasted metallic, but her throat craved the hydration nonetheless. Focusing on eating meant less time stressing about whatever was wrong with her body. The man didn’t eat with her, opting to smoke that stinky stuff and scribble in a journal instead. She finished swallowing her bite before choosing to speak up.
“...So who are you?” He tsked at that.
“I’d be offended by the lack of recognition if you weren’t a damn amnesiac.” He expectantly peeked at her from the top of his glasses. She obviously didn’t know what half those words meant. Amused, he flourished his hand in a semi-grand introduction.
“I am Lord Heisenberg. But you can call me, ‘sir,’ ‘mister,’ or even your, ‘savior!’” He wore an expression that she recognized as smug. She tested the name.
“Lord... Hhhaaaiii... z-zeeen... buuurrrg?”
“I just gave you three easier options for your peasant brain.”
“...What were they again?”
“...”
He wrote something down in his journal. She awkwardly squirmed in her seat. Was his note a good or a bad sign? He inhaled sharply as he closed the book.
“What do you know of Mother Miranda?”
That woman. She stopped all thoughts in her mind every time. The girl unconsciously rubbed the side of her head, shaking her dirty shoulder-length hair.
“I don’t... remember much, but... She hurt me, I know it. Right—” She reached for her chest, realizing she contacted right where the cables crudely stuck into her body. She swallowed past the nervous lump in her throat. “—h-here…” She finally looked down at her bandages. Just above it showed the scars of something... foreign. More so than the machinery stabbing through her. Her body accepted it, but her instincts told her it was wrong. Unnatural.
“The Cadou,” Heisenberg answered for her, “She implanted it in your chest. It’s what killed you—or nearly did, maybe. It’s also why you’re practically a walking lightbulb now.” He knocked on the box of wires sitting at the edge of his dining table. Her questioning look was telling. He rolled his eyes, then clarified.
“A battery. Your Cadou needs electricity to keep you alive.”
Her eyes widened as the situation sank in. He could see it a mile away. He leaned in.
“Yeah... Yeah, you get it now, right? Miranda’s the reason why you’re like this. Doesn’t it piss you off?” The child was distant as she processed all of it. There was no question that his words resonated with her. Although her memories were foggy, her last remaining feelings rang clear: terror, and overwhelming rage before her end, well into her new beginning.
“And you... You woke me up?”
“Hell yeah, I did. And do you remember what you wanted to do as soon as you woke up?” The child didn’t think as she crushed the bread in her hand; she mirrored his lean forward.
“I want to hurt her back.”
He grinned from ear to ear.
“Attagirl.”
Sleep apparently didn’t come easily to the child, Heisenberg noted from her room’s camera feed. How could it, after all that she’d learned so far? She remained huddled on her gurney with a moth-eaten blanket, but he could see through the static that she was wide awake. She rubbed the cables between her small fingers for hours while staring off to some corner of the room.
The familiarity was... unsettling. How many nights did he spend helplessly trying to stare past Miranda’s laboratory walls?
His nails dug into his palms on his way out. No, he couldn’t afford to be soft. Neither of them could. Each step he took towards her makeshift prison stamped down any hesitation in the tests he had in mind. One way or another, he was determined to find the most brutal tactic he could use her against Miranda. And to do that, he needed to see everything she was capable of. No matter what. With that goal in mind, he kicked open the door with a bang.
“Rise and shine, kid, we got a big day ahead of us!” he announced. She flinched at his loud entrance. Confusion was made plain on her face; it was morning already?
“Well? Y’want breakfast or not?”
Once again, bread, berries, cheese, and water were all he could give. Heisenberg wasn’t exactly the kind of guy who hosted guests, much less fed children. At least feeding someone who doesn’t remember a better meal meant she couldn’t complain. That being said, her eating was somewhat lackluster. But he had other things to focus on than her appetite... Like crudely tying leather straps to her battery.
“What are you doing?” she finally asked, watching him tighten some knots.
“Makin’ it easier for you to move around in. Can’t have you holding the battery the whole time. That’s just inefficient. Stand up.”
She hopped off her chair and allowed him to loop the straps around her arms. After a few adjustments, she carried the battery like a backpack. Double-checking the steady red bulb at the top proved it had a mostly full charge. He slapped his hands clean and looked at her, expectant. She stared back, oblivious.
“Ah, you probably don’t remember manners. See, you’re supposed to say, ‘Thank you,’ when I do something nice for you.” The extra slow pace he said that in, conversely, was not very nice. She seemed to pick up on that and—judging by the way she crossed her arms—decided no, she wasn’t going to thank him. He pettily rubbed her wild hair until it covered her eyes. She pushed his hand away with a sulky groan. Fixing her dirty mane as best as she could, she asked for clarification.
“So what did you mean by, ‘big day?’” Heisenberg grew a wolfish smile. It made her uneasy.
“Oh, you’re gonna love it.”
Her little legs barely kept up with Heisenberg’s long strides. He led her hallway through hallway, dark room after dark room, and even through a slow elevator ride. All the while, he ignored her curious questions.
“What’s this? What’s that? W-What’re those hanging up there? Why’s it so dirty? Is that a hammer you’re holding? Mister Lord, what’s that over there?”
“For the hundredth time, my first name’s not, ‘Lord.’”
“Oh yeah... Hey, what’s this?”
The questions kept coming. But he didn’t miss the quiver in her tone every now and then. She wasn’t just curious; she was hiding her fear with chatter. Her new surroundings must be a lot to take in, and he didn’t care to explain anything of the deactivated Soldat shadows that loomed in every other corner. The only silver lining here was that she didn’t wander off from his side. He felt grateful when they finally reached the spacious room he was after. They walked to the center of it, footsteps on concrete echoing to the ceiling.
“Wait here,” he ordered. She nervously did as she was told, watching him walk towards a control panel and deposit his hammer next to it.
“S-Sir, what is this?”
“What an inquisitive, if repetitive mind you’ve got,” he chided. Heisenberg flipped a few switches that turned on flood lights around the area. The girl blinked rapidly at the sudden brightness, looking around at the forlorn debris, gravel, and more fences. The floor was stained at random with... something. Various scrap metals and miscellaneous objects covered the tall walls. Heisenberg looked intently at different piles, his hand stroking his beard in deep thought.
“Ah! That should work fine.” He raised his hand and pulled back towards himself. An aged wooden board flew through the air and floated in front of the girl, eliciting a startled but wondrous gasp. A closer look revealed the large nails inside them were almost humming.
“Electrocute this.”
“...Electro—wha?” His head bobbed to the side in mild disbelief.
“What, you start forgetting shit every day, now? When you first woke up, you used electricity with your hands to burn through canvas. So do it again.”
She was a bit slow on the uptake, but after looking between him and the board, she readjusted the battery on her back and nervously put her hands on the wood. Heisenberg waited with bated breath...
Seconds passed.
Then a minute.
“...Any day now, kiddo.”
“L-Lemme try again.” She started to look embarrassed. She inhaled, and clapped her hands on the wood one more time. Nothing. Heisenberg sighed as he removed a notebook and pen from his coat pocket. He wrote his disappointed observation. Well, he couldn’t expect her to have control over her powers right away... but he was on a timetable here. Some advice, then.
“You want to hurt Miranda, right? Well, pretend that board is her. C’mon, we gotta see what you can do.” He couldn’t be bothered to hide the annoyance in his voice. It made her shift uncomfortably. She pressed her nails into the wood and pushed, her face scrunched with effort. He could see she was trying, but it wasn’t enough. The electricity just wouldn’t come to her.
Okay then, time for stress.
Heisenberg twisted his wrist sideways, commanding the wooden board to reel back, then hit her square in the stomach. She coughed in pain before landing hard on the ground.
“Oof! Ooow, h-hey!” If she couldn’t tell he was the one controlling metal before, she sure as hell did now.
“What?”
“That hurts!”
“So? What’re you gonna do about it?” She growled as she stood up and stalked towards him. Alright, there’s that temper. He could work with that. He waved the wooden board back in front of her. She tried to shove the floating menace out of the way, only for it to push back hard enough to strike her chin.
“OW! Stop it!!”
“What? That make you angry? Is that how you can use your powers?” Her breathing hitched.
“I don’t—I don’t know!” He shrugged.
“Well.” Another flick, and the board harshly swept her ankles. She slammed onto her side, groaning and hiding the tears forming in her eyes.
“I-I don’t like this!” she pleaded; she winced from brushing sharp pebbles off her sleeves. She got up again, her alert gaze glued to the assailing object.
“Aaaw where’d all that fire go, huh? I thought you wanted payback for THIS shit!” He redirected the board to strike below her battery’s lightbulb; not enough to destroy it, just to knock her down for the third time.
“Stop it! I thought you were gonna help me!”
“Oh... Oh, ha, see, you’ve got the wrong idea,” he laughed as if it was the most innocent misunderstanding, “I’m not helping you, kid. I’m seeing if you can help me.” The girl’s breathing hitched again, the realization dawning on her that this man was not quite as benevolent as she initially hoped him to be.
But a warning wave of the board interrupted her thoughts, and she scrambled to her feet. Before it could swing down on her, she barely caught it in time with her small hands. Splinters stung her palms while the force pushed her shaky form back a short distance. She bitterly groaned against it, attempting to push back with all her might, finally fighting back with grit teeth...
Still no electricity. Just a whining brat.
Heisenberg let up on the control with an impatient grumble. She fell with the board to her knees, and looked up at him, equally upset and dejected.
Fine. More stress it is.
He turned to the open door they came from and let out one long, sharp whistle, then three short ones. He reclaimed his gargantuan hammer and let it rest on his shoulders before slowly stepping towards her. The girl shuffled back on instinct, seeing him truly for what he was for the first time: a dangerous man with ambitions way over her head. And it occurred to her now that he didn’t see her as an equal, maybe not even as a child.
What had she really signed up for by aligning herself with him?
He squatted down in front of her with flared nostrils and fiery eyes.
“We’ve both been experimented on by Miranda and wanna hurt her—no, kill her—that much we have in common. But here’s the thing: I don’t need deadweight. I need power. And if you don’t have power, well... then you’re not worth the batteries.”
The implications of that cold statement sent shivers down her spine. But he stepped away from her, uncaring, and her eyes snapped to the door at the sound of something approaching them. Fast. A monstrous form leaped through on all fours, landing just in front of her and roaring in her face.
A lycan.
She shrieked as she crawled away from it. But it didn’t follow. It simply pawed at the ground and frothed, dead pupils locked on her. Now that she was this low to the ground, it finally clicked what the stains around her were: dried blood. This wasn’t just some abandoned room. It was an arena.
“So!” Heisenberg’s voice startled her back to his relaxed posture. “Here’s a choice for you. You get ten seconds to electrocute the lycan... OR it rips you to shreds, and I don’t have to deal with you anymore!”
Nothing like a life-or-death situation to wake up the senses, he thought darkly. By the looks of her face, her stomach just about dropped to the center of the earth. Good. Maybe he’ll get some results this time. If this didn’t trigger her powers... Well... He’d figure it out later. He dramatically cleared his throat.
“Ten!”
She gasped sharply at the start of the countdown.
“Nine!”
Looking at the snarling beast, she began to hyperventilate as she forced herself back up on her feet. But she paced in place.
“Eight!”
“I-I don’t know how to do it! I c-can’t—”
“Not good enough. Seven!”
She reached, drew back, then barely touched the creature’s hairy shoulders before another harsh growl made her jump back in fear.
“Siiix!”
“Wait, p-please!”
The lycan grew louder, hungry, scratching at the floor in anticipation.
“Five!”
The girl’s tears finally fell free. She cried as she backed away and faced Heisenberg, betrayed, terrified beyond belief.
...He paused. It struck something fierce inside him for a split second, before his vengeful heart overtook him once more. He was... almost swayed.
“...Four!”
She saw it. He could tell she saw it. His deliberation, then his choice. Her face had been quivering with fear, but for the briefest moment... he thought he saw resentment. That’s right. Neither of them could be soft, he reminded himself. Not in this fucked up world.
“Three!”
She ran away sobbing. She turned the opposite direction, stealing glances at her hands. Was this going anywhere?
“Two!”
The lycan drew back.
“ONE!!”
And it took off. An animal keen on its next meal. Heisenberg watched intently. The girl looked back with huge, panicked eyes, only to see the distance between her and the monster closing too quickly. It leapt at her, and in that second, all she could do was hold her hands up in a sad, desperate attempt to defend herself.
It tackled her and sank its thick claws into her sides. She’d never screamed so painfully before. The momentum sent the two of them tumbling further, skidding on the concrete.
Heisenberg didn’t know when his grip on the hammer had gotten so tight. However, the only thing that kept him from stepping in... was the fact that the beast wasn’t actively ripping away her flesh.
He began to walk for a closer look at the lycan’s suddenly stiff body. No, upon closer inspection, it was convulsing. A sadistic smile creeped across Heisenberg’s scarred face. He heard the girl’s pained heaving; the tense claws made her scream, full of adrenaline, fear, rage, all of it. As if responding to her emotions, the crackling of her electrocution intensified.
The lycan’s hair burned, its skin popped, muscles tense yet unable to do anything. As her yelling crescendoed, the force of her power blew its body away from her. Its smoking flesh ragdolled in the air before rolling to a stop at Heisenberg’s feet. Meanwhile, he simply leaned on his weapon, clicked his pen open, and wrote down his observations, muttering as he did so.
“Subject can... redirect electricity... and independently... increase voltage...” The stench made him stop writing and pinch his nose. Well, he wasn’t getting used to the sweet aroma of burned muscles anytime soon, now was he?
But he raised a curious brow as he saw the lycan stir. Its growls were reduced to ragged exhales while it rolled onto its stomach. With a single arm, it attempted to pull itself towards the child. She was unable to move or turn herself away from this horrific image... Heisenberg flipped the pen around his fingers a few times before tucking his notes away, kicking his hammer up, and sauntering on over to the pathetic creature.
“Thank you for volunteering.” The joke was so quickly contrasted; with a heave, he smashed the lycan’s head in with one brutal swing. Its body finally stilled. Now content to check on the girl, he left his prized weapon to marinate in the blood and brain matter.
Once again, she was barely conscious. Her fingers were blackened, the electrical burns leaving their scattered marks across her hands. But it seemed that the Cadou was already working on those. Her skin began to pull itself together, and missing flesh regrew at a gradual pace. That didn’t stop her from heaving and coughing up blood.
He lifted her upper body enough to lean her forward and check on the battery light. It blinked slowly. Almost out of juice. He gently laid her back down to write more of his thoughts.
Subject also requires electricity to accelerate cell regeneration.
Currently incapable of healing at the same time as electrocuting something else.
Requires further modifications.
Hearing her weak whimpering, he patted her shoulder.
“Congratulations. Maybe you’re worth the batteries after all.”
The girl intensely wheezed and coughed as she awoke to the bright lights of an operating room. Oxygen both relieved and attacked her lungs—waking up in pain or fear was quickly becoming an unwanted norm. She sucked in air through her teeth, and searched for the awful sources of her latest return to consciousness.
Below another canvas belt wrapped across her body, she witnessed the last vestiges of charred fingers heal back to normal. Through the holes of her bloodied dress, muscle continued to re-weave itself. The sight was sickening.
“Huh, you’re up faster than I thought,” Heisenberg’s voice alarmed her, “Won’t need to be for long, though.”
Heaving desperately, she grabbed the belt and willed them gone. Her fingers crackled, and before he knew it, she’d burned through her restraints again. He only threw his arms up in mild annoyance as she stumbled off the table.
“Wh—I JUST replaced those, bitch.”
“Keep AWAY from me...!” she seethed.
“I mean, in hindsight, I should’ve gone with metal. But you weren’t supposed to wake up yet,” he ignored. She struggled to circle around him as he casually removed the damaged belt for a second time this week.
“You... You hurt me, too!”
“No, the lycan did, which I had to finish off for you anyway, so you’re welcome.” She just gaped at him like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “You’re gonna need a hell of a lot more improvements before you can take on Miranda.”
“I don’t want to!”
Now that got his attention. He turned his irate gaze on her, but huffed self-righteously at her feeble escape attempt; she could barely walk.
“Aaaw what, you get a couple boo-boos and you’re done? You can heal, get over it! I’m not letting you waste your potential.” She didn’t know what to say. He took this as an opportunity to pitch some more. He thoughtfully paced around the room as he continued, “You can’t function worth a damn without a battery, and the charge needs to be constant. Your weaknesses can be improved mechanically—lucky for you, I’m a genius engineer, and can fix aaall your problems.”
“LUCKY?!” His head whipped at her incredulous yelling and a brief static in her hands. Was that a spark he saw just now? But he shrugged and kept going.
“Yup! And all I gotta do... is install a teensy... weensy... reactor!” He accented his words by tapping his finger on some object on a medical tray. It appeared to be roughly the same size as her Cadou, with a red light bulb and other various protective steel plating. The sight made her stomach turn.
“You’re prepping for surgery—”
“No! No, no, NO! I don’t want to be anywhere NEAR you!” she shouted, even though her knees buckled while she tried to back away from him. He only sighed.
“I’m gettin’ mixed messages here, brat. I’m even being extra nice, letting you in on my plans. Besides, where the fuck would you go?”
“Anywhere but here! You hurt me, too! You’re JUST like Miranda!” Her palms began to heat up with that familiar current. She lunged at him, determined to inflict even a fraction of the pain he’d just put her through.
But something cold and solid slammed around her wrists and harshly dragged upwards until her feet left the ground. She kicked and screamed as she helplessly looked between the floor and the familiar shackles holding her hostage. A gloved hand roughly gripped her jaw and forced her to look into Heisenberg’s livid face. He’d removed his sunglasses for her for the first time... all to show just how pissed he was.
Oh, he didn’t like that comparison. Not. One. Bit.
“You shut your damn hole!” he spat venomously, “You should be grateful I’m putting in this much effort when Miranda was fine letting you rot with the rest of her fucking failures! Now, if you don’t want to kill her after all of that, then what the hell DO you want?!”
...She hiccuped, and began sobbing again. With her amnesiac record, her next words surprised the both of them.
“I... I want to go home...”
That whimper fell out of her mouth so naturally. Was she regaining her memories...? Had it not been for his ranting, he might’ve been interested. But as it stood now, Heisenberg absolutely could not give a single fuck.
“...Home, huh?” he sneered, releasing her face, “You talking about that shithole of a guinea pig village? Well fucking fine!” The shackles let go and she crumpled onto the unforgiving floor. It sent stinging shockwaves through her still healing body, not to mention the battery that weighed heavily on her back. She looked up through her hair at him, puzzled and scared.
“Get your ass up,” was all he barked before he unlocked the nearby door and stormed through. The girl followed.
Once again, Heisenberg led her through unfamiliar doors, hallways, rooms, and several staircases. He flicked his hand at a distant switch and activated it, a loud bell ringing in their ears. The humongous metal door ahead of them slowly slid sideways. She realized this was the entrance to Heisenberg’s factory, and her exit to the outside world. The sunlight nearly blinded her.
“You want out? Be my guest!” He actually stepped away from the door to give her a clear escape. If she was going to be so damn hot-and-cold, maybe he shouldn’t be wasting his time with her after all. She looked between him and the open door, skeptical.
“...W-What is this, another test?”
“Nope. No tricks. Go ahead, do whatever the fuck you want.”
“...You know what, I will!”
“Great!”
“Fine!”
“FINE!”
At the height of his yell, she angrily stomped her foot, marched to the door... and stopped just short of the dirt. She was quiet as she took it all in:
A great, wide world. The factory’s acrid smoke mixed with the scent of a river’s water assaulted her nose. An endless sky, scattered trees dotting snowy mountaintops, just past the fences of the scrapyard. And beyond that... she had no idea...
It was all so... daunting.
Now confronted with how little she truly knew, she could only stare. She held herself in the cold, then the cables in her chest. She’d never felt so small...
Heisenberg stared at her from his corner, too. But he didn’t see her.
He saw a boy. Scared, alone. Confronted by the edge of the village, nothing but the endless expanse of mountains and snow; the elements threatened to freeze him, to take his bloody, bare feet with hypothermia. Behind him was the twisted smile of a madwoman who knew she’d won. She held her hand out to him, as if it was only a matter of time before he crawled back into her clutches. He remembered all too clearly when the truth hit him:
He’d never survive outside the village. His only choices were obedience, or death. He was stuck in this hell.
Now, because of him, so was she.
Heisenberg cut the train of thought off like an invasive leech to his skin. He tore his gaze away from the girl, hardening his heart.
“Dumbass probably forgot where the fuck she lives anyway...” He slammed the next door shut behind him. He had an army to attend to.
The hours passed by quickly, he realized as he stretched his tired limbs. With this factory line complete, he now had options to efficiently store deactivated Soldats until the time was right. Heisenberg lost count of how many cigars he’d smoked from the stress... Whether it was from his work or that brat, he didn’t want to know. Speaking of which...
He returned to the entrance, and saw her sitting by the edge. Still as a statue, hugging her knees; only the icy breeze moved her hair. He didn’t know what to feel, seeing her there. There was neither surprise nor relief... He removed his cigar from his lips.
“...Hey. Get back inside.” A few seconds passed before she stiffly, but quietly obeyed. She didn’t look at him as she passed, but he saw that her eyes were more dead and hopeless than when he’d found her corpse. He’d be lying if he said it didn’t faze him at least a little bit...
He sharply finished off the rest of his cigar before stamping it out in the snow and closed the only way into his factory.
Heisenberg sat her back down in the kitchen. He didn’t even need to send her back to her cell in shackles; she had no fight in her. He even collected the blanket from her gurney and she didn’t move an inch from her seat. She only stirred when he threw it at her. Even as she wrapped it around herself, she refused to look at him.
He sat down across from her and allowed the silence to hang in the air. He slipped his sunglasses onto the table, tiredly exhaling as he considered his next words more carefully than he’d ever admit...
“...Miranda did the same thing to me.” The girl finally, but cautiously drifted her gaze to him. Heisenberg leveled his green eyes with hers before brushing the sides of his coat away. He gently untucked his shirt, lifting the fabric just enough to reveal the grotesque form in his side:
His Cadou. As monstrous and angry as he was made to be. The implantation was ruthless, and the recovery unkind. The child in front of him unwittingly reached for her own chest. She could see his history of suffering in that parasite. He went on.
“So believe me when I say this: I want her dead. And before that, I want her to feel... all... of the pain she forced on me and more.” He tucked in his shirt again, sat up, and leaned his elbows on the table. “This is the life she’s brought on me and you. If you want in on the payback, great. I’ll get you a front row seat. But you gotta do what I say. You don’t have to like me, and I sure as hell ain’t gonna apologize for anything.” Her half-blinks and uneasy breathing showed she didn’t like that. It didn’t deter him.
“But I’m your best chance at revenge against Miranda. And your best chance at understanding your Cadou and making your second life a bit easier to live... Starting with your reactor surgery. Trust me, things will go a lot smoother if we work together, so... Truce?”
Her eyes seemed to scan him for any chance that he could be lying. This was strange. This effort of having to convince someone of his intentions without relying on intimidation was... uncomfortable. It made the silence all the more uneasy. There was no malice when he suddenly added without thinking—
“...I brought you back. I’m not gonna let you die.”
He didn’t know how or why, but it seemed to stir something inside that pit of hopelessness. He couldn’t identify it. He wasn’t sure she could, either.
Steadying her breathing, she finally nodded. He could only nod back, denying that he might’ve felt some form of relief.
She slept soundly after the surgery with the anaesthetics and sedatives coursing through her body. It’ll be a while before she wakes up. While she did so, the Lord pondered about what transpired tonight as he washed her blood off his gloves. He carefully deposited her body onto her gurney and pushed, making his way back to her cell while plagued with uncharacteristic introspection.
He could’ve just forced the surgery on her. Knock her out again after she’d destroyed her restraints, at least. He peeked down at the newest bandages around her chest. Hell, he could’ve implanted a control device with her reactor like the rest of his minions.
So why didn’t he?
He swore under his breath. No, a control device only worked on a mindless zombie. She... wasn’t that. She had thoughts, feelings, questionable memories—stop. He refused to think any deeper on it. He berated himself as he parked her gurney in the fencing and locked its door again. Jesus, dealing with kids was such a fucking chore.
Heisenberg settled into his camera room once again, but even observing her recovery or the hidden corners of his territory sounded exhausting as hell. He’d earned himself a little break. He leaned back in his chair, kicked his boots up onto a table, and covered his eyes with his hat... Let him drift away...
BRRRRRRRING!!!
He almost fucking flew through the ceiling. Head snapping left and right and knocking his hat off, he snarled at the landline on his wall. He snatched the phone.
“WHAT?!” It didn’t take long at all for him to recognize the anxious sniveling of a maid.
“L-Lord Heisenberg. Lady Dimitrescu requests your presence. It’s t-time for a check-up on the water heater.”
He paused.
“The fuck she thinks I am, her own personal plumber?”
“...M-May I presume you’re refusing—”
“Piss off, I’m on my way.” He slammed the phone back down. He drawled out a frustrated groan while rubbing his tired face. He hated knowing that denying that big bitch had more inconvenient consequences than taking care of it now. Well, that and...
Heisenberg glanced at the camera feed where the child lay still. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for. Sighing, he dragged himself out of his chair.
He adjusted his coat, hat, and sunglasses, marching through his factory while summoning his toolbox and his deadly hammer. As he headed out into the cold night, he ordered the surrounding lycans in the area to keep guard. He sincerely hoped this wouldn’t take long.
“B-But she’s the Lady of the castle—”
“I don’t give a damn if she’s the queen of the free fucking world, get her pompous ass DOWN here. And LEAVE A FAUCET RUNNING!!” Heisenberg yelled after the miserable maid scrambling away.
The man groaned through tight lips; his fatigue and exasperation were mixing into a dangerous concoction. Calling him over for a water heater... He didn’t care what a tempting trick it was to get more peons to work on her staff. A Lord of his stature fixing it for the supersized bitch was humiliating. Yet he came over. He actually brought this on himself. He weakly reasoned it’d be better in the long run to avoid Alcina complaining to Mother Miranda—more so than she usually did, anyway.
What did he even have to say to her? Having no control over his thoughts only stoked his irritation. A man of his drive and ambition was never the type to be this conflicted... He should buy himself a drink later, he decided.
He kicked a bucket under the heater’s valve and stomped it to release water. Stepping on a wooden stool to reach the top, he popped the plastic cap that hid the anode rod... He tiredly laid his forehead into the crook of his arm. Heisenberg was no stranger to sleep deprivation, but this week has been... a lot.
“My, my, you’re snippier than usual, little brother,” a cool voice lulled into his ears. He dragged his head up. Speaking of “a lot,” the colossal crone herself took up a sizable chunk of the room as she stood to her full height. Her nightgown, silk robe, and absent hat hardly diminished her pretentious but deadly aura. One smooth twirl of her fingers later, and the servant who’d fetched her was dismissed. Alcina coolly rested her hand on her voluptuous hip, scrutinizing him with a vexed brow.
“I hope you have a good reason for interrupting my duties.”
“I’m sure dramatically sipping your shit wine in front of a fireplace can wait.”
She gave him a warning glare. He only smiled in response.
“Just wanted to spend some sibling time, is all,” he offered. The corner of her mouth twitched. Clearly, she wasn’t the least bit convinced. He waved a pair of pliers in his hand. “Maybe show you a few tricks so you don’t have to come crying to me for help in the middle of the goddamn night?”
“Hmph. Really?” Her tone dripped with loathing. “And why, exactly, can you not teach this to my staff instead?”
“Oh please. As if they’d survive long enough to maintain your cushy castle next year.” She half-scoffed, half-smirked at his accusation. He wasn’t entirely wrong. But her high and mighty demeanor indicated that menial labor was beneath her. That, and the glint in her sharp eye showed his sass wasn’t fooling her for a second.
“You need something from me.” She and her heavy heels strolled closer to him. Even on that wooden step stool, she easily towered over her brother. He’d be damned if he faltered.
“What I need...” he ground out, “...is for you to hold the tank steady. Put your freakish height to something useful for once.” Her eyes rolled to the ceiling, unamused at his obvious dodging. Fine, she’d play along for now. She slammed her hand down onto the top, the impact echoing off the surrounding bricks. Heisenberg only flashed high eyebrows and a cheeky grin as if to say, “Careful. It’s YOUR heater.”
He willed a breaker bar and a wrench to remove some protective bolts. Then, he tugged out the tank’s anode rod with his pliers. As he inspected the calcium buildup on it, the tools floated into Alcina’s free hand. She wasn’t gentle when she dropped them into the open toolbox by her feet. To that, he childishly tossed the old part over his shoulder, dirtying her floors with chunks of grimy minerals.
She squinted.
He shrugged.
His powers retrieved a fresh anode rod from his belongings while he removed a roll of tape from his pocket. He purposefully took his time fussing over wrapping up one end of the metal. Alcina’s patience was wearing thin.
“I can’t help but notice that you haven’t explained one step to me.”
“Hm. Just noticing that this is a fairly newer model than mine. Favoritism, much?” She hummed at his grouchy observation, unable to resist reveling in her small victories.
“A woman has her needs, Heisenberg. You’d be aware of these priorities if you had anyone willing to keep you company.” He bobbed his head left and right in false consideration.
“Maybe I would. But then again, I never fuck anyone as high maintenance as you.” He tilted his sunglasses to wink at her incredulous expression. Before she could retort, however, a swarm of flies and haunting laughter signaled a new presence. They reformed into a ravishing young woman: the red-headed one, Daniela.
“Motherrr! One of the maids dropped some plates,” she all but sang, knowing exactly what the consequences entailed. Alcina regarded her sweetly.
“Ah, how clumsy... Why don’t you and your sisters entertain her in the dungeon? Try not to leave a mess.” Daniela squealed with excitement.
“Of course! Thank you, Mother!” She disappeared into a cloud of insects. Their guest dropped his arms as if insulted.
“No love for Uncle Heisenberg, huh?” he scoffed. However, the free jab at him was surprisingly left open. He instead caught Alcina staring after her daughter, a dreamy, perhaps proud smile upon her scarlet lips. Heisenberg sniffed, returning to his work and averting his gaze.
“...What’s the point of it?”
“Hm?”
“Playing mama bird to those pests.” Rather than be offended, Lady Dimitrescu gave a hearty laugh as she turned to him. God, it was so patronizing, it made his blood boil.
“Oh, sweet, lonely Karl,” she started, “You’re so selfish, I don’t think you can fathom the fulfillment I feel when I’m with my daughters... To be part of something so pure, and so much bigger than myself. Do not comment on that.”
The early stages of a snide remark devolved into disappointment. Heisenberg wasn’t fond of being robbed of that opportune joke, but he relented just this once. She continued, distant.
“I helped bring them to life. They are the way they are because of me. And when they look upon me like I am everything to them, how can I not want to give them the world?” He couldn’t relate. The kid sleeping in his factory looked at him with either hatred or hopelessness... He easily tamped down the reflection with more jeering.
“Uh-huh. The world that’ll freeze them into pretty little crystals before they can take two steps outdoors. THAT world, right?” Alcina remained steadfast.
“I provide them all that I’m able. Bela, Cassandra, and Daniela deserve so much more, but to them, it’s enough. I couldn’t ask for better children.” He remembered how happy she was to announce their names back then, having come up with them as soon as they’d opened their eyes. How quick they all were to commit themselves to each other as if they were blood-related... He couldn’t comprehend it. How maddening.
“Tsk... Parenting must come so easily to you,” he mocked, “Custom-made, obedient daughters; bet you grew up with a silver spoon too, so—” The surface of the tank creaked beneath her strong fingers, effectively interrupting his words. She treacherously loomed over him.
“You... know... nothing... of how my upbringing was. But if you’re so curious about, ‘the point of it,’ I’ll spell it out for you like the stupid child you are: I prove to myself every day that I can be the mother I wish I had. Under my care, my daughters will know only joy and power. This, I swear.”
There were few times she was capable of silencing Heisenberg’s snark with a dose of reality. It pained him to admit this, but he... almost respected her motives. He never cared to know Alcina’s past. To know any of his siblings’ pasts, in fact. What could’ve led to her being both a ruthless tyrant and—dare he say it—a loving parent? Under better circumstances, perhaps they could’ve reminisced over a smoke... Come to some odd understanding of one another... If it weren’t for a single, gnawing question.
“The mother you wish you had,” he slowly repeated, “Is that what Miranda is to you?”
“...Yes, she is.”
Tension weighed heavily between the Lords.
She sensed disapproval behind his stone mask. It planted a seed of doubt; did he not feel the same?
Fuck no. Whatever sympathy Heisenberg could’ve developed for his older sister died with her response. A terrible reminder of her blind loyalty to that bitch of a “mother.” He would have none of it. The anode rod twisted itself closed before he roughly replaced the plastic top.
“And anyone who harms your kids...?” He changed the subject while handing her a wrench.
“Would face my wrath,” she completed, no hesitation in her voice as she grabbed it. But as she pulled, he didn’t let go. They exchanged firm stares.
“...So what would you do if Miranda threatened your daughters?” Indignation lit up her marble features.
“You dare suggest she’d do such a thing?!”
“A simple what-if, nothing more,” he pressed, leaning forward, “Indulge me.”
She didn’t speak for some time. Her eyes searched behind his lenses, calculating. She could tell this was a topic he wouldn’t allow her to escape... As to why he asked, she couldn’t begin to guess. After a thoughtful inhale, she carefully replied.
“...Mother Miranda always has her reasons. She gave me my daughters, she... she has the right to take them away.”
Did it hurt her to say that, he wondered?
She quickly added, “But my devotion to her ensures their safety.” Heisenberg only hummed as he finally released the tool. She discarded it back into its container, her frigid confidence returning to conceal whatever turmoil he may have caused within her. He might’ve pressed too much. Now she eyed him warily.
“So many questions of parenthood, little brother. Have you finally sired a mutt with some village wench?”
He chuckled, derisive.
“It’ll be a cold day in hell before I ever wanna deal with some shitty baby.”
With the maintenance done, he trudged back through the snow to his factory, thoughts clouding his mind. He attempted to dissect what just happened. Alcina’s no saint, and Miranda sure as hell isn’t—why did either of them bother creating their own flawed versions of a “family?”
“For themselves,” he reminded, paraphrasing Alcina’s words. Prove that she could be a better parent than her own? And she called him selfish... And for all that talk, the great Lady Dimitrescu would just hand off her daughters to Miranda if she so much as asked? Heisenberg spat on the ground, the mere notion disgusting him.
He wouldn’t let Miranda lay a finger on the kid.
That conviction briefly slowed him in his tracks... before he coldly moved on. No. No, this wasn’t out of any misplaced sense of compassion. It was simply the logic of possession—finders, keepers. Miranda deemed the child a failure and discarded her corpse like trash. Like hell she’d expect her to come back with a vengeance. He grinned at the thought; he could make her a success. If anything, the child was his creation now, not hers. And unlike his subservient sister, he would never allow Miranda to take her back, if only to spite the heartless bitch.
As usual, the same easy conclusion motivated his path to his factory’s hidden projects: fuck this family, and especially fuck Miranda. He looked forward to the day he’ll use the kid to fry her into charcoal.
Until then, he needed to take some specific steps towards her recovery. Make her stronger, smarter... Endure fewer injuries, the works. She wouldn’t get anywhere near Miranda if she couldn’t handle a single lycan.
An image of her torn, bloody dress momentarily flickered to life.
...Well, he did want to buy a drink. Might as well grab some other things, while he was at it. He set out to find the Duke.
Bleary. Fuzzy. Formless shapes blended together as the girl gradually came to. How long had she been out for this time? She carefully rubbed her eyes with her rough, dirty palms, but reaching any higher was met with resistance.
Ah. Shackles. Now it was all coming back.
She blinked the sleep away while replaying the most recent events. Right, she was injected with... medicine...? To help her “relax.” Yes, for the surgery. Before that, she was actually allowed to leave. Or was she? After all, what kind of a choice was that: to either join a psychopath or fend for herself out in the unknown?
“Well, well, look who’s awake,” came the psychopath’s voice. Her thoughts froze in their tracks. Hesitantly glancing up, she saw Heisenberg saunter into the room with a tray full of food as if he hadn’t flipped her world upside down. “How’re ya feelin’?”
She took stock of herself. Now that he asked, she was feeling...
“I...” she began. He raised his head, waiting. She blushed as she sat up all of a sudden. “...I have to pee!” Heisenberg’s posture stiffened in alarm.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
“No, I have to go!” She held herself, brows drawn up and frantic. Heisenberg wildly looked around the room; they both terribly discovered he didn’t have the courtesy to leave her a bucket.
“I— Wha— Damn it!!” he swore, waving his hands to release the lock, door, and her shackles all at once. “Get up and follow—” Way ahead of him, the child hopped off by instinct... only to weakly collapse onto the ground.
“Agh— M-My legs...!” she whimpered. His face dropped. Oh, this wasn’t going to be comfortable for either of them. Without warning, she’d quickly been scooped up and he rushed down the hallways.
“If you piss in my arms, I swear to god I’m dropping you!” She clung onto his coat for dear life as he sprinted. Within moments, he deposited her onto a cold seat and shut the door on her.
“O-Open that fuckin’ thing and pee in there—”
“I KNOW how to use this!”
“Oh, excuse me for assuming, Miss...?” She huffed, unappreciative of him poking at her apparently selective memory. Really, how did she know how to use this? But her offense was thrown all out the window as she was finally able to relieve herself in private... Mostly.
Heisenberg’s boots shifted uncomfortably below the stall. His gloved fingers holding the top of the door shut twitched, as if his thoughts were frazzled. It seemed that neither of them had been expecting this kind of start to the day. She didn’t know what to make of it. How could a man so ruthless as to sic a beast on her be so... awkward? Even as he barked instructions on how to flush what he called a “toilet,” his usual intimidating aura was laced with embarrassment. He was even somewhat gentle as he lifted her high enough to clean and dry her hands over the nearest sink.
However, the strange interaction didn’t last long. As he carried her back through the factory and she remembered what he’d put her through, she put her hands on his chest and summoned any electricity in this vulnerable—
Zap.
“OW— son of a BITCH!” Heisenberg dropped her in a heartbeat, the wind knocked out of her as she landed hard on the ground.
She didn’t harm him at all. Just a little stronger than a static shock, she realized, as he glared at her with his hands on his hips. She also realized that the drop was taller than she thought; she groaned from the impact.
“Well, what now, genius? Is this where you make your grand escape?” She didn’t respond, only returning his glare as best as she could. He only sighed in annoyance before kneeling down to check for injuries.
“Don’t... Don’t touch me,” she weakly but defiantly demanded. To her surprise, he did stop.
“Ok sure, except how’re you gonna move around on your own, brat?” His constant insulting fueled something within her. Growling through her teeth, the girl pushed against the ground with all her might. She internally screamed at her legs to work; if nothing else, she refused to let him keep talking down to her. He said it himself: she didn’t have to like him. So she wouldn’t.
Slowly, shakily, she willed herself to stand on her two bare feet. With Heisenberg kneeling, she leveled her furious eyes with his, closer than she’d ever been able to before.
“Huh...” The corner of his mouth tilted upwards, ever so slightly. She wished she could wipe it off his stupid, smug face. But as she was, it took everything to stay this stable. Sensing this, Heisenberg stood as well. She couldn’t tell what he was thinking as he simply looked at her; just that he must’ve been deliberating something. Eventually, he pulled his hand towards them, and a slightly rusty crowbar flew from another room to stand before the girl. She flinched and covered her head, expecting it to strike her, but she chanced a look when nothing happened.
“Lean on this for support,” he ordered. She barely caught it when he released control. It was somewhat heavy for her small arms, but she lifted it with both hands to test its weight. She bobbed it up in her arms once... twice...
She reeled back to swing at his shins—and she was suddenly floating off the ground again.
“W-Wha—?!” It had bent and winded its way around her wrists. Heisenberg tutted at her.
“Better luck next time, kiddo,” he mocked. She snarled and frustratingly swung her hips around to kick him, only to find her treacherous legs decided to give into exhaustion once more. Her flailing was, frankly, quite sad—he was merely entertained by her bravado, which angered her all the more. Heisenberg flicked two fingers for the crowbar and its fuming passenger to follow him.
He won this round.
She begrudgingly munched on more bread from within her cell while he scribbled some more notes. She scowled into her tray as she tried not to pay attention to his mumbling.
“Cadou/reactor compatibility is acceptable,” she barely caught him whispering, “No signs of bleeding or overheating—”
“What does all of that mean?” she called out. At the end of the day, she chose to have the surgery. She had to know what the consequences were. He replied without looking up.
“Good news is you don’t need to carry around a battery anymore. Theoretically, we’d be able to charge you up without having to stick more wires into you. Bad news is your Cadou isn’t healing you as quickly as expected, like we saw with your legs.” He looked up to gauge her reaction; he smirked, like he could see the cogs in her brain working overtime to take in all the information. He clarified, “Mechanically, you’re fine—thanks to me. Physically, not so much. Maybe your Cadou’s getting used to its new neighbor. So we’ll get your strength back up the old-fashioned way. After that, we’ll run some more tests!”
She stopped chewing. She wasn’t swallowing food so much as the anxiety lumped in her throat.
“...Y-You’re gonna send that monster after me again, aren’t you?”
“Of course!” he said gleefully. But seeing her rising panic, he added, “Well, calm down, not right away. But eventually! I mean, every good comeback kid story needs a rematch!”
Glass eyes, hungry lips pulled behind razor-sharp teeth, claws trying to tear her insides—
His voice sounded distant as he kept going, “In any case, I need to observe your progress. So don’t go overexerting yourself or electrocuting anything. I’ll be back.”
He left her to her misery, the sound of a closing door snapping her back. She needed to ground herself. Focus on something, anything. Her gaze landed on a distant bin of old, crusted bandages. It didn’t take a wild guess. That dried blood was hers. Gulping, she carefully pulled at the remains of her neckline.
Fresh bandages. Perhaps replaced while she was asleep? She peeled back tape and thick gauze until she saw just enough to fill in a clear picture:
A mechanical apparatus was settled into her chest, a sick, red light glowing dimly in the center. What he referred to as the Cadou was no longer visible, covered instead by the reactor and vein-like wires disappearing into her flesh. It was... not as crude as she was expecting. It didn’t protrude too far out of her clothing, save for some metal framework around the bulb; whether it was to protect the reactor or meant for the “recharging” he mentioned, she wasn’t sure. The menacing light was much steadier compared to her fearful pulse. Quickly, she tore her gaze away, trying to think of anything other than the metal weight in her heart—
Does she even have her heart anymore?
Panic seized her. She began to sob as she dropped her tray and fell back onto the tough gurney. Her justified rage towards Mother Miranda and Heisenberg, the terror of facing a lycan again, and the uncertainty of the future. They all coalesced within her as she cried under the old, blinking lights of her cell. It felt like a bubbling beneath the surface, growing and hurting until she just screamed.
A power surged out of her. The room was blindingly bright for a moment before the lightbulbs collectively shattered to pieces. Rather than cowering from the sharp sounds and dangers of broken glass, she stared into the dying sparks in the dark.
The girl was in no prison. She laid somewhere chilly, but someone warm held her against the winter breeze. Someone kind.
They pointed to the clear, dusk sky, which filled with specks of light as the sun retreated to its slumber. They appeared only under the cover of night.
The mysterious person called to her. The voice was thick and hazy, as if speaking underwater. If she turned to see just a glimpse of their face, she could make out the words—
“What the HELL did you do to my lights, brat?!”
Heisenberg’s yelling ripped the girl away from her stupor. He’d apparently heard the commotion from wherever he was.
“My name’s not, ‘brat!’” she wailed, distraught as the memory disappeared to nothingness. He seemed taken aback at her outburst. “I almost had it! I was remembering it, I... I-I...”
Why was she explaining herself to him? A deep frown formed beneath her tears. She turned around and held herself under the blanket, desperately hoping something would come back.
They spent their time in dense silence, save for Heisenberg’s tinkering at the damaged but thankfully functional ceiling lights. Replacing their bulbs was annoying, but at least he’d be able to see what she did when he returned to the camera room. The kid decided to stay passive... The kid...
“Do you remember your name?” he suddenly asked, unable to resist his curiosity. She was quiet for a long moment. He was almost convinced she’d ignore him.
“...No,” she admitted. The sadness in her voice was... He didn’t allow himself to linger on it. He kept his eyes on screwing in another bulb.
“So what were you remembering?”
More silence. He sighed as he turned to her bundled form. She didn’t react, but he knew she could hear him switching his attention to her.
“Maybe I can help.” He wasn’t sure that he could. In fact, he wasn’t sure why he was offering.
She seemed to notice the strange shift as well. Perhaps it was because she had no better option, but he listened nonetheless.
“...I was in the snow with someone. I don’t know who it was. It was dark. Nighttime, I think. We were looking at these dots in the sky. They were... pretty... Like small, glowing stones. I... Maybe my name has something to do with it.”
She was remembering stars, that much he could figure. But the name? An interesting puzzle. As entertaining as her derogatory nicknames were—kid, kiddo, brat, maybe he’d have called her “mongrel” one of these days—it would be more convenient to have something consistent to call her. That’s how he rationalized this, yeah. A title for his latest project. He looked to the ceiling as he thought.
“Hmmm... Your name could be...” He heard her shift; his peripherals confirmed that she was peeking at him from over her shoulder. If her memory was triggered by the dying lights she blew out... He popped his lips.
“Sparky!”
She turned back around, deflated.
“I’m kidding,” he chided. But he tucked the idea away for future insults. He thought again. Well, she was his creation now.
“Licht.” Yes, to match the Soldat, the Sturm—
“Licked?” she repeated with disgust.
“What? No, Licht. N-Never mind, you ruined it. Ok, maybe Elektrizität—”
“What are you talking about?”
“You’re right, that’s a mouthful,” he mused, “Elektrisch? Trish!”
“Stooooop iiiiit,” she groaned regretfully.
Heisenberg screwed in the final bulb and returned light to the room. Perhaps a bit brighter than before, seeing how the others had aged quite a bit. He took a seat, racking his brain while observing the new bulbs. How the hell did Lady Supersized Bitch come up with her daughters’ names so easily?
Stars.
Electricity.
Light.
Lux.
“Lucia.”
It fell out of his lips so naturally. As quickly as it came, the girl sat at attention.
“Lu... cia... Lucia!” she tested, eyes wide and bright. Heisenberg was stunned, maybe even a little bit pleased at her eager response. Was this what it felt like for Alcina? “That... It’s familiar...”
“I doubt it’s really your name—”
“I know, b-but can we—” She stopped herself. She appeared almost shy as she looked away and held her legs. Neither of them were capable of explaining why. She returned her gaze to him, certain.
“I want to keep that name.” Heisenberg sat back.
“Alright. Lucia, it is.”
“Alright... Heisenberg.” He tilted his head at her. Was she being cheeky? Was it malicious? He’d never admit that he couldn’t tell under her seemingly indifferent eyes. She turned her back to him to rest before he could analyze any further.
As he walked out of the room, he couldn’t hold back a short, amused scoff.
Over the next several weeks, Heisenberg was acutely reminded of why he enjoyed being alone and working with dead bodies. They didn’t complain, judge, or need constant attention. Even villagers who’d caught his eye and satisfied his more primal needs had never set foot in his territory. This narcissistic but paranoid man did not invite guests—now, he had to live with a housemate.
Get her strength back up the old-fashioned way, he’d told her. Well, he sure as hell didn’t expect having to start from square one.
For starters, the amount of time she’d spent sleeping post-surgery seemed to weaken her legs to a certain degree. It was a strange side effect that he couldn’t quite wrap his head around, especially since she was ready to run to Miranda’s doorstep when she was resurrected. None of his theories lessened how much of a pain in the ass this nannying would be. There was no way around it; she needed time to practice walking again... which was something he never had to do for a single undead soldier in his ranks.
“C’mon, Lucia,” he called, patting his knees at the end of a hallway, “C’mon, you can do it.” He whistled a few times at her.
“I’m not a dog, Heisenberg!” she’d berate on wobbling legs. She leaned on the floating pieces of metal following alongside her.
“Oh yeah? Why don’t you come over here and gimme a piece of your mind?” She’d glare at him then. He’d smirk back. Every walking session went like this, once in the morning and once in the evening. And each time she was in arm’s reach, ready to electrocute him, he’d just take a long step back and watch her struggle to regain her balance. Sometimes, she even fell flat on her face.
Entertainment at someone else’s expense. Once again, it’s the little things in life.
The next inconvenience was her diet. Life was much easier when he had only his mouth to feed. He knew what’d get him through a day and what he could skip on a particularly late work night.
At least he had a whole village of worshippers more than willing to give him ingredients as offerings. Being a Lord had its perks, and no one batted an eye to him asking for more than usual. Stocking up to do Miranda’s good work, he’d claim. They stumbled over each other trying to prove their worth with their gifts. The poor saps.
He and Lucia spent most of their meals together in her designated prison. Had to observe her for any allergies, and to make sure she didn’t accidentally choke herself. They usually barely spoke—if anything, her expressions did all the talking for her.
“What? You don’t like it?” Heisenberg would ask with a full mouth. Meanwhile, Lucia couldn’t seem to unwind her scrunched frown as she chewed through a rubbery piece of overcooked chicken. After many seconds of concentrated effort, and finally, finally swallowing the dense poultry, she’d sarcastically shrug at him.
“No, what makes you say that?”
“I’m gonna burn your next meal.”
And finally, the toilet situation was, unfortunately, not the last of Heisenberg’s more awkward problems. In fact, any topic regarding Lucia’s personal hygiene had to be what discomforted him the most. She didn’t remember most of the etiquette that she might’ve been taught prior to Miranda’s experiments. He’d made sure to wait until her chest was mostly healed and that the reactor was stable, then let her know in the nicest way possible.
“You smell like shit.”
She sniffed herself. Her curling nose meant she definitely smelled something, but her squinting told him she’d long gotten used to it.
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Holy hell, yes, it’s a bad thing!” Now, he certainly wasn’t the cleanest man himself, but even he had standards. And given that she’d been raised in that pigsty of a village, piled with dead bodies, and been soaked in her own blood, he’d just about had it with her god-awful stench. But it required... well... He sighed into his hand.
“I’m... um... do you remember how to bathe?”
She stared blankly.
Shackled and confused, Lucia poked him with ignored questions as he wheeled her gurney to the nearest washroom. She recognized that awkwardness he got every time she asked to use the toilet, except now he seemed even more flustered.
“I’m uh... Look, kid, I’m gonna level with ya here,” he said, even though he avoided all eye contact with her, “I need to... N-Nope, screw it, you need to— Do you... Do you really not know how to bathe?”
“No, I don’t,” she responded flatly, “Do you want to wait outside like when I pee?” Heisenberg sneered at her patronizing tone, finally looking at her to drive the point home.
“Sure, brat, I can wait outside. But listen closely: do not pour water on your reactor. Water and machines don’t play nice. You may be able to absorb electricity, but neither your Cadou nor I can bring you back if your reactor gets wet, short circuits, and explodes in your chest. Got it?”
Thoroughly alarmed, she nodded several times.
“Good.”
He turned a knob to get the water to lukewarm without filling the tub. He gave instructions on how to scrub with a wet rag and lather with the provided soap bar. As soon as the bare minimum orders were done, he released the shackles and nearly ran outside the washroom door. Heisenberg leaned his head back on the wood, listening for the slightest sound of malfunctioning machinery. To his relief, he only heard her carefully sit in the tub and begin to wipe her skin.
“...Do I wash my hair too—”
“Of course you wash your hair. Do not forget the soap!” he ordered, “And don’t get the reactor wet!”
“I knooowww-uh!” she whined. The two fell back into a strange silence—no way this man was worrying about her. She eventually called to tell him she was finished.
“Alright. Dry yourself off with the towel. I left some clothes for you on the chair at the end.”
“You... got me clothes? From where?”
“A fat, jolly man gave them to me.” He heard her stammer as if she was trying to tell if he was lying. “Now hurry up, don’t need you collapsing in there. Lemme know when you’re dressed.”
Minutes later, he heard her dragging herself onto her gurney again.
“This stuff’s big.” He took that as a sign to let himself in. Lucia sat on the edge while inspecting her new outfit. A white button-up shirt hung loosely on her—probably meant for a boy a few years older, now that he looked at it. It was tucked into a dark skirt, which covered just until her shins. Her swinging feet were now protected with socks and boots slightly larger than expected. A thick, gray cotton cardigan draped over her shoulders, easily falling past her torso and the sleeves covering her tiny hands. She hadn’t buttoned all the way up, he noticed, stopping just below her glowing reactor. Seeing her hair still soaked with water, he grabbed the towel and roughly rubbed it all over her head.
“Agh, h-hey, stop it!”
“No water around the reactor, remember?” he lectured. He wasn’t gentle, but he got her messy hair to damp rather than dripping. Removing the towel revealed a wild mane.
“...Geez, that’ll need a few washes,” he muttered. Her hair was wavier than his. Was that natural? She only pouted as she attempted to fix it to something neater—away from her eyes, at the very least.
“I don’t see you cleaning your hair.”
“Don’t really need to. It’s part of my rugged charm.”
“I wouldn’t call you ‘charming.’”
He threw the towel at her face.
“...Now, about brushing your teeth.”
“Brushing my what?”
That was actually another factor he hadn’t considered: Lucia developing a personality. From first impressions alone, he only knew she was angry at Miranda, sometimes curious, and definitely still afraid of dying. But slowly, he noticed her back-talks, mischief, and stubborn moments were growing in number; the fact that Heisenberg was the only person she ever interacted with had some concerning implications. He definitely wasn’t expecting her to be insolent.
One day, she’d fallen in another sad attempt at revenge during her daily walk—he’d heard an especially sharp clank of her reactor hitting the grated floor. Lucia didn’t move.
“Kid? Kid?!” He jogged over to check on her, only for her to slip a sneaky hand under his coat sleeve and give him a solid shock. A sharp current ran along his arm and numbed it for a split second.
“GAH— Shit, mother-FUCKER!” He’d jumped back and shook his arm out, and when he confirmed there was no significant damage, he turned his fuming gaze to her. That was the first time he’d seen her wear his own smug grin at him. The audacity. She didn’t even fight as he dragged her back to her cell by the back of her collar. She felt that good about herself.
This insult could not stand.
That night, he brought them a steaming meal, which was met with drooling and suspicion.
“...What is that?” she asked cautiously from her cell. She knew he was no expert chef. He waved her plate temptingly at her.
“Herbed fish,” he responded, “Not easy to get, but it’ll help with your recovery. And I deserve something this damn nice after dealing with you.” He snapped her shackles off and willed the gurney wheels closer to the door, but didn’t unlock it. He heard her stomach growl and grinned when she blushed.
“...Are you poisoning me?” Tilting his head, Heisenberg stabbed the fish with a fork and took a bite himself. He rolled his eyes back as he chewed, enjoying the flavors but overacting for jealousy’s sake.
“Mmm-mmmm! God-damn, that’s some good eats!” Convinced of its safety, Lucia reached out for the plate through the fence, only for him to cruelly pull it back.
“Give me some!” He leaned in.
“Apologize.”
“...What?”
“Apologize for electrocuting me.”
“Are you serious?”
“Dead serious. More dead than your cute little acting earlier, anyway. This fish and I are waiting.” She looked incredulous. Her eyes darted between him and the most delicious meal she’d ever smelled. But just when he thought she’d give in, something hardened in her demeanor. She leaned forward to him as well.
“...Apologize for sending a lycan after me.”
The air tensed around them. What he thought would start as some petty taunting turned into a legitimate callout. Heisenberg was not amused.
“...You know I said I ain’t gonna apologize for anything,” he gravely reminded her. She sat back.
“Then neither will I.” With that, Lucia pushed against the fence to send her and her gurney further back into her cell. She buried herself in her blanket, the child-like equivalent of slamming a door in his face.
Heisenberg was utterly astounded.
He waited a few minutes, expecting her to back out—he even heard her stomach protest a few times.
Nothing. She didn’t budge. He could’ve commended her on her pride had he not just been so offended . He pettily shoved some bread and fruits through her door later, which was missing by morning.
She admittedly won this round.
Lucia tossed and turned many nights later, her breath coming out in uneven hitches. The lights around her seemed to blink to life, then darken every other second. She curled in on herself— no, she can’t breathe—
Her lungs are being stabbed— She has to scream, she has to—
“WAKE THE HELL UP, LUCIA!”
Shrieking, her eyes flew wide open. She caught just a second of brightness before the lights around her calmed down into darkness. She searched for the booming voice.
“H-Heisenberg?” she stuttered fearfully. He didn’t seem to be in the room. She wrapped the blanket closer to herself and wiped her forehead with it. A brief static feedback called her attention to a hidden speaker in the corners of the ceiling.
“You almost blew my lights out again, brat,” his voice sighed, “Geez, I bet I could hear you outside the factory...”
Now that she got her bearings, she realized how raw her throat felt, and that her face was covered in a thin layer of sweat and tears. She took deep breaths and sat still in the dark, as if moving as little as possible would make her terror go away. It wasn’t long before the real Heisenberg walked through the door, dressed only in a tank top, his pants, and unstrapped shoes. He’d apparently just woken up, too. She hugged her legs to make herself smaller.
“I’m s—” She stopped herself, then turned away with a half-hearted frown. Heisenberg didn’t comment on her near-apology.
“...You’ve been having nightmares for a while now,” he reminded her tiredly, “It’s affecting your recovery.” Lucia lowered her head, thinking back to the way she’s been dragging her feet and nearly falling asleep into her food for several days.
“Do you want to talk about it yet?”
She remained quiet. Unable to face him, she shook her head. He exhaled through his nose like he’d expected that answer. After all, her trust only went so far as ensuring her survival. Anything past that, she didn’t need to provide. They both knew this... So why did he keep asking every time she woke up screaming, she wondered?
“Look, kid, you need sleep, and so do I. Talking about it helps, but I... I get it, if you don’t want to tell me.” That wasn’t regret in his tone; she couldn’t pinpoint what he was feeling, really. She heard him reach for something in his pocket before unlocking her cell. She glanced up at his offering:
A tape recorder, she’d been told. The small box he’d talk to when she first woke up.
“I know you can’t write, but you gotta get your thoughts out somewhere. I promise, it helps.” He pressed a button that started turning some wheels. “Talk into this when you need to.” He pushed the next button to stop it. The next, to rewind.
“Talk into this when you need to,” the box repeated. Heisenberg dropped it by her feet, clearly unwilling to take “no” for an answer.
“Don’t use it if you don’t want to. But at least it’s there. If not, try to get some sleep.” With that, he left her to the darkness again.
She laid back down to try to even her breathing. What was his goal with this? She couldn’t get it. How could he be so consistently mean, yet plead understanding at the most unexpected times? Lucia thought back to the image of his Cadou, and the pain behind his words during the few times he opened up about Mother Miranda...
Perhaps, just this once, she could trust him a little more. She pushed the recording button.
“I-I...” She let out a shaky breath before continuing, tears falling now that she was alone, “...I dreamed of the lycan again.”
“...I dreamed of the lycan again.”
Heisenberg prepared a fresh cigar as he eyed Lucia’s camera feed. Her voice rang clear through a detached television on another table; his House symbol lit up its old screen. Thankfully, she didn’t notice the other stray television set hidden under miscellaneous junk in the furthest corner of her room. He hung on every word.
“It was so bloody... And burnt... b-because of me. It crawled to me a-and...” Another shaky breath. She sobbed for a few seconds before continuing, “It tried to kill me again. E-Every night. I... I can’t get away... I never get away...!” Then she cried into her pillow. A deep, quiet cry, one that she’d apparently held herself off from for who knows how long.
Heisenberg’s jaw nearly bit through the tobacco.
She wasn’t just having nightmares. She was traumatized.
He exhaled an angry cloud of smoke while tangling tense fingers through his hair. What the fuck was he supposed to do? He didn’t have to deal with emotional baggage from anyone in his army. Why the hell couldn’t she have just been a mindless drone like the rest of them?! He shut the television off.
“Shit...!” he cursed freely, now that Lucia wouldn’t be able to hear him. He covered his weary eyes with a calloused hand. He can’t just go ahead and play therapist to a child when he was the reason for her pain to begin with. That must’ve been why she kept quiet about her nightmares in the first place. But her performance was lacking. Now that he noticed it, she hasn’t summoned electricity for a while now... He couldn’t let his project lose herself to sleep deprivation, of all things. How can he make her sleep?
Heisenberg’s memories suddenly flooded with pinpricks of unwanted needles against his veins, his own childish cries for mercy drowned by Miranda’s cold shushing, forced to endure his terrors alone—
“NO, goddamn it, stop it,” he yelled through grit teeth, as if his brain could follow his every order. He stood and kicked his chair away from him, pacing around the camera room to exhaust and distract himself. Sedatives are out of the question... He needed to save those for potential surgeries anyway, he told himself. Now what could he actually do to fix this? What was a safer way to help with her nightmares? What was in his control?
His steps slowed down as an idea clicked into place. He squeezed his eyes shut. Actually, he didn’t like this idea at all. But in his fatigued state, he really couldn’t think of anything else. Hesitantly, he went to the phone and put in a number.
It rang... and rang... and rang...
...
It picked up, but no one spoke. She never spoke.
“Donna... I need a favor.”
Concentrated mumbling flitted through the frigid air.
“Get in, get out, don’t think about the kid. Get in, get out, don’t think about the kid.”
Heisenberg took deep, fresh breaths on the way to the village square. They’d be the last he’d get for a while. Given Donna’s control over hallucinatory pollen, he made himself scarce in her lands. If sending a villager in his stead were an option, he’d have greatly preferred it. Maybe bribe someone desperate enough into braving her house of horrors. But the fact that he needed something from her meant she held all the cards.
Angie told him she wanted him to visit, or else lose her help. And as one of the few people who actively resisted her prying into his memories, why wouldn’t she take advantage?
He was never keen on being psychologically chipped away at, but he couldn’t totally blame her. It was in her nature to do so. A twisted result of her Cadou with a side of interpersonal anxieties. In many ways, he and his younger sister were simultaneously alike and couldn’t be further from each other:
Bloodlines tied to the village, experimented on by Miranda, but a master of metal versus a nurturer of plants. A madman with an army to destroy, and she... a sad being who made dolls to stave off her loneliness.
He breathed one more time as he neared her decrepit gate.
“Get in, get out, don’t think about the kid,” he recited one last time. It was difficult enough to hide his developing army, but now he had to ensure Donna wouldn’t find out about Lucia either. Who knows what that psycho would do to a child, not to mention the worst case scenario: revealing her resurrection to Mother Miranda. Heisenberg steeled his heart.
Inhaling, he wrapped not one, but two layers of scarves over his nose and mouth. It was rare to catch Lord Heisenberg without his faithful hammer. But in Donna’s territory, he didn’t need physical protection. This place was a test of will. He opened the gates and began the journey.
Each stride was calculated, every breath measured precisely. He ignored the hanging dolls meant to frighten any normal human. Those were new, he noted—probably a ruse to get the heart pumping and the Mold-infected pollen through the system faster. He took a wide berth around any flowers he saw, wary of her fauna’s subtle tendencies. Most people started hallucinating by the time they passed that rickety bridge. For Heisenberg, nothing so far... Good. He made every effort to escape her influence.
Heisenberg sneered as he approached a toll: “Give up your memories,” it read. Another psychological trick for any playmate doomed to lose themselves in her home. He annoyedly unlocked the metal door with his powers and continued the trek all the way to her doorstep. A cool sky and misty waterfalls framed her picturesque mansion. He almost itched at the near absence of metal. Her sanctuary’s stone walls and healthy gardens didn’t sit well with the Lord’s industrial tastes. Speaking of which, he found it strange that her gardener wasn’t around. He was usually working this time of day; he shrugged it off.
He pushed on the wooden door, creaking it open. But no one was there.
Of fucking course.
Groaning, he let himself in. Scanning the estate showed no sign of her or Angie whatsoever. The occasional “decorative” dolls were all that greeted him. His head rolled back to the second floor in exasperation.
“Is it really so much to ask for you to just leave the damn package at the door?!” Heisenberg knew she could hear him from wherever she hid.
This happened during every visit. She dragged it out for as long as she wanted until she got some small hint into his mind. No, the two weren’t normal siblings who simply talked about their grievances. How could they, when she, too, is another loyal pawn to Miranda? Like hell he’d let her probe his brain.
An ironic price to pay for him causing nightmares.
Reminded of his end goal, Heisenberg resumed his search for his requested goods, eager to leave as soon as possible. Time was of the essence.
Unluckily for him, the clock ticked faster than he remembered. A radio feed buzzed to life from a corner, freezing him in his tracks.
-BZZT- “Mother—” -KRRR- “—Miranda! P-Please, let me out—!”
It was a boy’s voice. His voice. Damn it!
“I’m aware of your powers, child,” came Miranda’s icy tone, “Show me, and live. Or refuse, and die like the rest.”
Starved, feral growling rumbled from the speaker before promptly cutting off. Angie’s cursed laughter echoed through the abandoned home.
“Thrown to the dogs just to become one yourself, hmmm?” she taunted, followed by another giggle. Heisenberg’s lips tightened.
“Takes one to know one,” he shot back. Her experimentation may not have included lycan fights like his did, but they both ended up as servants of Miranda, nevertheless. He focused himself into his surroundings. So, the sly woman brought her radios to the ground floor; a sensible decision, knowing he wouldn’t have the patience to explore her basement. He had to pick up the pace.
Donna’s living room remained empty, save for strewn sewing kits and unfinished embroidery projects. Her personal desk only contained in-progress watercolor paintings of her infamously infected flowers. Each doll he passed seemed to follow his every move with their false eyes. There were a few more in this room than the last time he’d turned around. What irritating toys.
Several minutes passed before another static feed invaded his ears.
“You’re progressing excellently, Karl,” Mother Miranda cooed, “I’m proud of you.” A ghost of her hand laying on his shoulder came unbidden into his mind. Even in the present, he flinched away.
“Don’t fucking touch me!” an adolescent Heisenberg seethed.
“Karl, calm yourself—”
“I said DON’T TOUCH ME!!!” The sounds of tearing metal screeched through the house, the audio whirlwind matched only by his enraged, then pained screaming. Before the radio fell quiet, he heard the sounds of slicing flesh and liquid splattering onto the floor. Heisenberg grit his teeth behind fabric, his old facial and body scars burning at the memory of his outburst’s self-inflicted wounds. Angie tutted.
“Aaaw poor boy... All the power in the world can’t save you from yourself. But you’ve learned your lesson since then, haven’t you?” Heisenberg refused to grace that with a retort. Obeying Miranda’s every whim wouldn’t have saved him from either external or internal scars. This, he knew. He stomped through the home even louder now—she was getting on his damn nerves. His resolve cracked with every taunt, every second a threat to show Donna more than he was willing to give. Time to go.
“Y’know what, Donna,” he ground out, “If you’re gonna keep being such a damn nuisance, I’ll see myself out.” He made for the front door. He’d find his own way to sort the kid out—
Too late to take back the thought, the closest radio to the door crackled with the voice he’d been dreading this whole time.
“—where but—” -BZZRRRT- “You hurt me, too! You’re JUST like Miranda!”
Lucia.
“Oh Hei-sen-berg, you didn’t mention a new playmate!” Angie gasped, delighted, menacing, “And it sounds like you’ve already been so welcoming!”
He stood deathly still in the foyer, feet turned to lead and muscles taut like a cornered predator. He fucked up. Angie’s singing drowned beneath the beating of his racing heart. He fucked up, he fucked up, he fucked up, she wasn’t supposed to find out.
Floating dolls creeped around his location. They drifted, held by invisible strings as Angie continued her goading. He picked up on her confidence as her voice drew near. Her presence edged ever closer behind his stiff back.
“You fancy yourself a renegade, but we all know what you really are: ‘Just like Miranda!’ Heeheeheeheeheeeee! Round and round it goes; where it stops, nobody knows!”
Heisenberg suddenly threw his arms wide to shatter every doll around him against the house’s walls or to be torn from the inside out—their own inner weapons turned against them by his command. He whirled around, his hand shooting out with lightning precision to choke around Angie’s miniature, gasping head. He held her there for a few moments, huffing, barely containing his wrath, before his vision went white.
Free of the illusion, he now firmly held Donna Beneviento’s slim neck in his gloved hand. Not enough to restrict oxygen, but definitely enough to issue a silent warning...
Yet, even with his restrained animosity, she didn’t react. He didn’t hear a single breath under that mourning garb. He searched for anything. Fear, judgment, disgust—anything that’d make her human.
Nothing. She was no more than a ghost. He didn’t know what to do with nothing.
Something in him broke a little. Heisenberg couldn’t bring himself to hurt his younger sister. He released a shaky breath, his head lowering and raising as he considered his response.
“D-Donn...” he stammered—when did his voice become so desperate? She remained as still as a painting. Carefully, Heisenberg lowered his scarves and removed his lenses.
“Donna... Don’t tell Miranda.”
His only indication of her listening at all was her head raising ever so slightly. Slowly, elegantly, she brought her pale fingers to rest on his hand. He released her throat without resistance. From her other hand, she placed a neatly wrapped parcel into his open palm. Finally, she used her true voice.
“...I won’t,” she whispered, “It doesn’t matter. You can’t help her. Breaking the cycle is but a dream.”
Heisenberg carefully opened his mouth to respond... but nothing came out as he processed her words. She turned, pausing to stare at a nearby vase he hadn’t bothered to notice before: its flowers were dead. They had been for a while. He knew there could be only one reason for it, but he forced himself to ask.
“...What happened to your gardener?” He heard her shudder.
“I tried... helping him...”
She drifted her gaze away then, gracefully kneeling down to tend to the nearest destroyed doll. The real Angie was seated lifelessly on a chair, her bright eyes staring right through both of their tortured souls.
And he knew then, her words were true. No, she wouldn’t reveal his secret to Miranda. Not out of sympathy, he realized, but because she didn’t think the girl would survive under a Lord’s care.
Who ever did?
He slogged through the forest with the package tucked under his arm. He hated this. He hated all of this. Visiting Alcina brought out competitive determination and resentment, but Donna? Her house brought nothing but pain and grief and... and regret.
That was it. He hated that she made him feel the same regret. Him! Karl fucking Heisenberg was the last person to ever question his decisions, but Donna was contagious. Her effects wore off, yet her despondent whispers and his repressed memories warred with each other in his tearing mind. And seeing her mourning over her gardener, over trying to be a good person and failing—she’d given up in a way he hadn’t seen since she’d lost her parents.
“Breaking the cycle is but a dream,” she’d said. Was that her reasoning for following Miranda, he wondered? Did she not see a way out?
Were they cursed to repeat and spread Miranda’s despair?
He huffed sporadically. Heisenberg couldn’t accept these speculations. His vision swam and he stumbled onto a nearby stone cliff for support. Okay, he had to ground himself. Focus. He inhaled through his nose, exhaled through his mouth, looking up to the sky to breathe easier—
His stomach dropped. Those weren’t dolls hanging from the trees, like he’d seen before. Those were body bags.
He’d been hallucinating the moment he stepped foot into her territory.
Heisenberg’s breathing turned ragged. His lack of control of anything sent him spiraling. He couldn’t stop the hallucinations, he couldn’t resist his memories spilling out, and now his treacherous brain wouldn’t stop replaying the ferocious snarling of lycans, of Mother Miranda watching gleefully as he fought for his life—of Lucia fighting for her life—
He harshly slammed his forehead into the unforgiving stone next to him and roared like never before, fists tightening like a vice and nails threatening to bite through leather. Alone in the forest, he screamed his despair into the cruel world.
He slumped into the dirty snow next to his fallen hat and panted, his energy spent. Heisenberg didn’t blink as his own blood slowly dripped down his face.
What did he have control over after all?
Lucia thumbed the tape recorder in her hand. When Heisenberg left for most of the day, he learned it was decent enough to leave her food to ration and a bucket for... emergencies. Took him long enough, she thought bitterly.
But in these sleepless days, she found little use for either. Most of her attention was spent avoiding the temptation of sleep. Even now, she sat up, cardigan removed to press her back into the pinch of cold metal fencing to keep her awake. If she didn’t close her eyes, then she didn’t have to see that monster and its burnt, popped skin, clawing for her death... She pondered talking nonsense into the tape recorder to pass the time, until she heard Heisenberg's familiar footsteps outside. Suspiciously quieter than usual, the door opened like it should rather than getting kicked down, as he carelessly tended to do.
Not a single smarmy remark barked at her as he entered. He simply... unlocked her door, unceremoniously moved her food tray with his boot, and brought a chair over to sit on by her gurney. He carried a steaming, chipped mug, she noticed. Lucia tilted sideways, studying the new bandages wrapped around his forehead.
“What happened to you?” She tried not to sound too concerned. Between his slouched posture and his sunglasses hiding his eyes again, where he was looking remained a mystery. He apparently didn’t intend to answer, only handing out the mug to her shackled hands.
“Drink this.”
“...And that is?”
“Not poisoned.”
“You know what I mean.” He sighed to the ceiling.
“...Lavender tea. Maybe some nightshade? I dunno what exactly she puts in the mix. Point is, it’ll help with the nightmares.”
Lucia didn’t know who “she” is, but given his track record, she had a gut feeling this wouldn’t be something she’d find out tonight. She brought her knees closer to herself, casting her gaze down and away from him. Her eyelids weighed like bricks.
“Why bother helping me?” she asked, closing herself off from him as much as she could.
“Because I’m the reason for your nightmares, aren’t I?” Lucia flinched, unsure how to respond. She heard him breathe in deeply, as if preparing himself.
“...And because you were right.”
Now she fully turned to him. Surprise and confusion knitted her brows. Her eyes were the widest they’d been in her sleep deprivation. What happened to him out there?
Heisenberg just lifted the mug to her again. Dumbfounded, she took it without thinking. The scalding body of it brought her mostly back into the present, and she shifted her small fingers to the handle. It smelled lovely... She recognized the scent of honey, as well. She almost forgot to feel suspicious.
“Right about what?” He inhaled again before cautiously removing his sunglasses. Green pupils darted uncomfortably between her and the floor, then to somewhere beyond the room.
“...I... shouldn’t have sent that lycan after you. And I... I wanna make it right.” Lucia’s entire body was stunned by his admission.
“Are you apologizing?” she gaped.
“D-Don’t make it weird, kid,” he bristled, crossing his arms and shifting back into his seat. She backed off, not wanting him to take it back. But he seemed to be making a special effort that she was... frankly, unfamiliar with, coming from him. No, wait, she didn’t want to let her guard down just yet. She played to her skepticism.
“So how will you make it right, exactly?” She hid her gaze by blowing into the hot beverage. He took a few moments to think before locking steady eyes on her.
“No more tests without your permission.” She stared. If she wasn’t trying so hard to look stern, her jaw would’ve dropped. He continued, “No surgeries without your permission. No more life or death situations. No lying to you about anything. And—if you promise not to electrocute me—a better room. Gimme a few days and I can figure something out.”
She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. He tilted his head at her silence.
“So how does that sound?”
“I... uh... y-yeah, good,” she stammered. For the briefest second in his exhaustion, the corner of his lips curled upwards.
“Good...” he repeated. Now she took a careful sip of the tea. Its warm contents smoothed any soreness on the way down into her belly. She felt cozy almost immediately and breathed an unexpected sigh of relief. Heisenberg nodded at the drink.
“Like it?”
“...Yeah.”
They sat in a strange silence as she sipped away. He appeared distant while she drank, though he glanced a few times to check her progress. Maybe he was waiting for her to finish the whole thing. Lucia eyed him and her drink before asking a topical question.
“Do you get nightmares?”
“Of course.”
“Do you drink this a lot, too?” He took some time to deliberate what to say.
“Nah, doesn’t really work for me,” he shrugged. He looked away when he said that, though, as if he wasn’t entirely sure he believed it. She decided to press.
“Why not?”
“Because... they remind me of what I’m fighting against.” Realization dawned on the girl.
“...You dream of Miranda.” He scoffed with fatigued amusement.
“Unfortunately.” More deliberation. He seemed to weigh several options in his mind before his back straightened up.
“One day, when you’re strong enough to face your fears and take down a lycan, those nightmares will stop. Same deal with Miranda. But until then, I don’t let the pain weigh me down. I let it fuel me.” He leaned forward in his seat, propping himself up with defending his ideals. “Let this be a lesson to you, kid: when nothing else gets you through the pain, spite does. You build the sheer will to look at all the shit the world’s thrown at you, and deny it the satisfaction of killing you. You’re a fighter, Lucia. I see that in you. Keep that up for the rest of your life, and nothing can stop you.”
They paused for a beat, searching each other. Heisenberg’s fierce tenacity radiated off of him, and yet... Lucia could only say:
“That sounds... tiring...”
It was Heisenberg’s turn to be stunned. He sat back slowly as he took in her statement. It was a surprise to both parties that she discovered... pity. Pity for a person so desperate to escape his own terrors through violence, and in that moment she didn’t see just the dark ambitions of a psychopath, but a weary, and deeply hurting man.
With the silence dragging on too long, Lucia gulped half the drink down.
“...I think I’m ready to sleep now,” she said, handing him the mug back. He wordlessly took it and got up—he hesitated at locking her cell door before following through.
“A-And Heisenberg,” she called, somewhat uncertain. He looked at her through the fence. “...Thank you. For the tea.” His chest swelled and his eyes blinked in astonishment. His first apology. Her first “thank you.” Indeed, this was a strange night for the both of them, and they regarded each other with calm, quiet acknowledgement. He simply nodded at her, and she buried herself under her blanket.
Just before he closed the door, she heard him drink the remaining half of the tea.
She slept peacefully for the first time in weeks.
Neither of them brought up that unusually vulnerable night. In fact, they hardly spoke to each other for the next few days. Whether it was discomfort or they had nothing to say, Lucia hadn’t the faintest idea. But at least she could witness Heisenberg follow through on his word.
He took time to modify the room that’d been her improvised prison up until now. After removing the fencing’s foundation around her cot, he rearranged them in the corner to block off some junk he didn’t want her touching. He sat her on a spare metal chair while he wheeled the gurney back to one of his operating rooms. Although her legs were nearly recovered by now, she played herself weaker just to rest for a bit longer. When he came back, he twirled her old shackles between his fingers.
“Remember: no more electrocuting me, or these come back, ok?” Lucia bobbed her head.
“O-Ok,” she stammered, unused to the negotiation. He nodded back, tucking them into a coat pocket. Showing her where they are meant that earning trust went both ways. Well, she hoped he wouldn’t do anything to warrant her shocking him... but she quietly decided she'd try her best, for now.
With the fences pushed off to the side, the room seemed larger. Various tools and parts littered the ground, each floating into place to form a sort of rectangle frame. He picked up a thick device with strange switches and a nozzle, then abruptly plopped his sunglasses onto Lucia’s tiny nose.
“Hang onto those for me, kiddo.” While he rifled around his tools, she experimentally squinted through the loose, dark spectacles.
“Why do you wear these?” she asked, flipping the glasses up and down to compare visions, “It’s harder to see through them!” He flipped some sort of dense mask onto his face.
“Here, lemme brighten the room for ya.” Without warning, his device lit up like a torch and he began welding the metal pieces together, assaulting her senses with sharp light, searing noises, and hot sparks.
“WAH—!!!” Lucia yelped, covering her face and clumsily falling off her chair. Despite his muffled voice, she heard Heisenberg laugh openly at her. Apparently, things hadn’t gotten so strange that he couldn’t enjoy her stumbles. How convenient for him. She sat up and scrunched her face, hoping she could glare at him through shut eyes and lopsided lenses. Even with his sunglasses and her closed lids, she had to turn her head away from the dancing lights. She could still feel the heat from this distance, how was he able to withstand it so closely? It didn’t take too long before she heard him pop open his mask with a sigh.
She peeked one eye open over his sunglasses. He returned her look. With a straight face, he turned on the torch for a second.
“UGH, too bright!” she hissed. She hid her face under her baggy cardigan, flopped down, and rolled away. Once again, a small chuckle escaped him. While he continued his work, she crawled over to the junk corner, shielding her vision from the violent light whenever it appeared. Lucia curiously looked over the miscellaneous objects until her gaze landed on something familiar:
Abandoned leather straps. Perhaps the same ones from her old battery?
She picked one of them up, leaning her head to the side while thinking. An idea sprang to life. Heisenberg appeared too distracted stacking things on his current project to see her sneak over to his toolbox and take a pair of scissors with her. She snipped away at the leather in her corner while he finished up whatever he was making... which she’d find out soon, as she heard the flutter of fabric and something soft landing on the surface.
“Alright, done,” Heisenberg declared while wiping sweat off his brow. Lucia tucked her own project into her cardigan before turning and pushing the sunglasses to her hairline. She blinked in astonishment.
A bed had replaced her gurney. A real bed. Although the frame was made of metal and dirty beyond belief, the mattress itself didn’t appear too worn out. An old, long fabric barely draped itself over it as a makeshift bed sheet, while a thin pillow sat at the head. She didn’t recognize the thicker blanket, now realizing he’d swapped it for her old moth-eaten one from before. He pushed on the mattress a few times, eventually satisfied with the frame’s spring support bouncing back. He waved her over while stepping away.
“C’mon, why don’t you try it?” She cautiously walked over to sit on it... And it was... comfortable! She hopped on it a few times; although she didn’t smile, her cautious delight made itself apparent in her raised brows and rosy cheeks.
“Nice, right? Better off than that gurney,” Heisenberg stated, all but patting himself on the back. Now she let herself lay on it fully, arms and legs spread wide to soak it all in.
“Y-Yeah... It is nice...” she repeated, wondering if he got all this from the same “fat, jolly man” he’d mentioned before. Before she could ask, he took his sunglasses back from her forehead and put them back on.
“Well, don’t get too comfortable. Think I didn’t notice you walking around like a normal person again?” Oh, so he wasn’t that distracted while working. He was always more perceptive than she thought. “Y’know what that means: training’s back on. You still up for ‘Operation Kill Miranda?’” Heisenberg peered expectantly at her from just above the lenses, but he waited for an answer before acting on anything.
Once more, Miranda’s high and mighty grin showed itself in the deep recesses of her mind, phantom pain flaring around her veins and her Cadou. And she found it still reignited a deeply-ingrained bitterness. But just as the memories of Miranda’s experiments hurt her, so did Heisenberg’s. Flashes of her first test and his shaky apology appeared in her thoughts, one after the other... She inhaled, intent on making herself clear.
“...If you keep your promises. Then yes.” He exhaled through his nose, his lips twitching up for a second before nodding.
“Attagirl.”
Truthfully, Heisenberg wasn’t entirely certain Lucia was still willing to help with his revenge. After all he’d done to her and the one time she mentioned wanting to go home... he didn’t exactly have a backup plan for her refusing him. But as she accepted, relief and excitement bloomed in his chest. Instead of believing he felt any of that, however, he focused on riding out his determination.
Their schedules fell back into a similar rhythm as before, minus containing her to her prison and its adjacent hallways.
First thing in the morning, he’d walk her groggy form to the bathroom. Without any spare clothes of her own, Heisenberg supplied her with older shirts he hadn’t used for some time—they practically served as oversized dresses. The much larger fabric swayed humorously with her sleepy walk, like some sort of drunken flag. His greatest alleviation was successfully potty training her and making sure she knew to wash her hands. If she picked up any germs and got sick from poor hygiene, he’d never let her hear the end of it.
Then, they’d eat breakfast in the kitchen. He even tested her memory from time to time, allowing her to lead them through the hallways to the correct destination. He watched her for any opportunity to shock him—after all, eating together so closely at the same table again after many weeks of recovery... and without a fence or shackles to bind her... It put him just a little on edge. Thankfully, she never made a move, and he could eventually dine without preparing to jump away.
Mobility training came next. The rule was simple: dodge the metal objects. She ran away from the lycan in a straight fucking line, so the least she could do was learn how to bank left or right. Heisenberg placed her in one end of a room while he stood at the other, debris of various sizes drifting around him. Given their last session with the wooden board—and what followed after—Lucia was rightfully anxious. If her stiff posture didn’t give it away, her uneven breathing and wide eyes did.
“Hey hey, Lucia, look at me,” he ordered, clapping his hands together. She gasped as she snapped back to him. He folded his glasses onto his shirt. “No surprises from me, ok? We’ll start slow. Just dodge as best as you can, and I’ll stop it if you can’t. Got it?” She gulped and nodded in understanding.
The first several sessions kept individual pieces floating slowly to her. They weren’t at all faster than if he’d have physically thrown them. If she was too slow to react, the metal froze right before it touched her. Rinse and repeat. Only when he saw her picking up patterns and learning the instinct to dodge danger, he’d warn her about picking up the pace. And at each escalation, Lucia did her best to step up. Her movements weren’t the most graceful, but she made steady progress from timid leaning to uncoordinated tumbles.
They went over healing practice in tandem. Once Heisenberg could let the pieces fly faster, it became more difficult to avoid the occasional bruise and cut. Each time, she’d let out a frustrated groan while hiding tears behind a frown.
“Stop!” Heisenberg would announce, the objects stilling in the air and Lucia looking to attention, “What do we do here?”
“Find a safe place. D-Don’t use electricity,” she responded with his repeated instruction. He’d nod in approval, and she’d observe the wound close itself in time. He made sure to teach her how to efficiently divide her power; previous observations supported the theory that her Cadou couldn’t release electricity and heal at the same time. Of course he’d support her priority to not die again.
They’d break for lunch afterwards, which quickly became Lucia’s least favorite meal. Maybe it was because he insisted on keeping her diet lighter during this time.
“C’mon, kid, y’know the drill. We ain’t leaving ‘til you finish your veggies,” he’d sigh, having to convince her for the millionth time.
“I don’t want iiiiit,” she’d wail, poking the leafy greens and steamed broccoli with her fork before dropping it onto her plate, “Why don’t you ever eat these?” She openly pouted and crossed her arms at his share of some sort of meatloaf—an obvious contrast to her much healthier serving. He shrugged while he finished the last of his food.
“I’m all grown up. Kids need veggies to grow, and I got extra anyway so someone’s gotta eat ‘em before they go bad. You can eat whatever the hell you want when you get to my age. ‘Til then...” He completed his statement by taking her fork, stabbing a piece of broccoli, and inching it closer to her face... which she slowly leaned away from... Then she made a break for the door.
“HEY!! Get back here, young lady!!” He’d chase her around the kitchen until he made her finish her greens. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to teach her how to dodge; as she grew quicker, their lunchtimes dragged out unnecessarily longer. With the help of metal obstacles, she never escaped the dreaded vegetables... But he admitted that her speed was nearing a concerning level of “slippery bastard.”
Post-lunch-chases, Heisenberg would sit her down in another vacant room with a few branches of wood. None of them contained any metal, she’d noticed—perhaps picked up from outdoors. A quiet insurance that he wouldn’t be capable of using his powers on it.
This room was meant for practicing her more dangerous powers. Between going over his notes, their past experiences, and his promises, this part of the training might’ve had the most struggles. Many of these evenings were failures, repeats of the first test when she hadn’t been able to summon any electricity. He even made sure she’d have a fully charged reactor, only to see no results. Lucia’s hold on a branch would shake as she looked nervously between him and the door from time to time; she expected a lycan to attack after every other fruitless attempt.
“It’s not gonna come back without your say-so,” he’d remind her at each look. He tried to not let her gratitude and her growing trust crack his rough exterior. At the same time, he did have to keep his ruthless tendencies in check; no more lycans until she’s ready, he’d said. So he had to find a way to teach her without the same life-threatening exercises he’d been through. One day, after another failure, he found himself brainstorming on how to teach in a non-stressful way... What would he have wanted to hear at this age?
He bristled at the uncomfortable self-analysis, and instead landed on simply thinking out loud.
“You’ve only ever been capable of electrocuting out of anger or out of self-defense,” he explained. He paced in front of her while she remained seated, akin to a student in a classroom. “The Cadou reduces its subjects to their most primal, violent instincts. But you’re not primal. You can think. And that means you’re in control of the Cadou. So don’t be afraid of it, command it; the sooner you accept that, the better off you’ll be. Your powers will become second nature, and you won’t need to rely on anger as much. Too much anger only ever leads to... accidents.”
Heisenberg’s lips tightened at his old memories, of lashing out at Mother Miranda and only earning himself his own painful scars instead of hers. The idea of Lucia losing control of her electricity... of burning her own flesh and bones away... He wouldn’t allow it under his watch. As he turned to take in her response, he was taken aback at seeing her click the, “Stop,” button on her tape recorder.
“...Were you recording me this whole time?” Her cheeks flushed.
“I-I mean, not all the time, but it’s...” Lucia shyly shifted in her seat. “I wanna be sure I remember it all...”
The tape recorder appeared to be strung up on some crudely cut leather straps—the ones from her battery, he noted, and they’d been tied to make a sort of necklace that hung below her reactor. Seeing him eye her handiwork, she awkwardly added, “The pockets aren’t big enough to hold it, s-so...”
Originally, gifting her the tape recorder was simply a trick to get her to open up about her nightmares, all while he eavesdropped from the television. Just a sneaky plan he could use when he needed information. To see her not only keep the tape recorder, but to use it to remember his advice—especially as an amnesiac?
Heisenberg never thought it’d mean anything. Now, it... well, it meant something. And he had no clue what that was or what to do with it.
He flicked his nose and turned away, hiding these unfamiliar feelings off to some dusty corner in his mind.
“Y-Yeah, uh, good idea...” Heisenberg mentally slapped himself before returning to the child. “So! That being said, let’s try to put all that into practice.” Lucia agreed before returning to the wooden branches before her. She continued to struggle, but the resolve in her gaze proved that his words struck something in her.
In the following nights while he toiled away at soldering armor and drills, he’d catch her staring intently at her hands from her room’s camera feed. She’d even pull up the tape recorder and rewind to listen to his words. But when she created nothing, she’d switch to practicing tumbles to work off her frustration.
He focused on appreciating the effort she was putting in, rather than letting his impatience get the better of him. It was a difficult balance, but he was nothing if not a man of his word.
At last, his waiting paid off. Days passed before she finally produced small sparks from her hands. But her reaction was explosive.
“OH! OOOH! Did— Did you see that, Heisenberg?! I DID IT!” she cheered and hopped, showing off the smallest burns her handprints left behind. He couldn’t believe it.
“Holy shit, yeah ya did, kiddo!” he reciprocated, astonished, while observing the marks and jotting down notes like the scientist he is. Yet he didn’t write nearly as fast as usual; instead, he was fascinated by... her proud giggling. Had he ever heard her giggle like that before? Even for all his impatience, to see her so enthusiastic over her own progress almost made it worth the wait.
What was this strange fulfillment?
....He waved the question away with a dose of realism; after all, he’d hoped they’d be further along by now—
“I wasn’t even mad or anything! I just... stopped being afraid, like you said! You’re a genius! ”
—well, he could stand to hear compliments from her every now and then. He puffed out his chest.
“Of course I’m a genius. Took ya long enough to realize it! But hey, maybe we should take a break—”
“Are you kidding? I just got the hang of this!” More crackling developed from her hands, “I bet I could—”
“L-Lucia, put the fucking stick down!” Electrical burns creeped their way up and down the bark before the wood was smoking, then set aflame. She threw it down with a startled scream.
“AAAH!! FUCK!!!” she yelled, leaping away as Heisenberg removed his heavy coat and slammed it into the fire. He stomped on it several times before pulling it back and choking the remaining embers with his boot. The two exchanged heavy panting as the adrenaline left their systems.
“H-How’re your hands?”
“Fine, I think I healed them already...”
“...Wait a minute, what the fuck was that language?”
“W-What? I didn’t— I didn’t... say anything...” she mumbled further into her cardigan under his scrutiny.
He started her dinner with a salad bowl as punishment. She munched the last leaves of lettuce with the grumpiest face she could muster.
“I don’t get why—” Lucia gulped painfully and downed some water before flicking out her tongue in disgust, “—Blegh!— why I can’t say those words but you can!”
“Because I’m the adult!” Heisenberg called back from the other side of the kitchen, “And while you’re under my roof, you talk with manners, got it?”
“Hmph!” was all she could give as she crossed her arms and slumped back into her chair. She wouldn’t sit with that slouch for long—not when a familiar scent wafted to the table with Heisenberg. Before her, he set a plate of...
“...Herbed fish?” she muttered, looking between Heisenberg and the meal.
“Yup,” he simply replied, cutting into his own serving, “Even though you damaged my coat... You made good progress today. So, ah, dig in. You’ve earned it.” Heisenberg hid this atypical positive reinforcement by stuffing his face with food. Couldn’t protect his ears from her delight.
“Th... Thank you!” He paused mid-bite to peek up at her. But apparently she either picked up his hiding-by-eating habit, or she’d been looking forward to this since the last time he taunted her with this dish—judging by the way she devoured it with her bare hands, he guessed it was the latter. Amused, he scoffed before swallowing.
“Hey, don’t eat so fast, or else—” Too late, Lucia started coughing and hacking before spitting out some fish bones onto the floor. He sputtered into his plate and howled in laughter, unable to contain his sadistic humor.
“You—gaaah, you could’ve warned me!”
“And miss out on that bit of fun? Hell no. But just remember that for next time, dumbass.” He continued to chuckle through grabbing a rag and wiping fish bits off her face. She petulantly shoved his hand away, though not too aggressively, he noticed. But she was back to munching away on grilled scales before he could analyze further. She ate extra carefully, now.
Dinners were followed by bathtime and brushing her teeth. Heisenberg always provided an extra shirt and allowed her to bathe by herself, but they both agreed to let him handle her hair after she was dressed. Even after weeks of mastered sponge baths and clearly improved body odor, she remained irresponsible with soaking her hair, and that amount of water near her reactor drove him up the wall. Unfortunately for him, sitting her down and washing her hair in the sink meant he was trapped with her questioning.
Most of the time, her inquiries were expected. Most of the time, he answered.
“What’s in the rest of the factory?” she’d asked once, for example.
“My metal army,” he’d responded, while his calloused fingers lathered her hair with a scented soap bar, “I’m making soldiers to fight Miranda.”
“You need more than the two of us to beat her?”
“Of course. She’s more powerful than you think.”
“...But you talked about a village at one point. Do they know she’s a monster?”
“Hell no, they fucking worship her like some damn god. We can’t get help from them. They’d die before betraying her.”
“So... the army is to stop them, too?”
“If they get in our way. Yeah.” Lucia would take the rest of the time to process and imagine the world outside these metal walls.
On other hair-washing nights, her questions were stupid and completely uncalled for.
“Why do you call her, ‘Mirander?’”
“Why do I call her what?”
“Mirander,” she repeated, “Isn’t it Miran-duh?”
“I do not say ‘Mirander,’” he’d reprimand, offended by her know-it-all tone.
“Actually, sometimes I think you call me, ‘Loo-sher.’”
“And how would you know how to pronounce anything right, ‘Lyoo-see-uh?’”
“I just know-uh.” He’d splash her face with soapy water to shut her up and watch her sputter. If he were lucky, he’d hit her eyes and laugh at her pain. But lately, he missed his aim if he could.
And on rare occasions, there were questions that he... couldn’t answer.
“Do you think we could convince the villagers to join us? What if we could save them? Aren’t they worth saving? Are there more people like us? Experimented on by Miranda? Can we save them, too?”
Usually, he could avoid these by drying up her hair and sending her to bed, or answering her questions with more questions, or saying he’d answer later and pretend to forget.
Perhaps it wasn’t that he couldn’t answer, but that he didn’t want to. He’d spent so many years resenting everything Miranda built, including the village, its generations of brainwashed guinea pigs, and his so-called “siblings.” It was easier to simply want to burn it all to the ground; if he started thinking of them as victims too... Well, that just complicates things. And this far into his plans, he had no patience for complications outside of the little girl under his care.
They ended their evenings with Donna’s tea. This was around the time that Heisenberg either realized he had more tests to run for his army, or remembered how damn old he was and wanted to go to sleep. It was often in these desperate times that Lucia liked to take advantage of.
Namely, in getting him to drink tea with her.
It started out with her dragging out her questions, then while rushing her to bed, she’d claim she couldn’t finish her tea and left him half. Or say that it tasted terrible that night, so she didn’t want to drink all of it. Or pretend that she couldn’t see it, then make him down half of it to prove there was any tea at all.
Her lies grew wilder with each night, and at this point he was too entertained to make her stop.
As he wrapped up whatever work he could on his army and salvaged a decent few hours of sleep, he found that he thought less of what upgrades his Soldats needed. He instead wondered how Lucia’s powers could develop... Or what meal he should buy from the Duke next, or what swear word she’ll be tempted to say, or how many excuses she could come up with to never finish her tea.
What else would she learn?
“I want to fight a lycan again,” she declared a few days later. Heisenberg blinked.
She dusted her gross, ashen hands, having just burned through every single branch available, as well as some slabs of raw meat he told her to electrocute just to try to throw her off her game.
She was not at all thrown off.
The poor meat sat smoking and stinking on the ground.
He’d lament wasting this prank on her, if it weren’t for the adamant glint in her eye. And her reactor light remained as bright as it had been this morning. Heisenberg’s jaw slacked, lowering his slightly crumbling cigar.
Looks like she learned to grow a fucking spine real quick. He chuckled loudly at her sudden arrogance; this was certainly too interesting to pass up. And he liked that she didn’t falter from his growing smile.
“Alright, I’ll schedule the rematch.”
Her eyelids fluttered in some mix of subtle shock, gratitude, and anticipation.
“...Also that was your share of meat that you just electrocuted, so it’s just vegetables for you tonight.”
“W-What— You asshole!!”
Two servings of vegetables, now.
It had to have been a few months since her first fight. That’s what it felt like, at least, from what little Heisenberg taught her about tracking dates. All before her surgery, before she had any control of her powers... before she ever thought she’d want to face one of those beasts again.
She asked for this. Yet, as little Lucia stood before the door to Heisenberg’s homemade arena, her feet might as well have fused with the ground.
Glass eyes, hungry lips pulled behind razor-sharp teeth, claws trying to tear her insides—
She shook the terrible visions away while her throat choked up. The sleep-inducing tea temporarily freed her from the nightmares, though no such escape was available to her during the day. She asked for this, so why couldn’t she...?
Heisenberg’s hand clapped onto her shoulder.
“Hey, kid, breathe.” He kneeled to her eye level. All Lucia could see was his scruffy face, unreadable as always. He gestured with his hands. “In through the nose, out through the mouth. Like we’ve practiced. C’mon. In...”
His nostrils flared as he inhaled loudly. She nervously followed his lead and took a deep breath. They held for a second.
“...And out,” he exhaled, and so did she. “Keep going. In...” They continued breathing together. On multiple occasions, Lucia had complained about that heavy tobacco smell of his. How hypocritical was he, making her bathe every day when he consistently reeked of cigar smoke, oil, and sweat? Not overwhelmingly to the point of discomfort, but it wasn’t particularly pleasant. Now, as she focused on anything besides the fear building inside her, she mentally clung to this rugged scent she could only associate with him. It surrounded her, grounded her in the present, and reminded her that she wasn’t in danger.
...What? No, he’s still a dangerous man, she reminded herself.
However, she couldn’t deny that the terror eased out of her lungs with each exhale. Their rhythm fell into perfect sync, and her pounding heart gradually returned to its normal pace. No, she wasn’t in danger. Not yet.
“Last one,” he announced. “In...”
In... She almost exhaled, but stopped short. He didn’t say, “Out.” She blinked at him in confusion. He was as still as can be. Her brows knit together, puzzled. His brows raised above his lenses, and he peeked one mischievous pupil at her.
She didn’t know he was messing with her until her face turned blue. Lucia popped her mouth open and sucked in as much oxygen as she could into her lungs, only to cough it back out as she keeled over her side. Heisenberg guffawed like a goddamn rascal.
“You ass— a-hole!” she started, then corrected.
“Ah-bup-bup,” he tutted, wagging his index finger, “Language—”
“Doesn’t count if I don’t say all of it. That’s the rule!”
“Rule? Says who?”
“Says me! Just now!” He scoffed and rubbed her wild hair; as usual, she sulkily pushed him off to comb herself with her thin fingers. He didn’t argue with her, though. If he wasn’t fighting her on it, did that mean she won?
“...We don’t have to go through with this now,” she heard him offer. Speaking of fights... Lucia looked at him through her strands.
“If you’re not up to it, I mean,” he clarified.
Once again, he’d given her an out. He’d given her many outs, in fact, even during the last several training sessions leading up to now.
But those visions... She wanted them all gone. Her need to overcome her fears outweighed her want for safety. And even then, he’d once told her before her surgery that he wouldn’t let her die... So this wasn’t just a test for her, she convinced herself. It’s also a test for him. An unfortunately high-stakes test at her expense, but she wanted his promises seen through.
By the tilt of his mouth, he must’ve known her answer already.
“I can do it.”
He grinned approvingly.
“He... almost looks human,” she said without thinking.
Lucia stood in the middle of the flood lights, observing her foe. This new lycan rumbled and crouched before her. His receded hairline and bushy beard told her he must be older than the one she’d faced months ago. Now that she wasn’t panicking or actively being attacked, she saw a semblance of a person past all that overgrown body hair, unnatural fangs, and crusted blood. Was he a person before...?
“It’s not,” came Heisenberg’s blunt reply, “And it doesn’t see you as human, either, so don’t give it the same courtesy. You’re just prey.” The child shifted uncomfortably under that heartless answer.
“...O-Ok.” He eyed her, doubtful. She hardened her posture. “Ok,” she repeated more assuredly. Somewhat at ease, he continued.
“I’ll coach from the sidelines. I can get it to heel, for the most part. But if it’s too hungry and tries to eat you, then...” He knocked on his hammer twice with his knuckle to complete the statement. She gulped, but nodded. With that, he turned and prepared to—
“Oh, wait!” she exclaimed.
“What now?” He put the heavy weapon down like a brat stomping his foot. He clearly itched to get this show on the road. Bewilderment replaced irritation, however, when she carefully handed him her tape recorder.
“Hold onto it for me...? I don’t wanna break it.”
“...Yeah, sure, w-whatever.” He avoided her grateful eyes while storing the device into one of his coat pockets. “Alright, ready?”
Startled, Lucia took her place in front of the lycan.
“Set!”
It growled with anticipation, haunches poised for action... She quietly took a few steps back.
“Begin!”
It leapt into the air, claws forward to pin her down. Her instincts kicked into gear, and she successfully tumbled to the side and away from it with a gasp.
She did it! She dodged it!
She couldn’t celebrate for long as it wheeled back on her. It darted and swiped at her once, twice, three times. Each met with a sidestep and empty air. Lucia noticed the lycan wasn’t nearly as quick as she remembered—or had she gotten faster? Actually, its movements somewhat matched Heisenberg’s mobility training, she noticed while evading another swing. Now that she thought about the previous exercises, the metal debris he’d manipulated had grouped up to barely resemble figures with limbs...
She didn’t see a hairy forearm—solid as an oak log—pull back and strike her ribs.
“GUH—!!” The wind knocked out of her tiny body as she flew, then skidded painfully on gravel. A few coughs sprayed the ground with her blood. Fuck, that hurt!!
“Eyes up, Lucia! You can’t be daydreaming!” Heisenberg yelled from his spot. She wheezed for air, then whipped her hair back in time to catch the lycan stalking towards her with raised claws.
She rolled away, ears grating from thick fingernails scratching the concrete she’d just been lying down in. That was close! Back up to her feet, her hands jolted, suspenseful. She needed body contact. How could she get her hands on it for electrocution?
“Wait your turn and look for an opening!” he called out. Was she really that easy to read? But, yes, an opening. Right.
The lycan charged at her. It threw its arms to catch her, but missed again as she deftly ducked. She swept at its ankles with her leg—its very thick ankles, she realized. It hardly budged! Why did she think it would budge?! A huge paw snatched the back of her collar to roughly drag her up to its face. She squealed and scratched at its hand, kicking its hulking torso in vain. With a vicious snarl, it drew back its massive jaw to take a bite—
Her palms slapped onto the lycan’s temples, and electricity came to her call.
It shot through her fingers and left trails of lightning all along its skull, muscles tense and attacked all at once. Lucia grit her teeth at it, adrenaline rushing in her veins. She was both proud that she found her opportunity, and mortified that it was still standing. All the while, she couldn’t tear herself away from seeing this creature in pain. No, she still saw the remains of a man.
How did he come to be? Who was he before?
She let up. The lycan’s grip loosened while it dropped to the floor, making her fall directly on top of it. She panted and kicked away from the smoking hair and flesh.
It was over!
She actually looked around for Heisenberg’s reaction. After all, she did it! Lucia found the opening she needed, shocked it, and she didn’t even fall unconscious this time! Finally, she found her “coach” walking rather quickly over to her, hammer propped up on his broad shoulders. A cautious smile formed on her dry lips.
“I did it! I got—”
The lycan roared back to life and reached for her, driven by pure animosity.
“AAAAHHHH—!!” she shrieked, and before she could look away—
A savage thud echoed in the room as iron broke through bone, striking with enough force to send its head spinning in place. The resulting violence showered blood onto Lucia’s face, and she yelled while throwing her arms up to partially block her vision. The lycan’s head slowed to a stop at a sick angle it should never be in. Its broken jaw dangled uselessly.
Then it fell back to the floor, lifeless.
Lucia’s hyperventilating returned. The assault replayed over and over in her head. She hadn’t killed it after all, it almost got her, she hadn’t done anything and still needed—
A handkerchief unfurled and floated onto her face. She pulled it away to see Heisenberg shushing her uneven breathing.
“Calm down, it’s dead now,” he coolly remarked, as if he hadn’t just murdered in cold blood. But... He’d saved her. She’d be relieved at him passing her personal test, were she not washed with waves of shock and frustration.
“I-I-I... I thought I... g-got it,” she stuttered, eyes glued to the crystallizing corpse. Heisenberg drew her attention back by pointing the bloodied, dripping mallet at her.
“You hesitated.” She blinked up at him.
“...W-What?”
“You hesitated,” he repeated slower, “You still think it’s human, don’t you?” Rhetorical question. The girl stared helplessly, completely guilty of his accusation. He pulled out the tape recorder with his free hand and pressed the “Record” button. She sat at attention; this was apparently worth remembering.
“Hesitation gets you killed,” he began sternly. Oh... She recoiled at the harshness. “You don’t keep your eyes up, you hold your powers back, or you feel sympathy for the enemy? You’ll die in a split second just like THAT.” He enunciated the last word by slamming his hammer’s face next to the disintegrating lycan. Lucia flinched as the stone floor caved into its might. She could only listen, and be reminded of Heisenberg’s unmerciful side. She shrunk at each spoken flaw in her performance. He continued.
“I’m not always gonna be around to save your sorry ass, so listen carefully. In the heat of the moment, it’s always two choices: fight or flight, for example. Life or death. You or the lycan...” He squatted in front of her to growl out his final point.
“You... or the bitch.” The factory’s clamoring drowned out as the lesson made itself clear.
Miranda wouldn’t spare either of them. When the time comes to exact their revenge, they won’t have the luxury of being kind. It’s them, or her. And if Lucia hesitates like before, she suspected she wouldn’t get a third chance at life. She scanned the brutalized remains of the wolf-man’s crystal skull.
That was the kind of violence he was preparing her for. But could she really do this...?
“The strong will destroy the weak. That’s the way of the world.” Finished with his lecture, he pushed the “Stop” button before dropping the recorder onto her lap. “So get stronger, little Lucia.” He leaned back, expecting they were done for the day.
She breathed sharply through her nose at his pretentious, but correct order. She’s weak. And she had to fix that to achieve their goal. Whatever tears she might’ve formed from his critique were hidden by wiping her face clean with his handkerchief. With most of the blood gone, she opened her eyes with a glare. She held up the tape recorder for him to take back.
“Again.” Heisenberg tilted his head with an entertained huff. He tugged a part of her shirt to check on her reactor; its once steady light blinked lowly.
“Alright. Let’s get you to a full charge, then.”
Over two agonizing weeks of rematch after rematch, breaks, and then more rematches. Something always happened—sometimes intentionally, sometimes not—though Heisenberg unconcernedly reasoned that it kept her on her toes.
Most of her failures occurred while she was still learning to harden her heart. It wasn’t a fast process. Every day, each lycan differed from the last. Each one made her wonder what their stories were... Each one fell to Heisenberg’s execution.
“Why do you have to kill them all?!” she’d demanded one time.
“Because you’re not finishing the job!”
...She’d held her arms sadly at that kind of blame. For whatever reason, he bobbed his head and shifted his shoulders, as if he wanted to take back what he said, but not really.
“That a-and...” he tried to continue. She peered at him, waiting. “Aaaaand... gotta numb you to the gore, is all,” he finally responded, shrugging, “What, you think Miranda’s corpse is gonna be pretty by the time we’re done with her?” Lucia looked up like she hadn’t considered that before, then her shoulders inevitably slacked in agreement. Can’t argue with the logic. He couldn’t explain why he went out of his way to make her feel a little better, if that helped at all.
Other failures occurred when a lycan would bring in a fucking axe or something.
“Oh, so THEY— huff— THEY GET WEAPONS NOW?!” she’d screeched, running in circles while waiting for sliced wounds to patch themselves up.
“I dunno, I don’t exactly tell them to pick that shit up on the way here!” Heisenberg defended himself against her incredulity, “Hey, watch your six!”
“Watch my WHAT—” That exchange ended with her being tackled from behind. Oof... Guess he needed to expand her vocabulary.
The hardest part of watching all this had to be whenever one of the beasts bit a good chunk out of her. If it wasn’t especially starving, he could call it off and rush to her side. Rather than curl up, she’d clench her teeth and heave through the tears, eyes screwed shut as she willed her flesh to regenerate faster than before. Then she’d wobble back onto her feet for Round 2. Heisenberg must have gotten a new set of blisters from how stressfully his hands clenched the hammer’s handle. But he ignored the stinging in his palms as he excitedly wrote down any new development, such as this accelerated healing.
The most exciting for him, personally, was when he’d see their weapons veer unnaturally away from Lucia. He perked up and removed his glasses to watch more closely. A lycan would swing its axe down, barbarically aimed for her forehead. She’d sidestep, yes, but when her angle was off or her body didn’t react in time, the weapon would arc just enough to avoid her intense eyes. With Heisenberg’s Cadou, magnetism became a sort of sixth sense for him. So when he didn’t see so much as feel this new skill of hers, he scratched in his notes at a feverish pace:
Lucia is now exhibiting limited control of electromagnetic fields. Lycans wielding metal weapons can hardly seem to hit her anymore. Currently appears to be more instinctual than deliberate.
Requires further study.
His fingers slowed as he reread the observation. When had his notes started referring to her as, “Lucia,” rather than, “Subject?” How many of his pages contained her name? The fact that he hadn’t noticed how natural it felt to write was... He shook his head, refusing to explore this too much. A part of him wished he’d kept her title more clinical, like his Soldats. It was starting to feel like he’d taken in a stray puppy.
Instead, he focused on her undeniable progress. Seeing her steadily adapt brought a twisted brand of eagerness; he was sure she was close to killing a lycan any day, now. Her fights lasted longer, she didn’t need to recharge as often, and she started recognizing patterns—that meant more strategies and fewer injuries. She learned from his executions that a lycan only truly dies when their bodies calcify. And he was pleasantly surprised on the day she didn’t bat an eye at the usual carnage. With all that, he basked in the gratification of an experiment going well. It certainly helped brush off whatever pesky moralities plagued the back of his mind. Was he at all concerned for a child’s psyche in the face of all this brutality?
...Well, he turned out mostly fine, and he didn’t even get a say in his lycan fights. Heisenberg’s only saving grace was giving Lucia a choice to back out at any time. But she chose to fight so often... Huh... While watching her rush back into the fray, he pondered in spite of himself:
What exactly happened to her during Miranda’s experiments?
Lucia ducked under this lycan’s claws, then nimbly climbed onto its furry back to wrap her arms around its heaving neck. It twisted with reckless abandon, frothing at the mouth as it tried to buck off its assailant. She gripped the inside of her left elbow and a fistful of its hair for leverage. She concentrated, feeling heat spread from within her chest to her entire body.
In a flash, electricity jolted through all of her limbs to engulf her opponent. It seized and flailed, skin popping and blackening while her flesh remained unmarked. She’d finally developed a resistance to her own attacks, much to her delight. But the monster didn’t fall. With an impatient shriek, she willed all she could into increasing her voltage. Shockwaves seized its veins like lightning and charred the creature within seconds—
But in a last-ditch effort to shake her off, it suddenly leaned forward—she gasped—then threw itself back to crush her with its weight.
As soon as the back of her head collided with the floor, her world seemed to implode.
Hazy, broken words swam through her ears.
“...Mold—”
“—sample...”
“...third attempt...”
The girl forced her lids to blink open. She laid face down, gazing at the ground through a hollow headrest. No... She recognized this...! She slowly pulled a weak arm to get up, but she moved as if she were made of mud. A cold, pointed hand pressed her back down.
“N-No... please...” she begged, her words drawling.
Mother Miranda’s wistful shush floated through the air; her strokes along the girl’s veins sent scared shivers down her spine. Her once-revered prophet of the village—no, her captor watched the tears drop onto the stone floor, indifferent to her distress.
“Sleep, child.”
A pinprick shocked her arm, and it wasn’t long before her body slacked. The room warped until its features devolved into blotted colors... Just before the sedative took her, she felt the dreadful sensation of another needle directed behind and below her skull...
Instead, a finger abruptly poked her cheek.
“I know you’re not dead, Lucia, wake up!” Heisenberg’s voice rang in her ears, disgruntled.
“Bw-whuh...?” She was back in the factory, with the lycan’s body thankfully removed before she’d woken up. “What was...?” His round lenses stared down at her, a smile plastered in his beard.
“Well, I’ll be damned. Baby’s first kill, finally!” He almost groaned the last word as if the wait had been painful. But he actually seemed more than pleased.
“...Wait, really?!” She jerked up, which was punished by a sharp pain shooting through her skull; she hissed through her teeth. Her quick pat to the back of her head returned a bloody palm, but she felt the wound closing already. He dropped a handkerchief onto her lap. She could feel that her face was covered in traces of lycan and human blood, as well as dust and sweat.
“Yeah, really!” he exclaimed, thrilled at her victory, “And your reactor doesn’t even need to recharge after all that. Aaaw, look at you, growin’ up.” That statement sounded less sincere than it should’ve, and more innocently condescending. Sadly, she didn’t have the energy to jab back. Lucia only dumbly nodded while seeing stars. Heisenberg almost pouted at her lackluster reaction.
“Uuuh, c’mon, you’ve been working at this for a while now. You can act a little excited.” She could only muster a weak grin at him before her mind wandered for a moment. What was she dreaming about...?
...And just like that, the details were gone. Like water slipping through her fingers, it left only the ghosts of fear and bitterness to chill her skin—the kinds she only felt towards Miranda. But she couldn’t place how or why... The girl moved on and started to lift the cloth, only for her hands to shake uncontrollably. Now with the adrenaline dump leaving her system, she realized she’d never felt so exhausted before. She could barely reach her chin.
“Damn it, gimme that,” Heisenberg kneeled down, snatched the handkerchief out of her fingers, and wiped some blood off of her temple for her. She slouched there, arms limp, too tired to process how awkwardly but gently he held her face. The swipes on her skin were firm and quick in their work. As he moved to the opposite side of her face, she peeked to survey what she’d accomplished:
Like he said, the lycan lay dead and burnt a few feet away from them. The crystal growths and the clean hammer further confirmed it. She did it. She did it! To her credit, Lucia did feel some hint of pride. However, it didn’t take long for it to be tainted by creeping guilt and uncertainty. She was... She could really hurt people like this. Her heart sank at the thought—
She felt Heisenberg tug her chin to face him again.
“Hey. Remember, it’s not human,” he reminded her, wiping her cheeks, “Don’t feel bad for it.” He roughly wiped more blood away from her forehead as his mind went to a darker place, “Miranda isn’t human, either. And she wouldn’t feel bad killing you—”
“So don’t give her the same courtesy...” she finished, parroting his lesson. He chuckled.
“Now you’re gettin’ it.” Lucia didn’t know how to feel about being encouraged to commit such savagery on others... though the haunted pain of her clouded memories reminded her: Mother Miranda is her one exception, human or not... Her next question practically breathed itself to life.
“Are we human?”
Heisenberg’s cleaning slowed. She searched his face, studying the few giveaways that provided glimpses into his mind... His mouth curled down in a quick, non-committal frown. He’s going to deflect.
“I’m not really in the mood for a philosophical debate.” She guessed right. But she decided to drop the subject for a more immediate clarification.
“For a fill-uh-suff... What are you talking about?”
“See? You’re not even smart enough for it.”
She slapped his hands away from her face, to his amusement. After collecting their crystal prize, they walked towards the exit for their much-needed dinner. Lucia winced before reaching for the back of her head.
“Took a pretty big hit back there,” Heisenberg mused, “You ok?”
“Yeah, yeah I’m ok,” she replied, scratching below her skull, “...Just itchy.”
Lucia drifted in and out of sleep’s heavy hold on her. She hardly dreamt of anything after consuming that special lavender tea; even after her lycan kill, she continued asking for the drink, if only to help avoid the guilt rather than terror. At this point, she embraced the dreamless nights. But as she succumbed to a half-asleep limbo, her mind took her freely.
The summer sun warmed her face as she skipped along, each of her hands held firmly: one rugged and strong, the other delicate and kind.
“Up, up!” she giggled. They responded with blurred laughter. She dug her heels and tensed her arms in anticipation. With a unified pull, the hands lifted her up while her feet kicked in the air. As the mountain breeze blew past her small frame, she imagined this is what it was like to fly.
She felt... so happy.
“Up!” she repeated joyfully—
“...up! Time to GET UP!!”
“WAH—!!” Startled awake, Lucia felt an unseen force throw her body up into the air. She face-planted onto the floor next to her bed, followed by her blanket fluttering onto her splayed form. Without moving, the girl pointed a finger up to where she heard Heisenberg snort.
“Don’t laugh!” Of course he laughed.
“What the hell was that?” he chortled, holding his stomach as he did so. Lucia peeked from under the blanket—she’d have yelled at him, if his question hadn’t made her backtrack.
“Wait... That wasn’t you?” Given that her bed frame was made of metal, she wouldn’t put it past him to have used it against her at some point. The man finally took a breath to address her.
“Nope, I didn’t lift a finger,” he answered with a knowing grin. He waved a small journal at her—the one he always took notes in while she was training.
“We got a lot to talk about, you and me.”
As Heisenberg divided scrambled eggs between two plates, he heard Lucia grunt with effort while focusing on her hands. Small sparks burst from her fingertips until they connected into thin wisps of lightning. They danced between her palms, and her eyes lit up with wonder and pride at the sight. She giggled at her progress, until he had to step in and remind her about the rules.
“Hey hey hey, what’d I say about electricity at the table?” Heisenberg scolded as he placed their breakfasts down. The lightning dissipated as Lucia looked up in mock thought.
“...Was it, ‘Stop that, damn it,’ or, ‘Don’t fucking try anything, I swear to god?’” He didn’t appreciate the sass.
“Language, missy.”
“Doesn’t count if I’m quoting you!”
“I resent that, and hereby sentence you to a full salad dinner.” Lucia whined and slid down her seat like jelly. He snickered at her petulance.
It felt odd, but a part of him relished threatening her with something as inconsequential as leafy greens. His list of little things in life to enjoy often grew as he discovered her quirks. He admitted to himself that these were necessary reprieves; between training Lucia in the day and producing his army at night, this had to be the busiest he’s ever felt in his entire life. And he’s been around for a while. He couldn’t fathom having children outside of them being useful to his plans. How the hell did other people decide to raise a kid just because?
But perhaps it was from being such a busybody that—as he watched the jelly girl steal away bread to her pouting mouth under the table—he welcomed these instances of... normalcy.
Heisenberg blinked at that word.
Normal?
The grip on his fork tightened. No, there wasn’t anything fucking normal about two experimented freaks arguing about swear words and vegetables over breakfast. He pulled out his journal and flipped through the pages to the most recent entries. To remind himself of the real world and Lucia’s latest developments, he took a pen and started drawing some visual guides. He heard her sit up, then swallow a mouthful of eggs and bread before speaking.
“You’ve got that look,” she declared. He snidely glanced at her; please, as if she was capable of any legitimate perceptions. But he’d humor her.
“What look?”
“The ‘science man’ look.” What the hell? He scoffed at the unexpected title.
“...Wow. Is that the smartest name you could come up with?”
“Pretty good for an amne-mee-zee-ack, right?” She brimmed with too much confidence for saying something so stupidly. Heisenberg actually covered his grin this time in a poor attempt to contain it.
“I’m— I’m gonna let you figure that one out on your own. But! Do tell: what makes me the ‘science man?’” She leaned forward.
“You look excited over something in your notes, and then you think reeeaaal hard,” she explained, copying his tense brows, “Sometimes, you bite into your pen, too.” He peeked at the pen’s cap: true to her word, old teeth marks lined the plastic case. Huh. Observant little shit.
“Well well, guess you got some brains,” he commended backhandedly. But Lucia positively beamed at the confirmation—someone was in a weirdly good mood. Which was... fine, he supposed. She’d been quiet for a long while after her lycan kill. He’d much rather have this than her pitiful guilt. He pushed his notes to her.
“Speaking of brains, how much can you read now?” She squinted and muttered at the words.
“...Liiii-mi-teeeed... c-con-trooool... eeehhh-lect-rooo...”
“Limited control over electromagnetic fields, c’mon, get with the program.” She pouted at him, having wanted to finish it herself. She’d started remembering how to read basic words recently, but Heisenberg simply couldn’t resist holding a larger vocabulary over her head. He’d have kept teasing her, though they should get a move on.
“Y’know what electromagnetic fields are. You’ve seen me use them like this.” He twirled a finger, which prompted his fork to rise. “And you use them to protect yourself. Didn’t you notice those lycans’ weapons missing you a little too often?”
Lucia’s blank face showed she hadn’t paid attention to using magnetism at all. He drew on something more recent.
“Take this morning, for example. You launched yourself because you released charged particles that repelled you from your bed frame’s polar—”
“I don’t know what any of that means,” she stated plainly. He huffed at her.
“Alright, here’s a gross oversimplification for your dumbass,” he drawled, gesturing to the fork, “There are two charges: positive and negative.” He pointed to a corresponding diagram in his notebook. “Positive/positive and negative/negative repel each other. I don’t wanna hold this fork, so I create a field with the same charge around it.” He let it float a few feet away. “But positive/negative attract, so when I do want to hold it, I use opposite charges.” The fork then sped into his open palm. He pointed the utensil at her.
“So! On top of being a walking lightbulb and taser, you’re a walking magnet, too.” Lucia put her hand on her chin thoughtfully. Her brain worked overtime to comprehend this.
“...So I can do what you do?” she simply asked. He shrugged as he poked his food.
“Theoretically. For those with a decent affinity, no two Cadou are completely alike... We need to find out more. And that means tests—not the life-or-death kind, either.” Not yet, anyway. He nodded to her. “You in?” She half-blinked as if remembering he actually asks for her opinion these days. She appeared skeptical. He briefly offered:
“...I’ll waive tonight’s salad—”
“Deal!”
They settled themselves into one of the larger rooms surrounded by metal walls and grated floors. Together, they discovered that her electromagnetic field acted more like a bubble around her, rather than telepathic-like extensions of her will like Heisenberg. She quickly found she could use similar charges to push herself away from anything metal. Depending on the angle and force she used, it greatly increased her jumping distance—though her landings left much to be desired. She spent so much energy healing bruises.
When she tried too hard to keep a constant charge and remain afloat in the air, she flailed about at the speed of some sort of lethargic bird in space—all the while, shouting obscenely. How he wished he could’ve gotten a photo of this nonsense!
Finally recovering from laughing his ass off, he wrote some notes down while in deep thought. If she could push herself away from metal, what would make her pull herself to it? After all, she only floated so long as she had a metal floor to push off of. No such luck over concrete. What could he add to this equation? Perhaps some modifications were in order.
As he came to a decision, he caught Lucia staring at him with familiar tense brows, an exaggerated frown, and biting her thumb. He looked down: he was biting his pen. He chased her around the room and bopped her head for that.
“Gimme your shoes, brat,” he instructed afterwards.
“What for?” she asked, rubbing her scalp.
“Whaddya think? I’m gonna go do ‘science man’ stuff.”
She trailed after him towards a separate space with a tool workstation. There, he collected her boots and a pair of black fingerless gloves he’d gotten her a while back—just in case they’d go out into the snow, for whatever reason. Heisenberg summoned variously-sized, but light scrap metal sheets to shape and install between fabric, soles, and toe caps. He quickly measured segments of her palms before dividing up the iron pieces; she was impressed that he could remember it all without writing it down or needing to draw up a blueprint. He simply... decided what he wanted to make, then made it. She even tilted her head at him when she noticed he’d cut into leather himself rather than with his powers. He proved to be crude but thorough in his craft as he shaped each metal attachment to fit into these accessories. Lucia seemed almost hypnotized by his work ethic.
“Wow, they almost look ordinary,” she admired. Aside from the dirty toe caps, most of the metal remained unseen.
“...I dunno, I could try adding drills to these—”
“Please don’t.”
“Hot damn, I’m so fucking smart!” She heard Heisenberg whoop from the basement floor. Meanwhile, the girl clung to the edge of the elevator shaft’s lowest steel beam. Sweat beaded on her brow as she concentrated on maintaining a magnetic charge between her gloves’ metallic palms and the beam’s surface. Her legs dangled precariously. How did she agree to this again? She flexed and unflexed her fingers, sure then unsure of herself. If she was stuck here, that meant it worked, right? She doubted her grip strength was that strong.
“Don’t worry, your powers are working, Lucia! I can tell!” he confirmed. She spared a glance over her shoulder; he wasn’t even watching, just scribbling more notes. Did his Cadou powers include being able to sense hers? “Have a bit of confidence, kiddo! You got up there, didn’t ya? Try going up higher!”
That sparked something in her. Up. Lucia looked to the next steel beam above her. With a deep breath, she focused the same charges beneath her boots. In place of empty air, she felt that familiar force start to hold her weight and released her hands.
“W-Whoa—!” She fumbled and wildly waved her arms. But she willed that same charge underneath her hands and regained some balance, albeit ungracefully. One sharp inhale later, and she pushed herself up through the air. As Lucia realized she hadn’t ascended quite high enough, she switched charges and magnetically pulled to the next beam. The metallic plates dug into her skin as her hands folded, but they successfully attached once again.
“Fuck yeah, you got it!” she heard Heisenberg. She laughed from her success and his unexpected praise. She genuinely laughed. The words from that morning haze mirthfully rang in her ears again:
“Up, up!”
Lucia jumped again, this time with enough force to hop onto the third steel beam entirely. And she kept jumping. Higher and higher. She experimented with magnetizing herself to the wall with both hands and feet—to her surprise, it worked! Crawling up felt clumsy now, but she could practice that! She didn’t hear much over her booming heart and racing brain; she just... lost herself in this concentrated zone. She threw herself higher again, and as wind blew past her ears...
...she imagined this is what it was like to fly.
“...Better not look down!” Heisenberg’s voice finally snapped her out of her stupor.
“Huh— What— AAAAH!!” Lucia unfortunately did look down as she hung onto the next beam, and saw Heisenberg from too far away for comfort.
“I said don’t look down, dumbass!!”
“Too late!!”
“Don’t panic!!!”
“I’M PANICKING!!!”
“MAYBE IF YOU LISTEN TO ME—”
Her control slipped— She screamed as she plummeted down. Lucia whirled in midair until she could see the ground speeding towards her. She closed her eyes, bracing herself for—
Her descent gradually slowed as she felt a strong pull in her hands and boots—Lucia heaved through both fear and relief. She could tell: it had to be Heisenberg’s own powers, if only by the tutting that accompanied her survival. She floated down, but kept her eyes shut as she attempted to calm her beating heart. Finally, gravity took her, and she stopped midair with a small oof as he lifted her up by her armpits.
“That was pretty stupid, kid, but gutsy! I can respect that,” Heisenberg snickered in front of her. She blinked her eyes open, head spinning and knees shaking.
“I-I, um... got carried away, I guess?” she half-laughed, half-wheezed. Lucia tilted her gaze when she realized he was holding her up. Wow, she must really weigh nothing to him. “You, uh, don’t have to carry me like this.”
“After a fall like that, you’re not shaken up?”
“...N-No.”
“Liar.”
“Lemme go!”
“...’Kay!”
He dropped her. She crumpled like a sack of potatoes, which—once again—earned laughter at her expense and her indignant cussing.
Heisenberg scratched his beard, briefly wondering about her recent good moods, or how she picked up electromagnetic fields several days faster than summoning electricity. As much as he liked to think he was just a damn good “coach,” something felt off.
He chewed on a piece of chicken while observing her during dinner. She seemed internally conflicted about something... He decided to be cheeky.
“You’ve got that look,” he parroted. She eyed him warily, apparently catching her recycled phrase; she became suspicious.
“...What look?” she indulged.
“The ‘iffy girl’ look.”
“You made that word up.”
“‘Iffy’ means you’re unsure about something. You keep looking between me and the ground, and you tap your fingers.” Lucia looked at her right hand on the table: sure enough, she tapped her index and middle fingers before stopping them. Well played, her squint said. I know, I’m smarter than you, his arrogant smile responded. He leaned on his elbows.
“Got somethin’ on your mind?” She took a few moments to consider... Her vision lingered on the metal plates she felt on her palms.
“I was thinking... that this side of ‘science man’ isn’t so bad.” Heisenberg stilled. Wait, was “science man” going to be a thing now? He refocused.
“Uh, how do you mean?”
“I mean... the not-violent side. Y’know, when you look at a problem, think a lot, and just...” She gestured with her hands. “Make... normal stuff...” She shied away towards the end of that sentence, and bit into her chicken to avoid explaining any further.
...He didn’t know how to take that. Why did she have to say weird shit at such random times? And then there was that word again: normal.
Now that he thought about it... About this “side” of him she described... He could count on one hand how many times he was allowed to be anything but what Miranda made him: violent and ruthless. In fact, when was the last time he was anything but vengeful? The quiet way Lucia said all that, however, felt... irritatingly genuine. What kind of man could he be under normal circumstances? What kind of man would he have become had he not been taken, all those years ago?
But he couldn’t be normal. Not now, not ever... At least, not while Miranda lives. He protected himself from Lucia’s sentiment with a shield of his usual jeering.
“Nice try. Buttering me up won’t get you out of eating this broccoli.” Lucia rolled her eyes and crossed her arms.
“I wouldn’t have cussed if you didn’t drop me—”
“You told me to let you go.” She sighed in her seat, unable to deny that fact. Good, ok, this was back into familiar territory. No more introspections for tonight. Seeing her avoid her side of greens, he took her fork in his hand and held out the offensive vegetable towards her.
“Come on, ain’t got all night—” His hand stilled. Some invisible force was keeping him from pushing the utensil any closer. His brows slowly—incredulously—rose above his lenses.
She was using her magnetism against the metal fork. Smugly.
“Are you... fucking kidding me?”
“Ha-haaa!” she laughed triumphantly. She hopped off her chair and ran. “Finally, I’m— whoa-oooaaah!” Lucia’s feet suddenly froze in place, which caused her to flap about to regain balance. She looked down:
Heisenberg had magnetized her boots to the ground.
Tonight’s defeated groan had to be her most dramatic thus far.
Try as he might, he couldn’t rein in his thoughts. He watched her from his camera room: her tongue stuck out as she experimented with climbing her room’s metal walls instead of sleeping. Thankfully, she chose to do so above her bed, which she’d bounce off of anytime her powers failed her. Heisenberg shook his head as her observations echoed.
Making “normal stuff” was never an option for him. Maybe next time, he should explain that he made those gloves and boots for her to sneak around and spy on Miranda, or he should teach her how to kill with her magnetism somehow. Each of his projects here at the factory was an extension of himself: angry, savage experiments ready to destroy anyone in his way with a single command. How was he supposed to maintain that when Lucia still seemed reluctant to kill?
He’d be pleased at her developments, were she not so prone to feeling remorse. They shared similar powers—much to his egotistical delight—but he had to be 100% sure they’d have the same murderous certainty against their common enemy. Her capacity to care for those lycans gave him room to doubt her. He had to fix that... After a few seconds, he annoyedly removed his pen cap from his teeth. Lost in thought again. Now he had to fix that pen-biting habit too, damn it.
Forcing himself back on track, he scoured his notes on Lucia to brainstorm. In spite of her hesitance, he believed her powers evolved from specific stressors. After all, would they have discovered her electromagnetic field without a lycan attacking her with a metal weapon? So what would happen if she faced another kind of enemy?
...Perhaps it was time to introduce her to his creations.
Heisenberg smirked at the possibilities. Yes, it’d line up with her electromagnetic training anyway. Who knows how her powers will improve after that kind of trial? However, she hasn’t asked to fight another lycan ever since her first kill... Even though he said no more tests without her permission, he couldn’t resist the mad scientist within: he’d find a way to get her to face a Soldat.
He glanced at her video feed, catching her jump from the floor and attaching herself to the ceiling above her bed. After a few moments, she fell back onto the mattress. Now that he remembered the way she maneuvered up those steel beams...
He took a brand new piece of paper and started writing up a concept. A soldier that could scale the heights of his factory—and eventually, Miranda’s stronghold. He titled it: the Soldat Jet.
As Heisenberg feverishly came up with his own plans, he didn’t see Lucia take her tape recorder and speak of her latest flashbacks.
“What are we doing today, again?” he heard Lucia ask. She ambled behind him and the gurney he wheeled with a covered passenger. It appeared to be the same size as Heisenberg or so, but its weight oddly favored the left side. Without pausing, the man ordered the metal door to his arena open.
“Your selective memory never ceases to amaze,” he sighed. He didn’t need eyes on the back of his head to tell she crossed her arms with a soured mood. Parking the gurney in the center, he reminded her, “We’re testing a modified control device for the army. Y’know, the one to take down Miranda?”
Lucia tiptoed around him, like she didn’t want to disturb whatever lay underneath the sheet.
“The ‘metal army?’” she added, recognition lighting her pupils.
“So let me get this straight: you can remember me calling them a ‘metal army’ god-knows-how-long-ago. But you can’t remember talking about the control device this morning?” Amused condescension laced his words, to which Lucia maturely responded by sticking her tongue out at him. He waved her off.
“Give it some room. I’ll be over there testing the connection’s range.” He walked away, only to hear the child’s footsteps follow after him. That wouldn’t do. He flexed his fingers for a subtle magnetic effect, just enough to slow her down and avoid tipping her off to his plan.
“Stop making my shoes heavier, you jerk!” Ah. Once again: observant little shit. Heisenberg turned to her, walking backwards with obvious mock innocence.
“Whatever could you mean?” By the strained motion of her hands, he guessed she was trying to negate his powers with her own, somehow. He’d find her defiance almost adorable, but he had that nagging theory to test. “C’mon, don’t you want to finally see what a Soldat is?”
Lucia looked up at him, searching for that hidden intent. He watched her eyes scan his person until something clicked: he came to the arena unarmed. She allowed herself to carefully drop her hands... But his intuition told him it wasn’t quite obedience. This was her knowing he had a purpose to this event that he wouldn’t budge on. By her stern expression, this situation didn’t please her in the slightest. Heisenberg, on the other hand, released control of her shoes with his usual self-satisfied smile.
“Good girl!” he sarcastically praised from a distance. He didn’t catch whatever gesture she did—probably something improper—while he removed a mess of a contraption from his coat. A modified walkie talkie of sorts, held in one hand. He pressed a button on the side that caused its mini-speaker to crackle with a static feed. He spoke into it:
“Wake the fuck up, freak.”
Lucia flinched when she heard the sheet suddenly stir. She turned, and stared tensely. An appalling being of flesh and machinery stiffly rose from its resting place. Hissing through bared teeth, it calibrated the terrifying drill in its left arm before eerily standing to attention. The cybernetic Soldat awaited its creator’s orders. The girl had covered her mouth with one hand, horrified, while the other subconsciously laid on her chest; aside from the size and the number of cables, their reactors were nearly identical.
“Speechless? It’s pretty brilliant, I know.”
“I-I... I thought you meant an actual metal army,” she gasped, “Not... whatever this is...!” Heisenberg easily shrugged off her discomfort.
“It’s got metal, don’t it?” He took a few more steps back; judging by the constant white noise from the speaker, the device’s range appeared stable. Good. He brought it closer to his lips to whisper a single word:
“...Attack.”
The Soldat directed its head at Lucia. It shoved the gurney away with the augmented arm, the mechanism whirring to life. The second it took a lumbering step towards her, Lucia was on guard.
“H-Heisenberg?” she carefully called back, matching its forward movements with her own backward retreat.
“Hmmm, damn thing’s malfunctioning,” he lied. He beat the back of the device for acting points. “Uuuh, gimme a minute.” Heisenberg idly fiddled with the buttons, lenses directed at his invention, but irises trained on his two projects.
“Heisenberg!” The Soldat’s long strides caught up to her, and it raised its weapon to strike. Lucia threw her hands to the side, redirecting the weighty drill to her left while pushing herself away with her magnetic field. Slowly, Heisenberg replaced the control device with his journal and pen.
Lucia switched to her learned tactic: dodge, wait for an opening, then slip around and climb its back. Her right arm choked its neck while the left grabbed onto its headgear for purchase. Her legs wrapped around its waist before administering sharp doses of electricity. As an excellent conductor, the iron headgear practically fried the Soldat’s head; its throat rasped, completely feral. Unfortunately for her, its undead nerves seemed to resist shockwaves of pain compared to a lycan. It reached back and seized her cardigan. With a yelp, she was harshly flung across the floor. In the chaos, she felt a sickening pull—something detached from its skull. Once she’d finished tumbling, she realized that its steaming, bloodied headpiece was firmly clutched in her grip.
Her eyes shot up, alarmed. Now enraged, the Soldat barbarically snarled at her past its dull gaze, scorched wherever metal had touched its skin. It stalked towards her.
“H-Heisenberg, make it stop!” she yelled, pushing herself to her feet.
“I mean, you pulled the control unit off its head, sooo...” His mouth sounded off a short raspberry with an added thumbs down. The device was kaput. Before she could shout at him for reacting so passively, she was interrupted by another wild swing. The sharp tip of its drill barely missed her head as she sidestepped. But her dodge abruptly landed her throat right into its open palm.
It hoisted her up with ease, then slammed her back onto the uneven ground. Lucia coughed while desperately blinking dancing lights out of her vision. The girl’s senses returned just in time to catch this monster rearing the deadly instrument, aimed to impale her forehead.
Before it could stab her, her thin hand smacked onto its reactor and jolted directly into its heart. Now it felt something! It remained stunned and in pain, but not for long; Lucia cried out as she drew her hand back, fingers and glove burnt by the contact. It wasn’t a lightbulb like hers, she realized. It was an exhaust port that vented searing air. Heisenberg grinned while witnessing her panicked epiphany.
Touching the Soldat’s reactor had fiery consequences. How would she adapt?
The girl rolled away from its hold before it could shake off its paralysis. She pushed herself up further with her gloves and boots, nimbly gaining distance through the air, then clumsily landing several feet away from it. He watched her inhale and exhale; with enough space and a few precious seconds, her skin healed itself. As the Soldat recovered to make its way over to her again, she took on a desperate, but determined aura.
She brought her hands together, summoning wisps of lightning between her palms. Lips tightened and brows lowered in frightened concentration. The sparks grew brighter, her hands shaking as she increased the voltage but worked to contain it. Heisenberg adjusted his lenses while leaning forward. Just before the Soldat could attempt to stab her, she thrust her hands forward.
Volatile but true to its aim, a steady lightning bolt burst through her fingertips and straight into her enemy’s reactor.
The streaks arced through every metal scrap on its cold body; it could only flail, screech, and give into the smite. At last, its false heart was overloaded with energy. The soldier fell to its knees just before the reactor violently exploded, effectively destroying it into calcified pieces. Lucia let up and covered her head, willing her field to protect her from wayward shrapnel.
Heisenberg was ecstatic.
“Holy SHIT, you can shoot fucking LIGHTNING now?!” This was by far one of the most exciting developments. He laughed sadistically and hollered, applauding himself for Lucia’s quick thinking. Now with this long-range attack, she shouldn’t need to rely on body contact to deal damage. As he hastily recorded his notes, he didn’t notice that he celebrated alone.
Lucia released a breath she’d been holding unaware. Now she gasped for oxygen as she watched the smoke clear, leaving behind a crystalline, mechanical heart among the corpse’s remains. Labored breathing soon quieted down...
“...You planned this.”
There was no questioning in her voice, no scorn or dread. Purely factual. Heisenberg’s writing paused... before he shrugged, wrapped up his thoughts, and closed the book. He strolled over to her and the exposed heart.
“...Mmm, originally, I wanted to test the control device,” he reasoned casually with a half-truth, “But I’d say we discovered something much better!”
“You wanted me to kill it,” she corrected. He stopped before her. She didn’t even look at him; her pupils darted left and right while her shaky hand held her temple. Whether she was remembering something or merely processing what happened, he didn’t know or care. Not now. He bobbed his head.
“Course I wanted you to kill it. The hell do you think I’ve been teaching ya this whole time? But if you need me to spell it out for you and your shit brain, I’m telling you: this is a good thing!”
“How?!” she snapped. Now she leveled him with an emotion he hadn’t seen in some time: betrayal. She stomped forward, pointing an accusing finger at him. “You said no more tests without my permission! I didn’t want this!” Heisenberg sighed and rolled his eyes to the ceiling, obviously uncaring that he’d bent the rules in his favor.
“It was an accident, brat,” he continued to claim, “Besides, you’re the one who pulled off the control unit—”
“Stop lying to me!!” Lucia’s hands clenched the sides of her skirt in anger, floating high enough to furiously glare down at him. Electricity menacingly flashed from her gloves and shoes. Oh, now she had his attention. Using the equipment he made her to fucking look down on him? How dare she!
“You said no more lying, either!” she kept yelling, “I’m not stupid enough to believe you couldn’t have stopped the Soldat yourself! Admit it: this was just another one of your messed up tests!”
Metal gears and sheets flew their way in front of Heisenberg’s boots to act as a staircase. Each step he took was heavy, threatening, leading up to him looming over her at their usual heights. He grit his teeth as he spoke slowly:
“Watch. Your. Tone.”
Lucia’s shoulders tensed, her breath shuddering—somehow, the quieter rage far overshadowed his well-known explosive temper. Her shrinking posture suggested a falter in her resolve, like she’d buckle under his gravely serious authority. If she knew what was good for her, she’d back down.
...Of course, she had to fight him instead. After taking a few moments to collect herself, she hardened her armor and returned his scowl. Damn her. Even while her hands anxiously shook, she fiercely frowned up as if to tell him: I’m not in the wrong here. Now objectively, that’d be true... Subjectively, however, her unyielding personality pissed him the hell off.
“You got some fucking nerve, talking to me like that,” he ground out, balling his hands into fists, “I ordered you to get stronger. Instead, you’ve avoided the lycans since you’d killed one. How does stalling your training make you stronger, huh?! You’re just holding yourself back!” Heisenberg’s voice started rising. Lucia’s nose flared, her breathing speeding up. “Why can’t you see that I’m teaching you how to kill for your own good?! Doesn’t it feel goddamn empowering, knowing those mutts can’t hurt you like they used to anymore?!”
Heisenberg’s fists tightened even further than he thought possible at his projected experiences. The emotions from his youth tore at his chest. When he’d killed his first lycan, he was thrilled. It was the ultimate testament to his will, to his silent promise to himself that he’d never go down without a fight. He refused to simply roll over and die in his grief. And now that he controlled the filthy mongrels, why the hell wouldn’t he use them as fodder in his own experiments? He’d damn well earned that power play: to turn all of his pain back onto Miranda’s other failed creations. Why couldn’t Lucia feel the same?
“Those lycans were people, weren’t they?”
...He neither confirmed nor denied it. He only seethed at her sentimentality. Damn her!
“That Soldat...” Lucia shakily inhaled past a sob, “...was a person!” Lightning flickered in her hands. Heisenberg eyed her powers warily, but remained stubborn. He threw his arms up, exasperated.
“What the fuck do you care?! They’re all dead already, anyway!”
“I was dead!!”
Heisenberg froze. Lucia heaved at him, her mind reeling at a million miles per hour. She struggled through forming tears, but made no move to wipe them.
“S-So you... You send them here, to this room, to die again.” Electricity now shot wildly from her body as her emotions ramped up. None directed at Heisenberg, but he leaned back on instinct. The flood lights blinked on and off around them, the bulbs reacting to her turbulent heart. “You don’t care about them because they were already dead? So now they’re just... just useful enough to be experiments?! It doesn’t change that that was a person! That I was a person!!”
The lights returned to their fixed brightness. Her lightning gradually stopped as she grasped what she’d said. Both of them stopped at what she’d said. A suppressed, but powerful insecurity bore its way into Lucia’s soul. Her angered posture slacked, replaced by sorrowful eyes pleading at him. As if he had the answers she sought.
“I’m... I’m still a person... right?”
“...”
Heisenberg couldn’t respond. They both absorbed each other’s words in dense silence. He hadn’t ever thought that she’d pondered such a crisis to this extent, or that perhaps her anger wasn’t only from forcing her to kill, but from the uncertainty of what she was... He didn’t think she’d reveal that his logic came with terrible implications: that he didn’t value her any more than his other fucked up minions. That to him, she wasn’t a person. Just another undead experiment.
“...Is she really just that?” came the quietest, most irritating thought. From that annoying, locked part of his heart, it sought to erode his carefully constructed walls. The walls meant to protect him from losing sight of his vengeance... In spite of himself, he stiffened at the unwelcome pang of guilt. That same damn feeling he had after leaving Donna’s home gnawed at him. Heisenberg started raising his hand towards her shoulder... But he stopped. What was he going to do? What could he possibly say to any of that?
Before he could reach any consensus, Lucia’s floating finally staggered. For a split second, Heisenberg saw it from the parting of her shirt. Her reactor blinked in a specific pattern: it was almost out of battery. His raised hand couldn’t catch her before she collapsed onto the concrete.
“Lucia!” He lowered his platform and kneeled down.
“Hei... sen...” He picked her up by her shoulders and legs, bolting towards the arena’s exit.
“Hey hey hey, stay awake for me, kid!” He didn’t look down as he felt the girl’s head slowly rest on his shoulder.
Lucia snapped awake as she returned to consciousness, gasping for air. Shapes and colors shook in and out of existence, the harshness of a cold cave’s floors and rusted cell bars threatening to spiral her—
And then there was that lingering tobacco smell. It drew her eye to Heisenberg sitting by her bed, apparently having been startled awake by her as well. He adjusted his lenses, but said nothing. He simply stared at her, knowingly, as she breathed through yet another nightmare that escaped her memory. She looked around to ground herself. Her gaze drifted to the humming in her chest. Familiar cables connected her reactor to a battery laid down on the floor, right next to Heisenberg’s feet. They were in her room. She was fine. She was... safe? That description became unclear as she recalled the events at the arena.
“How do you feel?” he asked.
“...Sore...”
“Well, that’s what happens when you faint from the air.”
“That’s what happens when I’m tricked into a fight.”
“...”
He reached for something else on the ground: a mug of lavender tea, offered up to her as an olive branch. He carried an indignant frown on his face, even with this supposed truce. Lucia told herself she was merely thirsty, and not at all ready to forgive him. She carefully sat up and took the ceramic handle.
They spent the time quietly, neither of them sure of how to even begin unpacking that argument. Lucia mentally scoffed. This scenario has happened before. Would he apologize again, she wondered?
“I meant what I said.”
Well. She hadn’t expected that. She glanced at him, if only to satiate her curiosity. But he didn’t even look at her, focusing instead on lighting a fresh cigar. She never liked how he’d always set her up to ask a follow-up question. Dramatic bastard.
“...About what?” she inevitably groaned.
“...I’m teaching you to kill for your own good.” Heisenberg paused to take a puff. And to let her stew on those words, probably. She remained quiet, permitting him to continue with what she knew was a planned, albeit important lecture. “No, I’m teaching you how to survive. I know somewhere, deep down, you know Miranda can cause greater horrors than lycans. And I know even more of her deceit than you do. We aren’t safe while she’s alive. I need you to be ready for anything. Believe it or not, every one of those deaths are steps towards ensuring your survival.”
“But you enjoyed killing those lycans, didn’t you?”
“And to save your life—multiple times—in case you forgot. Ungrateful brat.” Lucia’s defenses wavered at that. She supposed he wasn’t wrong... But not once did he ever refer to it as “saving” her. This conversation bordered on uncomfortable... “Besides, why not have a bit of fun while on the job? You can find so many ways to make killing entertaining!” And there it was, that sick sense of humor. Her head drifted to the side.
“I lied to you. Yeah. I get it, I’m an asshole. Sue me. But I swear, I’m teaching you to be strong so you can live,” he added with finality. He leaned over to search her face. “Do you understand, Lucia?”
The girl kept quiet for several tense moments...
What was this? She couldn’t tell if he didn’t care about his actions, or if this was some roundabout way of apologizing. Perhaps an unequal mix of both? Admitting his dishonesty gave her some closure, yes, but his reasoning... His experiments... The lengths he’d go to in order to reach his goals. Lucia was always taken aback by the intensity of his resolve. Even so, his lessons always contained some level of pained authenticity. In spite of everything... she believed him. What other tortures did Miranda commit on him, for him to be so hatefully driven?
Lucia gave a resigned nod, if only to get him to stop talking and give her more space to think. She needed time to process his justifications... He sensed this, and leaned back in his chair instead of pressing the topic; neither of them knew if there was a true victor here. Annoyed at her jumbled thoughts, the girl took several big gulps of her tea. By muscle memory alone, she left half in the mug. The girl stared into the liquid... Her next words simply slipped out of her mouth:
“...I wish I was normal.”
Heisenberg bristled at the word. He took a deep drag of his cigar, his thoughtful but harsh exhale full of smoke.
“Yeah? Too bad. We’re freaks with supernatural powers and a crap-ton of issues. ‘Normal’ is a luxury we don’t have, so might as well get used to it.” Lucia couldn’t bother to hide her sadness. From the corner of her vision, Heisenberg’s form slumped back in his chair. She knew he got like that when he either had no idea how to console her, or didn’t have the patience to. Minutes passed before he spoke again.
“...Ok, how about this? We get a um... ugh, a normal day tomorrow.” Lucia unwittingly perked up with interest.
“As in, no training?”
“No training. Maybe walk around just outside the factory for once. But only up until the fences! And we gotta set some ground rules.” Her eyes unabashedly filled with a cautious hope; the last time she saw outside, the absolute vastness of the unknown world scared her stiff. But now, the offer enticed her. A change of scenery was something she didn’t know she wanted, even if it came with its limits—perhaps her recent flashbacks awakened a desire to feel the mountain breeze for herself.
“So? What do you think, Lucia?”
“Yeah, I’d... like that.” Heisenberg seemed to relax a tad at the confirmation. She held her mug out to him. “Promise me we’ll have a normal day tomorrow by drinking the rest of this?” The man rolled his eyes.
“Really?”
“Really. I won’t believe you until you drink it!” With a disgruntled, yet mildly pleased expression, he downed the beverage.
“There, I promise. Happy?” She shrugged.
“We’ll see.” His shoulders became rigid in quiet understanding. He wasn’t off the hook. Not completely. Nevertheless, they both accepted the temporary break that awaited them in the morning.
He tried not to think about how off-putting their breakfast had been. Awkwardly quiet, devoid of any jabs or playful insults... It irked him, how alien that made him feel in his own home. All because neither of them had any satisfactory results to their argument. But he shouldn’t be the one to back down. He’s the adult here, goddamn it. Aren’t kids supposed to respect their elders by default?
Yet, what little moral compass he possessed reminded him that he was incorrect. Heisenberg did trick her into another combat trial. Any amount of trust he might’ve built up between them had chipped. Whether or not it’d shatter completely was annoyingly—rightfully, that pesky morality added—up to Lucia.
All of which lead to delivering on that promise. No training today. That said, some preparations were needed.
Heisenberg often prided himself on a healthy dose of caution. In his opinion, anyway. The little girl bundled up in a wool poncho and a thick scarf, however, didn’t totally appreciate these addendums to their deal. As he kneeled and straightened out her outfit, she scowled at him over the fabric hiding the lower half of her face. She idly waved the heavy cape draping over her thighs while he tightened the scarf looping over her nose, mouth, and neck.
“These smell like your gross cigars,” she snidely remarked, her voice muffled under the layers. Lucia pulled them down for some sweet oxygen. He flicked her forehead at those words, earning him a startled ouch and a cranky groan.
“Aside from keeping your ass from freezing out there, you know why you need these.” The child massaged her forehead while looking down at the ground. He tilted into her field of view. “Repeat the rules back to me.” She grumbled at the memory exercise from the night before, as if she deserved more credit.
“Never go outside without these on,” she recited, “I need to hide my face from strangers.” Heisenberg nodded.
“Continue.”
“Don’t go past the fences. Don’t lay face down in any snow—water’s bad for the reactor. Also tell you if it starts overheating.” The machinery in her chest lay perfectly hidden under the thick poncho. Even so, he needed to be aware of any potential shortcomings in his work. Seemed like they were in the clear so far.
“And the most important rule?” he asked. Lucia’s bored demeanor was temporarily shaken. She shuddered. He persisted. “The most important rule, Lucia.” She steadied her nervous breathing.
“...If I see or hear any crows... stay calm, act natural, and hide until they’re gone. Never break this rule.” Heisenberg watched her posture subtly shrink. It’d been fair to warn her about Mother Miranda’s most cunning power: shapeshifting. Flying away as a flock of crows was her preferred mode of transportation, as well as spying on villagers when she deemed it necessary. None were the wiser. Lucia had trembled at his explanation at the time; it was something out of a children’s cautionary tale, and a description that apparently sounded familiar enough for her to believe him. Her pupils—filled with frightful recognition—flashed in his mind from last night. Had she witnessed Miranda’s true abilities during her experiments, he wondered? He laid his hands on Lucia’s shoulders to get her attention. Here, at her eye level, he made certain to reiterate how serious this was.
“Miranda can’t know that you’re alive yet, or ever see you enter the factory. She’ll kill the both of us if she discovers my plans... or worse. We don’t want to find out ‘worse.’ Understand?” His hands tightened ever so slightly, hinting at the inner trepidation of leaving his warnings unheeded. There was more at stake to letting her outside than she imagined... The child nodded slowly at him, the very same paranoia ingraining itself into her mind.
Cautiously satisfied, he bundled her hair behind her ears and neck before tucking them into the scarf. His hands gently tugged her poncho’s hood just above her forehead. It gave him some comfort to hide her identifying ebony locks... The short inspection revealed that her hair had grown a few inches since he’d first resurrected her. It’d probably reach her collarbone now if she were permitted to let it down. She’d need a haircut eventually— He smothered the thought, disgusted at himself for briefly entertaining such a useless concern.
As if to appease the more life-threatening worries, Lucia silently pulled the scarf back over her face. He allowed himself the shortest thankful nod—so slight she might’ve missed it. Not that she particularly cared about observing him right now. After all, she kept herself mostly distant since they’d fought. An aggravating, but fair enough response. He at least took some solace in her remembering his rules. He finally stood.
“Alright. Let’s head out.”
The outside of the factory may as well have been an entirely different planet to Lucia, yet it considerably lightened her mood as she took in all the sights.
The mountains and trees in the distance lay under dense blankets of snow, directly in contrast to the few white patches that littered the scrapyard. Various vehicles and machinery lay abandoned at its borders. As she timidly trudged through the grounds, she carefully brushed her fingertips on the tall, dry grass. Some obscure memory told her it reminded her of “wheat.” The rough, but feathered sensation felt... somewhat pleasant. Perhaps it had brought her comfort, once upon a time. She often pondered if she’d ever remember everything from her life before.
When she reached the edge of the fence, she held the chain links and peered through. Lucia could hear a river’s steady flow far, far below them. The wind carried its freshwater scent to her nostrils, weaving through cloth. She took a deep breath... And the mountain breeze easily turned on her, bringing about the pungent, smoky stench from aged steel chimneys. Now she thanked the fabric for blotting some of the smell. The girl turned around to study the factory in all its vile glory.
Decrepit. Weathered down. An absolute affront to Mother Nature. As if to actively rival the wildlife, the industrial beast looked like it’d been here a long time. It stubbornly stood despite being at the elements’ mercy. No one would ever be able to guess what creatures Heisenberg created in its depths. She both shivered and seethed when she revisited the revelations.
Sorely needing a distraction, Lucia wandered to what she assumed was the entrance. Beyond it, an ancient bridge stretched to a dark, carved out hole across the way. She couldn’t see any further... Wading past her fear of the unknown, her mind made the connection.
The village he’d told her about must lie beyond that bridge.
“Thinking of running off?” she heard Heisenberg call out to her. When she looked over to him, she only saw his back as he searched for anything remotely salvageable amongst the scraps. Lucia didn’t respond. She wasn’t dumb enough to take that bait; the moment she’d try to float over the fence, she knew he’d just drag her back by the metal in her gloves and boots. Running barefoot in this unforgiving cold wouldn’t get her very far. Certainly not with a pissed off Heisenberg and feral monsters under his command.
That... and the idea of Miranda lurking in every dark corner of the village kept her feet firmly planted. And just thinking about being surrounded only by people who falsely worshipped her... Was she one of them before? That idea brought about a curdling anxiety in her stomach.
Just as the first time she gazed at the open world, she became cruelly aware that the factory remained her only shelter. The limited choices in her second life distressed her to no end. Lucia shook her head, grumpily stomping back along the beaten path without an answer. Now she definitely wasn’t in a chatty mood. Heisenberg glanced back at her for a split second before returning to his search.
“Silent treatment, huh? Real original.” If he were looking, she would’ve sneered at him.
“Your factory stinks,” she snapped, trying to add animosity to her words. Heisenberg faced her just to mockingly gasp and dramatically place his hands over his chest.
“So mean! Oooh, you break an old man’s heart. I really felt that one,” he drawled sarcastically. Seeing as how most of her face was hidden, she made an extra effort to roll her eyes as incredulously as possible before walking away from his ridicule.
Heisenberg lifted his arm, prompting one of the scrap piles to rise. From underneath it, a silhouette caught his interest. His other hand called to it, and the stray metal flew right into his grip: a rusted wrench. Not what he wanted. He huffed at it, disappointed, and nonchalantly tossed it far over his shoulder. It landed right behind Lucia’s feet.
She turned at the thud, looking between him and the discarded tool. Lucia switched to staring at her gloved palm. Maybe since she weighed heavier than a wrench... She hesitantly turned her hand towards it, then thought of opposite charges. The tool shook for a moment. Focusing more, she turned all of her attention to summoning it into her hand. Once again, it shook, then one end raised from the ground before it—
“OOF!” Lucia’s neck snapped back suddenly when the wrench overshot her hand and hit her square in her forehead. Dazed, she fell back onto a patch of snow while the defiant utensil landed somewhere in the distance. Her vision doubled as she stared at scattered clouds. As the freezing cold bit into her arms, legs, and back, this feeling drew up something... familiar...
She swept her arms and legs up and down, up and down. The girl laughed, excitedly creating what might’ve been her third or fourth snow angel. How many could she make before they had to go home?
No more, she sadly found out, as she heard a muffled call. A figure stepped towards her, reaching down with an outstretched hand. The very same, calloused one that helped her fly. The palm carried a deep, slashed scar from an old accident, but the marred flesh never took away from the warmth of its kind gestures.
That distant voice called her again, and she reached up to take it...
The vision broke when her hand felt leather instead of bare skin.
“The hell happened to you?” Heisenberg chuckled. He tried to pull her up from the snow, but she suddenly withdrew. Confusion lined his brows; her wide eyes indicated nothing short of disbelief.
Who was she reaching out to? Would she have been able to see that person’s face? Why were her flashbacks always so short? The real person currently in front of her took on a calculating expression. Uncomfortable under his suspicion, Lucia stood abruptly and brushed herself off.
“Nothing, I just... wanted to make a snow angel.”
“...Uh-huh.” She looked behind her: like she said, she’d left an angel indented into the snow. Yet, when she turned to him, he appeared unconvinced. He looked as if he was about to say something—
“Good morning, Heisenberg!”
The new voice jolted the pair into frenzied action. Heisenberg whipped around and put his arm behind him to shield her, while Lucia immediately pressed herself against his back. Her small hands fearfully gripped his trench coat—she hoped she’d be unseen behind his height and the flourish of his jacket. Who could possibly be visiting on the one day they decided to let her walk around outside?
Just as quickly, Heisenberg’s tense arm slackened into an exhausted, dubious attitude.
“Oh. It’s you.” Lucia had never heard him speak with such dripping disdain combined with an odd hint of... relief? She peeked from his side. He couldn’t stop her from blurting out loud enough for all three present to hear:
“The fat, jolly man is REAL?!”
There, parked by the fence after having crossed the bridge, was an extremely obese man with rosy cherub cheeks and a curious, but cordial smile. He sat atop a large carriage, drawn by a live creature she recognized from the metal imagery in the factory. Heisenberg sighed from above her.
“Goddamn it, kid. New rule: don’t talk to strangers.”
Of fucking course she’d bound up and walk alongside the carriage of the first polite stranger she’d see. Why the hell not? Might as well throw in a rebellious phase while they were at it. Then again, he couldn’t blame her. The Duke was the only other person she’d met since she’d been revitalized months ago—if he could even call him a “person.” Also, he had a goddamn horse, the sight of which had her eyes disgustingly sparkling with wonder. How she went from cowering behind him to suddenly being so friendly was absolutely beyond him. Once the carriage was properly settled right outside the factory’s door, the two quickly made introductions.
“Why hello there, dear child. What’s your name?”
“H-Hello! I’m Lucia!”
“Lucia...?” he asked, urging her for a surname. The girl’s brows knotted in deep thought.
“Lucia... u-um...” The rotund man’s expression turned playful on them.
“Lucia Heisenberg?” The two stumbled over each other’s words to correct him first.
“Oh you gotta be fucking shitting me—”
“Nooooo no no—!!”
“—she sure as hell ain’t my damn kid, ya—”
“—and he’s a crazy jerk, he just keeps yelling at me and—”
“She’s a pain in my ass—” The overweight man’s jovial laughter eventually quieted them down.
“Of course, of course, I jest!” Finishing the last of his chuckles, he clasped his ring-laden fingers together. “Just Miss Lucia, then.”
“What’s your name?” she asked before Heisenberg could throw any other expletives.
“Oh yes, you may call me the Duke,” he answered, “I am a humble merchant, who works closely with your...” He looked down at Heisenberg, who prickled under the contemplative, beady eyes.
“...Foreman,” the Duke completed. Heisenberg caught her covered head turning to him; she had no idea what that word meant. Reading her train of thought—as the omniscient salesman tended to do—he kindly clarified:
“A supervisor who directs his workers. I presume you’re an apprentice of his, hmmm?”
“I, um...”
“The fuck are you doing here?” Heisenberg interrupted, arms crossing over his chest. The Duke quirked an interested brow at him.
“Why, you reserved my services for you and your factory for a spell. We agreed upon this months in advance. It’s quite unlike you to forget...” Heisenberg pushed his glasses up to pinch the bridge of his nose, eyes clenched shut as he felt a headache coming on. The Duke was many things, but a liar was not one of them... especially when it came to making coin. In all the chaos of training Lucia, it must’ve slipped his mind.
“Damn it,” he cursed under his breath, exasperated. He’d half a mind to send him back to the village square. Having the gargantuan know-it-all set up in his elevator wasn’t a presence he needed to see every time they headed to the arena. Then again, he wasn’t entirely sure Lucia would want to train after all of this... Heisenberg sighed, deciding that having the Duke’s wares close at hand would at least provide resources for production. His time would probably free up considerably, with the way things were going between him and the kid.
“Fine. We’ll get you set up,” Heisenberg finally decided. He turned to Lucia and ordered her to—she ignored him as she spoke.
“What’s a merchant?” He was appalled by how easily she brushed off the new rule he’d told her not even five minutes ago. God, she’d never make it in the village.
“Ah,” the Duke began, as if he’d both expected that question and caught a hint he that wasn’t supposed to, “A merchant is a supplier of many things. Anything you desire, I can provide. But as a businessman, I cannot give something for nothing. For example...” He shimmied in his seat and reached for an object on a nearby shelf. His swollen hand delicately carried a sheer bag filled with neatly wrapped sweets, all tied with a pretty bow. “You may purchase these chocolates for a price, if you’d like.”
Lucia’s pupils shone with childish desire—knowing that she had nothing to give, she cautiously turned her begging gaze to Heisenberg.
“You’re not getting an allowance, brat,” he gruffly barked, refusing to make eye contact with her. The poncho from the corner of his vision slumped down, disappointed. The Duke merely snickered.
“Fret not, Miss Lucia. I don’t require only money. I also deal in favors and information. In fact, you may have these if you answer me one question.” Lucia’s hope eagerly returned, while the man beside her fumed at this game.
“What... is Heisenberg’s title?” The girl tilted her head again.
“‘Title?’” she repeated.
“His designation. An occupation, or a position in life,” he patiently described, “A... social standing, if you will.”
...
...What. The hell?
The engineer unwillingly stiffened in place. Responding to the unexpected, but boiling storm forming in his chest, the scrap metal behind him seemed to creak. The Duke remained unbothered, his cheery gaze trained on Lucia.
“Oh, he’s, um... he’s a...” She looked at him closely, squinting. She switched between searching his face and shutting her eyes, replaying images only she could see. Heisenberg dared only to peek at her. Finally, Lucia perked up at the Duke as if a lightbulb had gone off in her head. “Wait! You just said it earlier: foreman, right?”
The men exchanged glances. Heisenberg, radiating a dangerous warning. And the Duke, utterly unthreatened.
“...So I did, Miss Lucia. So I did. Enjoy!” He leaned forward to drop the bag into her grateful little hands.
“Thank you!” They could practically hear the smile on her face. She blinked back with her big almond eyes as she remembered something. “I’m um, I’m gonna eat over there.” She walked off to where the horse grazed on the opposite end of the carriage. Heisenberg leaned over just enough to catch Lucia putting her scarf down to pop a sweet into her mouth. She’d willingly left the Duke’s line of sight, as well as turned her back to the bridge. He’d have appreciated her following the hide-your-face rule if she hadn’t just stomped on the rest of his authority with that conversation.
“How very curious,” the Duke started, “When you’d first purchased those clothes from me, I’d expected an older ward.”
“What the fuck was that?” Heisenberg lowly growled, ignoring that last term.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific... milord.”
Heisenberg couldn’t remember the last time he’d flung a metal gear so fast at the Duke’s face. Oh that’s right, because he learned violence against this goddamn joker was absolutely impossible. Even so, he tried to take any satisfaction at the dull ring of solid steel slamming against flesh and bone.
There was no fun to be had. There never was with this guy. The Duke just took the hit like a fucking tank, and returned Heisenberg’s furious glare with his own tolerant beaming. Not a hair or tooth out of place. He grinned with a casual shrug.
“Wha-wath-dat?” Lucia’s voiced called out, mouth stuffed with treats.
“Nothing. Keep rotting your teeth, brat,” Heisenberg answered. They heard the softest exasperated sigh. The Duke dusted off his coat.
“Now, now, no need for that,” he negotiated, toeing a thin line between polite and patronizing, “I understand you wanting the company of a person who doesn’t know a Lord when they see one.” Heisenberg exhaled sharply through his nose.
“I literally introduced myself to her as ‘Lord Heisenberg,’ you overgrown turd.”
“A sliver of the bigger picture.” Heisenberg scoffed; this fucking guy and his stupid-ass metaphors. But he despised the knot forming in his gut as he knew the implication:
Lucia has no idea what it means to be a Lord of Miranda’s village.
Not even ten minutes into his arrival, and it felt as if the Duke sought to unravel everything. Fuck him.
“...It hasn’t exactly come up in conversation,” he ground out. The last time the dumbass ever brought it up had been when she thought it was his first name. For all he knew, maybe she still thought that. He menacingly stepped forward. “Don’t go stickin’ your nose where it doesn’t belong, Duke. Just focus on the business and maybe I won’t crush you and your precious shop in the elevator.”
The Duke laughed.
Heisenberg hated having so many people around him acting like they knew something he didn’t, but the Duke especially so. He internally raged any time he’d see this very carriage on the move. A willing participant in keeping Miranda’s glorified rat cage afloat. He had to have been a mutant himself, what with his gut, ageless appearance, and the irritating ability to shrug off bullets like they were nothing. But worst of all: his neutrality. The Duke was loyal only to himself and his Emporium. Heisenberg had given up figuring out any ulterior motives a long time ago. He could never fully let his guard down around someone who wasn’t at all concerned for either his safety or for stopping Miranda. As long as he made money, everything else was inconsequential.
Heisenberg envied the Duke’s freedom with a burning passion.
Even so, he couldn’t deny the merchant’s extremely intellectual nature. He had a way of reading people and knowing what they need before they do. This was one such situation, as the Duke pulled out two cigars and a lighter in apology... Damn it. Unable to resist after all that stress, he relented and took one. They shared some puffs of smoke, permitting the quiet. Heisenberg loathed the Duke for playing both friendly ally and ignorant bystander.
“Tread carefully, Heisenberg. Children are often more inquisitive than they appear.” He scoffed sharply at that.
“You don’t have to tell me that,” he muttered. After all, she picked up on him tricking her into a test, and noticed his individual habits. He took another long drag. “I’d appreciate you not stirring shit up during your stay.” The Duke chuckled.
“I’m sure she’d figure it out herself, given time. The question is: will you give her time?”
“See that— That’s stirring shit up! Are you trying to get on my nerves?” The Duke easily read through that angry mask of his. They both knew that revealing his servitude to Miranda—forced as it may be—would open up a whole can of worms. And Heisenberg wasn’t one for opening up. He’d rather murder the can of worms and toss it into the world’s deepest ditch. Knowing that Miranda experimented on him was enough for Lucia to agree to his plans. Anything else was on a more guarded, need-to-know basis, he frantically reasoned.
...Why did this make him frantic?
“Ohoho, simply food for thought, Heisenberg,” he offered innocently. The Duke looked to the partially cloudy sky, as if reliving the conversations. “The choice is ultimately yours. You’ll know what to do.”
“...I actually have no idea what the hell I’m doing,” Heisenberg dryly muttered under his breath.
“Oh?” The engineer looked at him with irritation. Of course he caught that; the merchant wanted him to keep talking. He was as nosy as Donna... Yet a part of him thought surely, a man only loyal to himself meant he wasn’t exactly loyal to Miranda either, right? Or was he simply that desperate for a confidant? Heisenberg breathed smoke through his nose as he considered which half-truths he’d begrudgingly give. The fat bastard had ways of finding things out eventually anyway—the crumbs might as well drop on Heisenberg’s terms.
“...Fine. Yeah, she’s... You could say an apprentice...” he vaguely explained, “She’s got potential. I’m teaching her what I know, but she doesn’t wanna do things the way I want her to. Even though she has... a wider skill set, compared to when I was her age.” Heisenberg thought of her range of powers: electrical and magnetic manipulation—to some degree—as well as healing, of all things. Her Cadou must’ve been tampered with before being implanted in her. He wasn’t sure he’d ever know. The Duke chuckled.
“Children should always improve from the previous generation, no?”
“Alright, sure, whatever—” Heisenberg rushed past all that gross sentiment, “But she’s not... applying lessons the way I want her to.” His free hand balled into a fist in his pocket. Their differing perspectives in killing experiments proved to be her biggest issue. Her kindness, her pity, her guilt... Weaknesses. And now that she had some grasp on her powers, Lucia talking back to him came with the returned threat of being electrocuted.
Improve from the previous generation, he’d said. Heisenberg’s darker thoughts sorely wished he could remove that kindness holding her back, like upgrading the neural processing of a Soldat’s control unit. Even though he’d spelled it out for Lucia that it was all for her survival, the work of having to convince a child of anything was exhausting.
Painfully oblivious, the topic of their conversation excitedly bounced to the two men from around the carriage. She’d covered her face again, but the pure delight in her eyes poured through like sunshine.
“Look what I found!” She carefully but firmly clutched a handful of flowers. Their stems shone with a healthy green, while their white, tear-shaped petals hung low. Heisenberg scratched his beard, puzzled by the find. Where the hell did she get those?
“My, what lovely snowdrops,” the Duke praised, clapping his fingers together, “Heisenberg, I didn’t realize you dabble in gardening—”
“Fuck you.”
“Ohohoho!”
Lucia looked between them, surprised that he could poke fun at Heisenberg so much without getting murdered. Well, one day she’ll find out that the prick’s probably immortal and nothing fucking matters with him, but that was a more confusing can of worms than the other. In any case, she decided she liked the merchant. If that wasn’t clear enough, Lucia took a single flower from the bouquet, and held it up to the Duke.
“Here, for you,” she said, the scarf shuffling up from her soft smile.
“Aren’t you kind? I shall treasure this, Miss Lucia. Thank you.” He picked the flower from her fingers and twirled it in the sunlight, observing it much like one would a precious diamond. Heisenberg stared at the kid, judgmental.
She looked back at him, flowers in hand.
“...”
“...”
She walked away from him, flowers in hand.
“Cheeky little shit,” he grumbled. Not that he’d ever want a stupid plant, but that was a deliberate choice to be rude. The Duke addressed him without removing his gaze from the snowdrop.
“Care for a metaphor?”
“No, but you’re gonna give it anyway.” Heisenberg’s lenses watched Lucia approach the horse, but he could feel the Duke smirk.
“...You had no prior knowledge of any snowdrops around your factory. You didn’t plant them, yet they appeared under these harsh conditions. Your lands have the groundwork, and the flowers thrived in their own way, regardless.” He gently tilted the petals up with a finger. “They grew, and will continue to do so with or without your attention.”
Heisenberg almost threw up at the know-it-all’s propensity for romanticism. It was a close second to that unsettling, impossible way he seemed to know everything that’s happened between them. Always enough to have something to say. Always vague enough to deny involvement. What insanity.
Past all that nauseating poetry, he saw the girl steadily reach out to pet the horse’s thick neck as it sniffed her. A light giggle escaped through her scarf when it snorted.
Heisenberg thought of how helpless she’d been during her first cruel test, versus handling the Soldat yesterday. He thought about her crying and wanting to go home, versus willingly fighting the lycans. He thought about the fear he inflicted on her, versus her standing up to him, even in the face of his rage...
Heisenberg had to be the one to improve each and every Soldat. But Lucia got to grow. Both because of him, and in spite of him.
“...I hate your metaphors,” he bluntly degraded. The merchant simply tucked the snowdrop into the pocket on his left breast and patted it.
“Agreed, I’ve had better. But I suppose they can’t all be gems. Like many things in life, it’s all trial and error.”
“God fucking damn it.” Trial and error. Learn from the mistake and make things right with Lucia, he got it. The Duke must think he’s so smart. The way he smirked atop his self-made throne confirmed it.
“Pssst, hey...!” The men heard Lucia whisper. “This crawled out of one of the flowers. What is it...?” She tiptoed to them carefully, afraid of startling a tiny passenger on her finger: a red insect, dotted with black.
“Ah, the little ladybug. Spring is on its way, it seems,” the Duke mused.
“You better not be coming up with a new metaphor.”
“Worry not, I shall save them for another time.”
Heisenberg groaned, thoroughly annoyed. He took a long drag of his cigar, gauging how long it’d take to unload the wares from the Duke’s—
“Gărgăriţă, -riţă
Zboară în poieniţă
Şi unde oi zbura
Acolo mă voi mărita.”
Lucia sang at the little bug without skipping a beat. Heisenberg—having picked up some languages over the years—coughed violently. The girl drew back at his loud reaction while the Duke hummed, amused but mannerly keeping his laughter to himself.
“Since when—” He coughed one last time. “Since when the fuck do you know how to speak Romanian? And do you even know what marriage is, young lady?!”
“W-What? I, uh—” Lucia stammered, blinking out of a fog, “What did I say?” The Duke cleared his throat.
“Ladybug, Ladybug,
Fly away into the glade
And where you will fly
There I will marry.”
The child blinked once more.
“Oh! Um... So what’s ‘marriage?’”
“Nothing you need to know about,” Heisenberg heaved. He was familiar with the way her eyelids drooped with one brow popped up. She didn’t enjoy the snark.
Lucia held her finger up to the sky to admire the shiny shell. Its wings snapped up, and it fluttered off with the wind. She gasped, trotting after it. As Heisenberg witnessed it drift in the opposite direction of the stone bridge, his walls chipped further. In that hardened heart of his, the smallest piece wondered how far it could fly.
He dared to hope it could go far, far away from this godforsaken mountain.
Trial and error, he repeated in his head. Make things right. However, as the path to mending their broken trust lay before him, Heisenberg found it difficult to walk. Following it had the annoying condition of admitting being wrong... which was never easy for the narcissistic scientist. Even worse, his identity as a Lord ceaselessly chewed away at his psyche, like a pest addicted to his flesh. This put him in a rather sullen, close-minded disposition. Incapable of vulnerability at the moment, he’d practically stepped off the path and stubbornly sat on the sidelines with his arms crossed.
To that, Lucia mirrored his inflexibility as she, too, refused to think about killing for her survival. And so she also annoyedly treaded off said imaginary path—goddamn it, the Duke’s inclination for metaphors was rubbing off on him, and he fucking hated how it infected his introspections now. But the way they stiffly sat across from each other at the dining table matched the tense imagery anyway. She chose to speak first.
“Are we... training today, or...?” Lucia awkwardly asked. Not out of actual want; she was trying to inch him towards the conversation. Lure him back onto the path.
“I dunno, are we?” he passively shot back. There was no point in disguising his chagrin. She didn’t like that.
“...W-Well, maybe if I don’t fight—”
“What the hell kind of fight do you think we’re preparing for?!”
“I’ve killed a lycan and a Soldat already, what else do you want?!”
“Don’t you raise your voice at me, Lucia!”
Yet another yelling contest ensued.
Trial and error, he’d repeat again. That advice was starting to smell like bullshit. Each time they brought up the topic, it’d spiral into verbal tirades. The days quickly filled with stress as neither backed down. The path between them started piling into a wall as they shot argument after argument, silence after silence. He could rip his hair out at their combined obstinance. Was she this contentious before she’d died, or—god forbid—did she pick it up from him? If she applied half her temper into her killing, they’d be golden! Everything would be going according to plan!
Screw your plan, he’d internally mock, copying her stupid voice in his head, I’ll help kill Miranda but literally NONE of the other bastards that’d stand in our way. They’re people too or whatever the SHIT logic I’ve got!!
Guess his experiences and knowledge of Miranda didn’t matter. He’s only got, what, decades of trauma and meticulous planning, collecting information towards his rebellion’s success. But fuck him, right? No, he wouldn’t apologize for preparing her to defend herself. He admitted lying to her, but if she faced off against any of Miranda’s monsters and lived, he better be getting the most tearful, “Thank you,” on a goddamn silver platter. And then he’d be able to say he told her so!!
But once they’d reached a standstill, he’d see her processing: she didn’t actually know what to do outside of training and eating. With their routine effectively interrupted, he saw her internal conflict of figuring out what to do with herself—especially when they tiptoed around the problems between them. On better days, Heisenberg would allow her to begrudgingly follow him around the factory; she’d simply watch him perform various maintenance, draw up blueprints, and create armor. Her quietness would be alright if the air wasn’t so thick with their unfinished quarrels.
To his dismay, she’d even trail him into the elevator for business discussions with the Duke. At least using complicated vocabulary to describe his needs for the army bored her enough to stop listening. He ignored the merchant’s expectant gaze; he must’ve been curious when he’d have that Lord conversation with Lucia. How about never, his squared shoulders indicated. His only consolation was the Duke’s cooperative silence against Lucia, compared to when they met. All her questions about topics that made Heisenberg uncomfortable were expertly waved away with the professional reasoning:
“I’d like to keep a working relationship with your foreman, Miss Lucia.” And he’d leave it at that. First-class customer service, for once. Heisenberg often exited the elevator with an even poutier kid than before.
As strange as it was to have her hanging around, he at least had some comfort that she wouldn’t get lost and die in the engine room or something. He could keep an eye on her this way. Sometimes, that was enough... But if it came down to visiting a surgical room to reanimate a new Soldat, that ignited even more arguments—surprise, surprise!
“You’re still experimenting on people?!”
“Oh my god, YES, I’m still experimenting. And they’re NOT people anymore if they’re brain-dead! But I guess you don’t have to be a zombie to be as stupid as them, right?” Lucia growled at his insult, her nails digging into her palms; he knew she hated when he attacked her intelligence. “This is years in the making. I’m not tossing it all away for your precious little feelings.”
“You’re so— Y-You just— UUUGH!” He dryly scoffed at her struggling to find a proper insult. Or perhaps she had so many that she couldn’t decide which to throw first. He returned to his work, preparing the clamps to attach to the brain stem.
“Hmph. Like I said: brain-dead.”
“FUCK you!!”
Heisenberg’s head snapped up. He slammed the electrical cable back down onto a nearby table; every metal object closest to him ominously shook as he directed his explosive fury at her.
“That’s it! GO TO YOUR ROOM!!” he yelled, pointing out the door. Lucia’s frown wavered between incredulous and fearful, her jaw wordlessly opening and closing.
“...WHAT?!” she finally shouted back.
“You fucking heard me! Go to your room and THINK about what you just said!”
“I don’t NEED to think about it, I MEANT it!”
“You have until the count of three before I lock you in your room myself! One...!” He lifted a finger to further illustrate his impatience. Lucia flinched. She wanted to say something— “TWO!!” He jerked his head forward, daring her to challenge him. But then he stopped at the sheer terror in her widening eyes...
He realized too late that his countdown reminded her of her first lycan test.
Heisenberg’s determination staggered. No, wait, he wasn’t going to hurt her—
“L-Lucia—”
In her childish panic, she finally ran off, choking back her sobs. He stood there for what felt like an eternity, alone... before he punched the nearest wall, indenting the metal with minimal effort. He fucked that up. One more to add to the pile.
“Shit...!”
Lucia wiped her eyes with a rough sleeve before calling for the elevator, her face a rosy red hue from her near-crying. She took deep breaths, begging her frightened heart to calm down. Inhale, hold... exhale. Inhale, hold... exhale—
Her breathing hitched. She pressed her lips into a firm line, realizing he’d taught her that. Heisenberg, the man who did nothing but yell, lie, and make monsters. The girl felt petty enough to stop immediately, even if it was one of the few decent habits she’d learned from him. So heated was her temper that she almost forgot about their mysterious guest.
“Whatever is the matter, dear?” the Duke asked. With the way he eyed her, he could probably already tell what’d happened. She stepped inside and pushed the button for the door to close.
“...Heisenberg’s...” An asshole, she wanted to say. But she didn’t want to be rude in front of the objectively kinder man. “...He’s mean.” The Duke huffed a short laugh.
“Indeed,” he simply replied. Lucia blinked. How could he be so casual? Does he...?
“Do you... You know what he really makes here, don’t you?” She watched him slowly nod without a single change in his default smile.
“Quite an imagination of his, isn’t it?” The girl’s mouth hung loosely as she processed his admission. He knew so much more than he let on after all.
“A-And you’re okay with this? With his tests and experiments? It’s... It’s wrong. Isn’t it?” Now his expression took on a mild pity.
“I am merely a merchant, Miss Lucia. My judgment matters little in the grand scheme of things.” She looked between him and the wilting snowdrop that sat in a cup of soil and water—she couldn’t believe him. Now she thought of his carriage, and the way he willingly visited here to set up shop, knowing full well what kinds of horrible monsters were birthed in these halls. Was all of this truly so inconsequential to him?
“So if I...” She hesitated, timidly shifting her weight as she recalled a distant daydream. “...If I asked you to take me away from here? From the factory, f-from the... the village... All of it...?”
The Duke shook his head, sympathetic but assured of himself.
“...Why not?” she pleaded, her voice but a whisper. She waited for an explanation—any explanation.
“It’s simply not cost effective.” She just stared at him.
“W-What?”
“Here, I have everything figured out: where to trade for the best cuts of meat, where to sell my wares, who to sell them to. I’m intimately familiar with all the village’s nooks and crannies. Outside? Oh, there may be adventure. Why, it’s even guaranteed. But at what point does freedom become worth the risk to one’s stability? I’ve looked over these numbers myself—simply not cost effective.”
She gawked at him. Was this what it meant to be a businessman? To turn a blind eye to the world’s horrors, so long as he was making a profit? Was it really so much of a risk for him to smuggle her out, or was it something else? She exhaled through her nose as anger reignited in her chest, sorely reminded once again how few choices she truly had.
“...So you’d leave me here? With him? Why should I put up with Heisenberg and his experiments?!” The Duke curled an upward brow at her, as if she should’ve known the answer.
“Because he’s the only one who wants to escape this mountain.”
“...”
The girl couldn’t deny that. Everything they’d done was supposedly towards the goal of being free from Miranda. Heisenberg hardly ever passed up an opportunity to remind her of the witch’s hold over this territory, or how those who attempted to escape never returned alive... Sometimes, he said it so often that she wondered if it were true.
Lucia didn’t know what to do except slowly slump her shoulders with dejection. Was he truly the only one who wanted to leave? Surely, that didn’t... excuse Heisenberg’s actions: his monstrous creations, him teaching her to kill, and lying about putting her in harm’s way to make it happen. Remembering his desire to escape just didn’t make her hurt go away.
At the end of the day, was she just a means to his ends?
Her stare towards the merchant turned almost hateful. Unable to accept the Duke’s detached, unaligned logic, she pushed the elevator button for the floor to her room... Wait, why was she even listening to what Heisenberg told her to do? Maybe she should find his room, or an office, and wreck it. But then she lowered her head, defeated. She didn’t even know where they’re located. Dang it.
“Can you read, child?”
...What? Where did that come from? So baffling was the random change of topic that it made all other thoughts disappear. She dumbly replied:
“Um... a little. Heisen—” She paused, her scowl deepening. “...I’m still learning.” The Duke leaned to the side to file through some items.
“How about I make you an offer?” Lucia peeked at him from over her shoulder.
“I don’t have any Lei.”
“Like with the chocolates, I don’t desire coin from you.” Finally, he pulled up a thin book, humbly presenting it to her with both hands. “Learn to read this story to me. Once you do so fluently, we’ll discuss the outside world further.” Lucia tempered any devious hope, for she questioned the Duke’s good nature. But with little choice or repercussion, she cautiously held the cover and turned it around to scan the title.
“...Viiiii-llage... of... Sh... Sha... dows?” The Duke clapped.
“Wonderful! You’re already on your way. Just be sure to read it here. I can’t have customers running off with unpaid wares, after all.”
She leered up at him, apprehensive and cynical. Now she understood why Heisenberg was so annoyed around him all the time. Flipping to the first page revealed short passages, but the words intimidated her nonetheless.
“...This’ll take a while,” she mumbled, her motivation quickly dissolving at the number of pages. At least the pictures were pretty. Dark and haunting, but pretty.
“Take all the time you need, my dear.”
...And she found she’d need more time, indeed. Rather than retiring to her room like she’d been ordered to, Lucia huddled into the corner of the elevator. While she stared at the puzzling letters, the Duke idly read his own book. Smaller, but with many, many more pages. She noted how he’d speak with an air of sophistication. How often did he read? How much more does he know of the world? Would he actually help her if she fulfilled his request...?
Unfortunately, the girl couldn’t keep her focus. Not while her benevolent image of the Duke tore at the seams. Although the words were simpler than Heisenberg’s notes, she blindly reread just the first two words, often mispronouncing the word, “ago.” Her thoughts spun as wildly as a hurricane. It was impossible to cherish such a mundane experience—by all rights she should, when compared to Heisenberg trying to turn her into a weapon.
The thought of him coincided with her listlessly flipping through the art... and landing on a distinct image towards the end:
The iron horse.
Lucia’s eyes fluttered up to the Duke, who continued to read, but grew the slightest smirk on his face. Did he know what she saw? The child recalled various intricate doors of the factory picturing the very same steed.
This can’t be a coincidence... Can it?
Her attention was brought back when she heard a distant, ghastly sound of something loud revving up. Heisenberg must still be down there. The Duke didn’t look away from his story as she handed hers back to him, quickly pressing the button to return to the arena floor.
Talking to him was difficult now, but maybe she could demand an answer to this, at least. She set her determination to near unbreakable as she entered the astonishingly noisy arena, spotting his rugged trench coat.
“Heisenberg! I need to talk—”
“Damn it— I’m a bit busy right now, kid!” he yelled back. Lucia clapped her hands over her ears, wincing again at this intense revving—
“What is THAT?!” she shrieked.
A hulking atrocity hovered over the now calcifying remains of some unfortunate lycans, its bladed propeller dripping with blood and guts. A turbine engine grotesquely attached to its upper body. She almost couldn’t tell there was a human under all that awful machinery. It sprayed red all over the floor when its chainsaws spun in response to her presence, fingers clawed in alarm. It charged at her without thinking.
“H-Heisenberg—!”
He lifted his arm towards it. As if it’d slammed into an imaginary wall, the monster abruptly stopped long before it could get anywhere near the child. However, it uselessly tried to reach for her—which ended up tearing its hands and forearms through its unforgiving, spinning blades.
“OH MY GOD!!” she shouted. She covered her mouth in shock.
“Ugh, fucking Christ...” he sighed. He covered his forehead in annoyance.
It stumbled out of Heisenberg’s hold, falling uselessly on its back and bleeding out. Dazed, Lucia mumbled nervously as she paced between wanting to check on it or wanting to run away from it.
“Lucia!” Heisenberg called, clapping to get her to focus on him, “Get as many blankets and towels from the Duke as you can. Tell him to put it on my tab.” She stuttered—was he trying to save it? “ANY DAY NOW, kid!” She sprinted away, confused the entire time. When she returned with as big a pile of cloth she could carry, she saw that he’d tied belts around the monster’s upper arms.
“Give me half. We’re going to apply pressure to the wounds to slow the bleeding. Hurry up!” Lucia listened, kneeling down and pressing her share of fabric onto the wound as hard as she could. She tried not to retch. Blood? She could handle that now, unfortunately because of Heisenberg. Leftover organs and lycan fur stuck to chainsaws? Not so much. She closed her eyes and tried to hold her breath from the smell.
“You’re doing fine, Lucia. Keep it up. If it gets soaked through, get a fresh set.”
“O-Okay—” She barely registered everything that was happening. In the chaos, whatever questions she had for him were easily thrown out the window.
Heisenberg lit a new cigar once he’d washed his hands. He and Lucia quietly sat in one of the factory’s medical rooms, where she held herself while staring at the unconscious Sturm on the ground. Given all their recent arguments, he was somewhat surprised to see her help willingly. He’d attribute it to the shock, but she’d paid an unusual amount of attention to him cleaning its wounds, pouring First Aid Med, and dressing the amputated arms.
She’d even expressed sadness upon learning that they wouldn’t be able to reattach its limbs at all. Those were shredded down to little pieces. No going back from that. Was she thinking about whether or not she’d be able to heal from that herself, or was she really worried about this experiment, too? Exasperated all over again, he clicked his tongue while removing his notebook and pen.
“Well. That was a total failure.” He couldn’t even bother to write his observations professionally; he had such high hopes for this creation, but the dumbass was only good for charging directly in front of it. Its designated journal entry took on his sour mood as he described its flaws.
“...W-What’re you gonna do with it?” she hesitantly asked. He hummed, uncaring.
“Probably leave it on some floor of the factory. Might as well be a guard dog.”
“You’re awful.” He flipped the book closed, absolutely not in the right mindset to have another fight with her. He stood from his seat to put away his medical equipment. Maybe if he didn’t look at her, he’d be less irritated.
“What, at least it’s alive, right? Or is that awful, too?” He heard Lucia hop off her chair.
“Stop experimenting on people!”
“Sounding like a real broken record, now. We’ve been over this—”
“You have enough, don’t you?” she interrupted, “You have all those Soldats around the factory, your powers, and you have me! Why don’t... Why don’t we just take Miranda down right now?!” Heisenberg stopped at that and turned to regard her. With his sunglasses folded into his shirt’s neckline, she easily witnessed a quiet rage boiling behind his pupils.
“Kid... You don’t know how badly I want to.”
“So why not?!”
“Because we don’t know enough yet!” His had voice grown louder again. Between their arguments, this ruined experiment, and that disastrous guilt he still felt at how he’d sent her to her room—which she apparently decided not to do, by the fucking way—the time for patient lectures had long passed. “The true extent of her powers and secrets are mysteries. I need the right time to find them out!”
He’s waited years for an opportunity to sneak into her private lab. Even when she’d first given him that pile of bodies, the cart had been brought out into the snow already. How she did anything so covertly was anyone’s guess, but that’s the shady shit he had to deal with. Surely, if she had a weakness, she’d have some record of it in her most closely kept sanctuary. But again, fuck him and his plans, right? Lucia’s breathing turned wrathful.
“The sooner we stop Miranda, the sooner you can stop making monsters! AND the sooner w-we can...!” She flinched at her words, her lids half-blinking as uncertainty clogged her throat. Lucia wouldn’t complete her sentence... Heisenberg tried to push past it and took his turn to retort.
“...I‘ve told you before that too much anger leads to accidents. It makes us sloppy, more prone to mistakes. And we can’t afford mistakes around Miranda. She’s been around for decades and can kill a man in the blink of an eye. You don’t go challenging something like that immediately.” Lucia stepped forward, impatient.
“‘The strong will destroy the weak,’” she spat at him, “Are you saying you’re weaker than Miranda?” Heisenberg tensed, offended by her weaponizing his own ideal against him. But he willed himself to keep his anger in check. She was just trying to get under his skin—it nearly worked.
“I’m. Not. Weak,” he hissed, gloved fingers crushing his cigar, “I’m just being smarter. But you wouldn’t know anything about that, would you?” He almost didn’t react in time to how quickly she reached for the nearest medical tray and threw it at his face. The tray and its tools stopped just short of making contact with his nose. They dropped to the ground to reveal his fuming death stare; neither of them flinched at the clatter.
He was not pleased. But before he could level out his own threat, she cut him off with something he hadn’t anticipated.
“I wanna fight you!”
“...Pffft—HA!” he laughed, completely skeptical. With such a childish ego, he couldn’t even pretend to entertain her. Yet, as his laughter died down, Lucia kept her frown steady.
“...Oh, you’re serious,” Heisenberg realized flatly.
“Of COURSE I’m serious!” she blew up, as if ready to tear out his throat at this very second. He leaned forward ever so slightly, towering over her with a conniving aura.
“Do you want to kill me?” That immediately made her step back. Her face fell from angry to disbelieving. He knew it was real by how quickly she responded.
“Wh— I-I... Of course I don’t want to kill you...!” He tsked at that. He didn’t even need to voice what his sneer so clearly stated: pathetic. She’d never be able to best him without that drive—not that she’d win even with murderous intent, anyway. Lucia tightened her arms by her sides as she tried to recompose herself.
“If Miranda’s that dangerous and smart, then I need to learn how to hurt someone like her. Not just lycans and mindless Soldats. So I should be fighting you.” She oozed tenacity and determination. “Besides, I wanna know if you even can kill Miranda.” Again, she wanted to get under his skin. He brushed off her bravado easily with an unconcerned shrug.
“Nah.”
“W-What?!”
“I’ve got nothing to prove to you. And you’ve got nothing to offer. It’d hardly be fair. But nice try!” He could see her poor attempts at containing her frustration; it was as piss poor as how hard she tried to be his equal. She defiantly stomped closer to him anyway.
“A deal, then!” Heisenberg lolled his head to the ceiling, exhausted. Oh boy, this should be good. “If I win, you stop making monsters, and we go kill Miranda now! And if you win... I’ll do whatever tests you want.”
He looked down at her then. They’d spent so much time training only with her express permission. She’d really give up that autonomy just for an opportunity to take a swing at him?
“...No more complaining?” he tacked on.
“No more complaining,” she confirmed.
Now he chuckled as he placed his hands on his hips. It’d certainly take away more than a few headaches. And it wouldn’t take long to get her to realize just how different their level of experience was. This is an easy win.
“Fine, brat. You’re on.”
She breathed deeply, eyes tougher than titanium—the stupid kid actually believed she stood a chance. Either that, or she was too pissed to care. His lips curled up into another trademark wolfish grin. If she’s so insistent, then he’d teach her what it means to challenge someone out of her league.
Heisenberg watched the kid remove her cardigan by the door and fold the garment to the best of her ability, followed by her tape recorder. He looked away from how carefully she laid it down on the fleecy cloth. Instead, he focused on his boot stomping his cigar out, as if he were crushing any doubtful thoughts under his merciless sole... As if he prepared to similarly crush her spirit. Couldn’t afford to be soft—
That unforgiving mantra sent an unfamiliar stab through his chest. The same one he’d told himself before she’d faced her first lycan... For a split second, he questioned himself. Thankfully, it didn’t take long for a separate question to divert his attention.
“Where’s the hammer?” he heard her ask while she walked to the center of the arena. His casual demeanor returned, face stretching with a taunting display of his canines.
“Tsch. Like I need it.”
Lucia grumbled under her breath, frowning. She disliked being underestimated, but the way she held her elbow gave away her nervous relief. She’d come to associate that weapon with certain death. No lycan that got near her ever survived its might. The air around her practically buzzed with her warring thoughts: the hammer’s absence meant he didn’t see her as dangerous... but at least he didn’t want to send her to the grave. He wouldn’t need much to defeat a mere child in a superpowered spar. If anything, the fact that he wouldn’t go all out would discourage her further.
Even so, he saw that persistent will power return to her. Lucia scowled at him from her spot: she wanted to win. She wanted to win badly. The corner of his lips pulled quickly in amusement. Poor, arrogant brat. This’ll be quick. Flourishing his hand in a showman-like gesture, he announced:
“Ready!” Lucia dropped her arms, electricity sparking between her fingers. He made no such preparations.
“Set...!” he continued. She shuffled her feet and bent her knees. Heisenberg opened his mouth for the final call—
Then he swept his fingers through the air, tripping Lucia by her steel-toe boots. She landed on the ground with a surprised, sharp cry. He chuckled, satisfied with his trick.
“Ooooowww-uh!” she whined, propping herself up on her forearm, “Hey, no fair!”
“That’s the point, dumbass. We have powers, and life doesn’t give any stupid countdowns. None of our fights should be fair. Know anyone else who would take advantage? Miran—” A fatigued groan dragged itself out of her throat.
“Uuuuuggghhh, you’re gonna keep talking the entire time, aren’t you?”
“I happen to like the sound of my voice, yes,” he smirked, his tone outright pompous. Really? I hadn’t noticed, said her sarcastic, agitated expression. Just to irritate her further, he put his hands behind his back and sauntered around, appearing as uninterested in her as possible. He continued his lecture:
“Miranda’s older than our lifetimes combined. She hasn’t aged a day since I’d met her. And you think we’re the first to ever try rebelling? Hell no. She wouldn’t have lived for so long if she didn’t know how to defend herself.”
The attempt on Lady Supersized Bitch’s life came to mind. Although the rumors spoke of only one assassin, the truth was that it’d been a joint effort from an overly brave ragtag group of outsiders. Miranda and Alcina were all that were needed to crush them. They hid the rebellion’s existence faster than it’d been destroyed, the villagers blissfully unaware of their would-be saviors. A deadly example of what’ll happen should he fail. Like hell he’d allow himself to fall into such obscurity.
Lucia sprinted towards him while he reminisced. He magnetized her gloves and boots to keep her still—quick as a snake, she slipped her hands and feet out. She’d loosened her laces during his speech, and tugged her hands hard enough to escape the gloves. Tenacious eyes locked on him as she speedily approached, an electrified hand outstretched to his torso.
Instead of her attack landing, his longer reach grabbed her by the collarbone and shoulder, then easily threw her a great distance away—much farther than she thought possible. She yelped through the air, tucking her form just in time to harshly tumble onto concrete, then awkwardly skid back onto her socks. Lucia winced from the momentum as her Cadou worked to close her scrapes and bruises. He saw the understanding dawn on her then.
His physical strength was far greater than any normal human. More than any lycan, in fact. Every time he carried his hammer, his magnetism didn’t make it lighter. His Cadou simply made him that powerful. Heisenberg tilted his head with that damn grin.
“Now, where was I...? Ah, yes!” He heard her growl from where she clumsily stood. He took some delight in her aggravation; she couldn’t get him to stop talking. “We were declared failed experiments. But that bitch is the first, original freak here. And if you didn’t know I’ve had enhanced strength this whole time... Imagine what she could be hiding.”
Even with just her socks on, he would’ve heard her frantic running towards him a mile away, if only by how her breath fumed from how unbothered he’d been this whole time. Offhandedly curious, Heisenberg ordered some scrap metal from the room to throw themselves at her. She’d duck, sidestep, and hop with practiced dexterity. His patterns kept her on her toes, but she actively tried closing the gap between them. And the debris that nearly hit her on the way? Deflected off to the side as she willed her electromagnetic field to protect her. Sometimes, she’d even take a cut to the face just to gain more ground. He noticed she’d switch back to dodging to let the wound heal, rather than use her magnetism. Heisenberg couldn’t help the oddest hint of satisfaction at her efforts.
Lucia neither ran away nor wildly threw herself into danger. She effectively thought about where and when to use her battery. All to conserve electricity if she got a chance to hurt him.
On the other hand, he was also capable of strategy. His longer strides were more than enough to evade her short arms and jabs. Heisenberg easily pushed her attacks away by striking her forearms, always avoiding her electrical hands. When he got tired of her pestering, he’d wait for the right moment. He’d feint a jab to her left, which made her duck into his waiting palm on her right. With a vice-like grip at the base of her neck, he shoved her far across the room again.
This back-and-forth went on for longer than the man would normally be patient enough for. But after she’d skirted around training for this long, Heisenberg held no qualms against making up for lost time. And so he dragged out the fight. Scrap metal would try and fail to strike her; she would try and fail to electrocute him. Then whether by her shoulder, wrist, or ankle, he’d simply toss her like a rag doll to start it over. All to show how she was little more than a gnat to him. Too insignificant to kill, but just annoying enough to swat her away. Their sparring was all too clearly one-sided. Her irritation flared further as she figured out that this was far closer to a game to him than it was a high-stakes bet for her.
He heard her cough for air as her latest rolling came to a stop. Sweat beaded on her knitted brows, while dust, dirt, and a minimal amount of dried blood from healed scrapes clung to her skin. But she stood again, relentless, glaring. If nothing else, Heisenberg had to commend her on that inner fire of hers. Her lips curled back into a snarl while she threw her fists down her sides.
“Aaargh, you fucking asshole!!”
“Hey, language!”
“Shut up! Just— Shut!! UP!!! You selfish, STUPID goddamn— piece of—” As she released a flurry of frustrated insults while clawing at the back of her head and kicking debris around her, Heisenberg just fucking laughed at her ranting. Oh, this was precious. He could practically see steam blowing out her ears! For all his disciplines of getting her to watch her language, he found himself actually enjoying this. Enjoying the hypocritical effect he had on her manners. Enjoying her childish rage at realizing she couldn’t hurt him, but she tried her damnedest anyway. His obnoxious laughter eventually lowered enough for him to catch a specific accusation.
“—you could just fucking crush this reactor in my chest and get it over with! But nooo, you feel strong throwing helpless little girls around, don’t you?! Am I just THAT harmless—”
“I’d never use your reactor against you.”
The abrupt but firm statement stunned the both of them into silence. How quickly he’d responded was, frankly, something he hadn’t planned. He couldn’t leave her remark unanswered, yet a foreign instinct acted faster than whatever sarcasm his brain could concoct. Now that his brain did catch up, he scrambled to cover up any inkling of misunderstood compassion.
“...It’s one of my finest creations! It’d be a waste of some good machinery just to destroy it.” Now back to their arguing dynamic, Lucia groaned at the ceiling before bringing her hands close.
Bright lights reflected off of his frames as she gathered lightning. Ah, she didn’t want to get near him anymore, and opted for the only other tactic she knew. A far-reaching and impossibly fast lightning bolt could work... But once more, he reveled in throwing her off her game. He raised his arms wide, giving her a clear target on him.
“I’ll give you one shot to kill me, brat,” he taunted, with far too much confidence from someone who’d never been struck by lightning before. So confident that Lucia’s resolve wavered, her entire being stiff with apprehension. Her lips stuttered wordlessly. Of course he’d weaponize her kindness against her. Although some miniscule piece of him might’ve appreciated her reluctance to hurt him, her empathy was ultimately a weakness. His aura became downright torturous. “What? Need some help?”
He started walking closer to her. Her aim would become much easier with each long step he took... The child’s breathing hitched as she mirrored his steps away from him. Fear and self-doubt clouded her mind as she so obviously debated whether or not he was bluffing. What the hell is this twisted logic, her glossy eyes demanded. Hidden by dark lenses, his own gave no answer. Her backing away finally stopped, gasping as she felt multiple shards of floating metal poke into her back. Her face fell: shit. He scoffed, lowering his arms as he stopped several feet away from her.
“Your lightning takes too long to charge. I could’ve killed you at least five ways in the time you took to get your little light show going. Not to mention it takes a good chunk outta your battery.” He pointed his chin to her reactor’s light. Following him, she watched it start to blink slowly. Her body tensed as she remembered fainting shortly after killing the Soldat with this attack...
The final ace up her sleeve meant nothing. The child lowered her hands, numbly allowing the lightning to crackle out of existence. Lucia’s stance swayed a bit at her energy’s gradual loss. She remained standing, but her posture reflected a sad hopelessness as she stared at the floor.
Consider her spirit crushed.
Heisenberg moved until he stood before her, looking down at the top of her hair. He leaned lower, one hand on his knee while the other tilted her chin up. Empty eyes looked back at him. Strangely enough... he didn’t particularly like seeing her this way. Devoid of her fire. But it was a necessary lesson to rein in her anger.
“So, Lucia...” he started, “Y’see what happens when you challenge—”
He had just one second to see her lids flare before she suddenly slapped his face. Hard enough to send his glasses flying off, echoing in the room and reddening his stubbled cheek like a burning brand. After a few moments, the metal behind her clattered onto concrete. His wide, admittedly surprised eyes didn’t budge from where his dark spectacles landed. That actually... kind of stung, goddamn her! Dazed from the strike and at how quickly she’d done it, he pointed up a defensive finger as he slowly turned his head back to her.
“...Ok, I let you have that one—”
Then she had the audacity to fucking punch his nose.
“AGH, god-fucking—!!” While he clenched his eyes shut from the onset of pain, his danger senses registered her jumping onto his back and slipping her arm around to choke him. He yelled through grinding teeth, and jerking backwards made her painfully grip his hair with her other hand for balance; the two angrily shouted at each other’s stubbornness. His hat fell off as they wildly struggled, much like a raging bull and a stupidly hapless human attempting to tame it. With her locking her ankles over his stomach, the frantic survival part of his brain—the one that witnessed a lycan and a Soldat fry from her developed powers—barely warned him:
This is gonna fucking hurt!!
Heisenberg braced himself for the inevitable, and likely worst shock of Lucia’s powers he’d ever suffer to date—
“...Bzzzt!” she sounded off.
“...”
He stood there, dumbfounded, as they caught their breath.
“...What was that?” he asked, straining through her hold around his throat. It did nothing to dull the confusion in his tone. She apparently felt just as awkward.
“Th-That was— That was me electrocuting you. ’Til you’re dead. You’re dead now.”
“...Uh, in case you can’t tell, I’m definitely still standing—” She annoyedly tugged his hair, to which he hatefully growled.
“You shush,” she insisted, patronizing, “Dead men don’t talk!”
“You hesitated. Again.”
“...I don’t get you. Do you... want me to kill you?” He tugged at the arm around his neck and swallowed, lips pulled up in a sneer.
“I want you to help me kill Miranda,” he ground out, “And I can’t have you hesitating because you might think she’s a person.”
If he’d replaced her brain with a mechanical one, he was sure he’d hear it noisily clicking as she took apart and analyzed his words. He felt her shift her arms, releasing his scalp and switching to holding his shoulders.
“...So you don’t want me to hesitate hurting you because... you think you’re... not a person?”
Lucia had to have felt how his back stiffened from that roundabout logic. He swore the world around him muted itself. He’d avoided this question once when she’d asked if they’re human. He’d been able to deflect then. But now, asking him what he thought of himself so pointedly... Just like how she didn’t understand him, he didn’t understand her. And not understanding something that he thought he should... It infuriated him. She must’ve sensed the looming ire from how his breathing picked up.
“No...” he hissed, “No, I don’t.” He felt her anxiously lean away from him. Heisenberg snatched her collar, and harshly ripped her off of his back. She rolled away with surprised oofs before sitting up to a kneeled position, ready to dodge anything. The scrap metal in the entire arena violently shook with his rage, rising at the same rate as his tirade.
“I’m NOT a person! NEITHER of us are!! That fucking bitch tore our insides, changed our bodies, and turned us into HER MONSTERS!!” The piles rose from their resting places to fly in a whirlwind above them for a moment... before rushing to attach themselves to Heisenberg.
Lucia yelped as she ducked and redirected stray shrapnel and debris. She panted, desperately crawling away from the chaos as quickly as she could. That horror of the unknown seized her heart—he’d never done something like this before. His voice became impossibly louder, and more mechanical. Shadows around her increased in size. And the ground trembled as gargantuan buzzsaws deafeningly crashed onto the surface. She whipped around to witness the terrible form:
Standing at an immeasurable height, far closer to the ceiling than she’d ever seen, stood a truly dreadful being. A twisted amalgamation of abandoned metal barely held together by stretched flesh. As if man and machine fought for dominance, forced together by a horrible power. His head lowered down into range of the flood lights, revealing just how little humanity was left. Only a quarter of his face remained, his jaw hanging limp as cables wrapped around and through his skull. His one visible eyeball glared at her, before he drew back...
Then he roared down at the girl, his bellowing voice booming like thunder and warped through screeching static. Lucia covered her ears and wailed, falling onto her side and curling up into a ball. As if he’d lose sight of her if she made herself small enough.
Once his vocal rage whittled down to livid panting, he looked down at her... She shook like a leaf, face hidden by her hair. He heard the tiniest hiccups and whines from her... Heisenberg knew she’d react this way. To see what he really was, deep down. He should’ve had a sadistic sense of pride; had it been anyone else, he would’ve absolutely revelled in the unadulterated horror he elicited...
...But not with her.
Seeing Lucia cower from him pricked his heart in a way he couldn’t fathom. He knew why he chose to transform: partially to prove that Miranda must have a similar, terrible power that they weren’t nearly prepared to handle. But more importantly, that they truly, unequivocally... aren’t human anymore. He’d accepted this terrible truth decades ago. Most days, that fucked up part of him even embraced this monstrous side. Because if people weren’t going to help him, they might as well fear him. For the atrocity that he truly was. For the atrocity Miranda made him to be. Yet, as this single child cried and held herself...
He couldn’t be proud of this. Couldn’t be proud of damping that fire in her. Her fierce flame that chose to defy him when it mattered to her. He suddenly believed that he’d much prefer her hateful glare over her trying to hide from him. And so it was with no small amount of inner confusion that he attempted to pick up pieces of trust.
“…BZZZT!!” his speakers buzzed. When no immediate pain or danger attacked her, he saw her little head peek up over her shoulders.
“...W-Wha...?” she sniffed.
“That was me chopping you up with this buzzsaw.” He made the blades on his left “arm” whirr for a second to demonstrate. “You’re dead now.”
Lucia’s back went ramrod straight. She blinked at the reused humor. The kind of humor he’d use to return her own impudent remarks. She still trembled at the sight of him, but recognition slowly made her uncurl herself. Sniffing and rubbing her face, she cautiously sat up on unsteady elbows. Her teary vision darted between his cybernetic and human eye.
“...H-Heisenberg? Is that y-you?” He nodded, metal screeching on metal from the movement.
“In the flesh. Well, what’s left of it.” Heisenberg scoffed at himself. “Whaddya think, brat? Are we still people or what?” If he had control over his mouth, he’d be wearing something halfway between a smirk and a grimace.
“...did this to you...?” she barely whispered.
“What?” Heisenberg leaned closer, tilting his “human” side closer to hear her. He didn’t miss the way she shivered, took a breath... then repeated herself.
“...Miranda did this to you?” His one eye scanned her as she gradually stood to her feet. Her knees were unsteady, but her stare glided over him to commit this form to memory.
“Yeah... Did a real number on me. But it’ll feel pretty damn good to rip her to shreds with this power she ‘gave’ me.” He chuckled darkly at one of his many revenge fantasies. It’d be the closest thing to karmic retribution he could achieve, using the powers she forced on him to finally end her once and for all. But whatever cruel thought he had next disappeared at the sound of Lucia’s voice.
“Does it hurt you?” When Heisenberg’s eye snapped to her, she looked at him back, knees no longer shaking. Only an unseen patience as she waited for his answer. He didn’t know how or why he spoke candidly.
“...Always.” Lucia half-blinked at that, her nose exhaling a quiet, dry sob. Cowering had been her initial reaction, yes. He’d expected that, or for her to run far away from the factory and he’d have to give chase. He’d even expected her to fear him enough to finally submit to his will from now on, like so many villagers did.
He never could’ve foreseen her carefully reaching up and laying a tender hand on his cheek. No pain, no electricity... Just a child, and her damn bleeding heart.
Heisenberg didn’t move. Couldn’t move. Not when her eyes—those same, dark eyes that searched for each lycan’s story just by their appearance, that saw the humans past all the Soldat modifications—looked into his own with such innocent pity. There was so much of her posture he could read from the girl who couldn’t hide her emotions.
Her brows knotted upwards with sincere concern. Her pupils traced how each cable subconsciously pierced through his facial scars. He saw how her free hand thumbed the bottom of her reactor, internally comparing their circumstances. And how her shoulders—small, thin, and frail as they were—slightly squared with a quiet, sure conclusion to herself, so clearly shown in that sorrowful expression:
You’re a person, too.
...When was the last time someone ever thought about his well-being? He couldn’t tell if the shine in her eyes was a sign of forming tears, or merely reflections of the flood lights. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. Heisenberg actually... said nothing. After all that—the tests, the lying, the arguments—she didn’t want to hurt him. Not any more than what she’d done to his face, anyway. He didn’t understand. Even worse, he didn’t want to understand as a question burrowed into his very being: if Lucia chose to be this kind after everything that’s happened to her... what did that make him?
The methodical, distant clanking of the factory filled the silence between them.
At last, she removed her hand to take a few steps back and look at his monstrous form once over. If there was any way to politely break the uncharacteristic quiet... she simply chose not to be.
“God, Heisenberg, you look pretty gross.” How endearingly disrespectful.
“…Wow. Don’t be rude.” If she thought this was bad, she should see his fish freak of a brother.
“You’re rude.”
“I don’t wanna hear that from the brat calling me, ‘gross.’” He heard the lightest chuckle escape her lips—a cautious one that reminded her that she was still dealing with that same snarky bastard. He didn’t think that’d comfort him as much as it did... And then her stupid questions came.
“So... did your body grow super big, or are you actually hiding somewhere? What if you wanted to leave the room? Could you shrink or would you just, uh, break your factory to get out? Are those wires supposed to be your beard—”
Even as a superpowered, mechanically-enhanced monster, he was, unfortunately, not immune to headaches.
That evening’s dinner was odd, to say the least. She mindlessly stirred her stew while he busied himself with bandages. The air wasn’t nearly as thick with passive aggression as when they’d been arguing... But Lucia didn’t believe it was a comfortable silence, either. She tapped her fingers on the table, casting her eyes to the ground.
“What do you want, iffy girl?” she heard Heisenberg ask. Oh right. That habit. She stopped her fingers and sighed.
“Nothing. I’m just amazed your sunglasses survived all that.” He grunted in agreement as he dabbed First Aid Med into a cotton ball and pressed against his wounds. She watched him wrap and sometimes tape bandages down on various parts of his arms and torso that didn’t reconstitute quite right. Putting his body back together after transforming apparently took a toll on him... Remembering the way cables embedded themselves through his facial scars, she asked her true question.
“...Did you get your scars from turning into... that?”
“...Some of them, yeah,” he replied in a rare show of honesty. He gestured with his arms. “Most were from myself. Accidents. Damn near killed me. I didn’t have a good handle on my powers when I was younger... Partly why I’m teaching you to control yours.” She studied the way his hand clenched, then released. He didn’t remember his childhood fondly.
Lucia herself didn’t have a lot to go on. Her own memories were ghosts of intense feelings and broken scenarios. Heisenberg had no such limits. He had his own traumas that—even for the pains etched in her chest—she couldn’t fully imagine. In the time that she knew him, there were only a handful of conversations he’d been vulnerable enough to detail Miranda’s cruelty. His transformation, however, had been the most extreme example by far. In spite of herself, she at least understood why he acted the way he did... But... How much of his behavior could be justified?
“Got more to say?” He pointed to her fingers tapping again. Lucia crossed her arms to stop giving herself away. But now, under his expectant, dark lenses... she relented while lowering her eyes.
“...You can teach me.” She emphasized the very word he’d used. She saw him tilt his head at her from her peripherals. “...You don’t have to... to lie to me about it. I just... I don’t want to be another experiment...” He sat still. Lucia thought he’d have something to say. He always did. But the usually chatty engineer remained quiet. As if he mulled over the distinction she made. She awkwardly slumped down in her seat, uncomfortable from this odd display. She decided to continue for them; she’s had enough silences for the day.
“B-But I guess I did lose the fight, didn’t I? So it doesn’t matter...” A deal’s a deal. She said she’d do whatever tests he wanted. In the heat of their argument, she practically signed her own agency away. Lucia glanced at him for a second before darting away again. “...More tests tomorrow, then?” She dreaded his answer.
Finally, Heisenberg looked down to tear some gauze.
“...We’ll figure it out later.” She carefully looked up at him, watching him wrap up his final wound. Did she hear that right? Heisenberg was an extremely driven man. Always focused on a plan, hardly ever wasting a day. He didn’t stall. Not like with that answer. She’d be grateful for the delay if she wasn’t so unsure of his motives. Something about him avoiding her gaze suggested he wasn’t sure either... His sharp inhale snapped her out of her observations.
“For now, I need a drink,” he groaned as he forced himself to stand. He retrieved a new glass and a bottle from a nearby cabinet before dropping back down onto his chair. She’d never seen such a dark, amber liquid before. Aside from maybe oil, but this moved more freely, like water.
“What’s that?”
“Whiskey. But it’s for grown-ups, so don’t get any ideas.” She huffed at him; as if she’d ever like any of his interests. Lucia was sure she’d never smoke cigars because of him. He popped the cork open as he explained, “Helps take the edge off of reforming my body. Such a goddamn pain... Be grateful you can heal so fast, you cheater.” She shrugged, allowing herself a mildly smug grin at him. She was about to respond—
The liquid poured into the glass, released from its prison. The smell was so sharp, so specific that her reaction was visceral.
Without warning, she shot forward and smacked the cup out of Heisenberg’s hand, spilling the contents and shattering the glass into pieces.
“What the HELL, brat—”
“NU BEA ASTA!!”
“...What...? L-Lu...” Heisenberg’s voice drowned out of her ears. Her vision blurred in and out, the shattered glass on his kitchen floor switching to a different broken bottle on wood.
Oh no. No, no, no! Realizing what she’d just done, and the terrible consequences that came with it, sent terror spiking through her gut. The girl started panting, stumbling off her chair to get away from the menacing, rising figure in front of her.
“Îmi p-pare rău...! Îmi pare rău! Nu am să mai fac!!” she cried. She backed away into the closest corner, holding up trembling arms to protect herself, “Te rog nu mă face rău!!” She was going to be hurt— She can’t run— She can’t BREATHE—
“...cia! LUCIA!!” Heisenberg’s voice broke through, “It’s a flashback! You’re having a flashback, none of it is real!” He kneeled a few feet away from her, hands raised towards her but not wanting to startle her further.
She panted so desperately for oxygen, unable to form words past panicked muttering. She pressed herself further in her corner, wild eyes darting between Heisenberg and someone else. Someone he couldn’t see and she couldn’t totally recognize. Just a shadow that she knew would cause her pain. Her hyperventilating sped up.
“Hey hey hey, focus on my voice,” he demanded, “Breathe, kid. Like we practiced. Remember? Inhale...” He breathed through his nose. “And exhale...!” He released it with his mouth. That was familiar... She desperately clung to familiarity.
The girl breathed deep, following his example. She held her knees, whimpering between each cycle, heart pounding in her ears. Her vision blurred from running tears, but the setting around her slowly returned to the fluorescent lights.
“Good, that’s good, Lucia,” he encouraged. Lucia. That’s right, that’s... her name. Given by Heisenberg. “Look around and tell me what you see.” She shuddered through her next exhale, fearfully tilting her eyes away from the man to look at...
“...Th-There’s a... d-dining table,” she shakily answered.
“Alright,” he confirmed, keeping his kneeling form steady, as if any sudden movement would send her spiraling again, “What else?” She looked some more.
“I see a... s-sink... Stovetop.” Lucia sharply inhaled and exhaled slowly. “Medical supplies... Y-You needed those after you...” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “...After y-you came back.”
“That’s right. That’s good, Lucia. Can you... Can you tell me where you are?” She shut her eyes for a moment and shook her head, forcing the vision out.
“Th-The kitchen... Your factory... I-I’m in the kitchen here in your factory...” Finally, she looked at Heisenberg, face soaked with her tears. “...What happened?”
He looked just as lost as she was. As she collected herself and forced her breathing to steady, she saw his eyes trail down to the tape recorder hanging over her lap.
“...We need to have a chat about your episodes.”
Any attempts at discussion after her flashback proved futile. The girl clamped down on the horrible memory, locking it away and refusing to look at it. He couldn’t fault her. Heisenberg was all too familiar with choosing repression. He couldn’t do anything but concede.
After he cleaned his kitchen floor, Heisenberg ordered Lucia to down an entire mug of tea for the first time. He insisted, hoping it’d guarantee her sleep; in her shakened state, Lucia didn’t have the energy to argue. He’d stayed just a few paces from her room, smoking cigars and ready to wake her should any nightmares return... But nothing happened. The longer the silence dragged on, the more convinced he was that the tea had done its job. Eventually, he settled back into his usual spot in the camera room. He pulled his hand down his face with a weary sigh.
What dreadful timing. Just as they were on the cusp of some strange understanding, this shit started... Or more likely, she’s been having flashbacks without telling him. Trauma hardly ever considered anyone’s convenience. What’s more, the parcel containing Donna’s tea weighed awfully light these days... Only a handful of the supply remained. As Heisenberg surveyed the sleeping child from his camera feed, he bounced his knee, more stressed about this than he thought he’d be.
They couldn’t rely on that suppressant tea forever. And he sure as hell didn’t want to return to that fucked up dollhouse. Heisenberg hated to admit it, but he didn’t trust his willpower there anymore. Not after realizing how quickly he’d succumbed to the hallucinatory pollen. Should Donna read his memories again, he risked her finding out that Lucia was actually alive under his care. And that had dangerous consequences. He seethed at any blackmail the chattery Angie could concoct upon discovery. No, they needed new coping mechanisms.
...The man quietly, bitterly laughed at himself. As if he, of all people, were an expert on coping. He had no good examples in his life to draw from. Like so many times before, Heisenberg’s experiences came to the forefront, held like a torturous mirror he couldn’t control.
He saw his own spiraling episodes throughout his youth. Miranda—as both the source of his pain and the only one who raised him—would simply throw him into a stone pit to suffer through his panic attacks. Deep within the confines of her dungeon, only time would stop his screams. Oh, how he’d cried for any ounce of sympathy... How many times did he think he’d die from suffocation alone, with how his throat clenched and his lungs seized? From knowing the awful truth that he had no one but himself in this isolated village? No support in sight, no one to aid him in his despair... How often did he force himself to rely on pure spite to blaze through depression? At least relentless anger made him feel strong rather than completely helpless... The recollection festered within him, his fingers digging so harshly into his bicep he could almost rip sleeve and skin—
Lucia’s voice mumbled through the television set. Heisenberg immediately sat up, searching her camera feed for any telltale signs of a nightmare. Instead, her bundled form just turned around in her sleep. He released a breath. As he studied her peaceful expression, a silent possibility made itself known:
He... could be her support. The kind he himself so desperately wanted when all others abandoned him. He’d told her before that he could help make her second life easier. Initially, it was in a strictly functional sense: get the reactor working so he could harness her powers, suppress her nightmares so she’d get some sleep, feed her so she didn’t fucking starve to death. He relied on Lucia’s own mysterious desires for revenge to motivate her into working with him. He scoffed. She reminded him of himself; perhaps a part of him liked that. The shared, righteous fury towards their abuser. The validation of a common goal. And that now, he wasn’t the only one who saw through Miranda’s godly persona that everyone else clung to.
He liked all of that, until... until he realized Lucia needed more. She couldn’t be vengeful the way he could. The kid felt more than that. No, she wanted to be more than that. Rage and pain ignited her to action, yes, but the burns left in the aftermath would kill her far slower than any of Miranda’s manipulations. It’d kill her the way it killed him inside. And with these traumas resurfacing from broken memories, he dreaded the despair that could consume her, should she be left alone the way he had...
The definition of helping her evolved past physical survival. He could try to do more for her. For the girl who peered past his inhuman form and into... whatever person she thought she saw in him.
He should do more. He should be better than Miranda.
...Even with that resolve, Heisenberg instinctively ground his teeth together. Any form of vulnerability made him rigid with discomfort... This was gonna fucking suck. He could feel the apprehension in his bones. He pressed his elbows into the table before laying his forehead on his arms. This déjà vu was some bullshit.
As he faded into an uncomfortable slumber, a distant, errant thought wondered if Alcina ever dealt with such emotional struggles with her own three brats.
When morning came, Heisenberg made an effort to return to their routine: wake Lucia—more gently than usual, actually—take her to the bathroom, prep for breakfast. Familiarity would be their ally. Their morning meal consisted of overcooked eggs, bread, berries, cheese, and water. Simpler food from simpler times, but with the stark reminder that he still couldn’t properly prepare eggs to save his life... What— When the fuck did he worry if anything was overcooked?
That effort went unaddressed, however. Lucia stayed mute while she chewed. Didn’t even poke her food or move it around unnecessarily, as she tended to do when she felt nervous. But she unmistakably radiated guilt, similar to a dog that got caught tearing up the curtains. They’d be here all day if neither of them spoke. Heisenberg took a deep breath before getting the ball rolling.
“We gonna talk about last night?” She glanced at him for a second before lowering her head again.
“...I’m... I’m sorry about your drink—”
“Don’t give a damn about the drink,” he cut in, “I’ll say it again: we need to chat about your episodes.” Lucia squirmed as if an interrogation spotlight blinded her enough to avert her gaze. By her tense posture, he knew she didn’t wish to revisit it... He doubted she trusted him when it came to any emotional aspects—a fair enough assessment, considering his temper. Even back when she’d made that snow angel, she deliberately hid whatever was on her mind. Heisenberg sighed, deciding on another method.
“You’ve been in a deal-making mood, so how about this? I give you an answer, you give me an answer. Equal trade.” She eyed him suspiciously past her bed hair, its messy volume acting as a makeshift, protective shield to hide behind. But the offer appeared to somewhat entice her. He elaborated further. “You get to ask me anything. I answer honestly. Then I ask about a flashback, and you tell me about it. Deal?” Lucia slowly shifted in her seat, hesitating to face him completely, but... well, at least she tried.
“...O-Ok. Deal.” With an approving nod, he gestured to her with his hand: she got to go first. Lucia looked away to think... Then she began. “H-How long have you known Miranda?” His knee-jerk defensiveness kicked into gear.
“Most of my life,” he bluntly but vaguely replied. Her open eyes fell into a half-lidded, somewhat annoyed frown. A dissatisfying result. Heisenberg shrugged; he said he’d answer, didn’t say how detailed he had to be. He didn’t feel nearly as bad as he should’ve.
“My turn. How long have you been having flashbacks?”
“Most of my life,” she derisively lobbed back at him, deepening her voice like his for good measure. His lips tugged into a sneer. Touché. But predictably, she remained the more generous of the two. Lucia crossed her arms and kept her frown while adding in with her normal pitch. “...The first time was before we decided on my name. When I saw the stars.”
Heisenberg pulled out his journal, flipping to a free page to take note of it. Ah, she meant most of her “second” life. So she’d been seeing visions for some time now. Alright, a rocky but decent start. He nodded for her next query.
“Were the lycans and Soldats people before?” He puffed air under his breath. Of course she’d want confirmation on one of their most divisive topics. But if he wanted to earn her trust again... He leaned back in his seat while leveling her with an honest stare.
“Yeah. They used to be villagers.” Lucia’s eyes lit up, ready with a follow-up question— “Slow your roll, kid. Equal trade, remember?” She returned to scowling, but yielded. “Tell me about one of your flashbacks. Any is fine.” The implication being that they didn’t have to immediately discuss the darker episode from the night before. She seemed to take the hint, for her expression turned distant, almost wistfully content.
“One of them was about flying,” she said, a light smile gracing her lips. Heisenberg tilted his head; he needed more context. “I-I mean, I was walking on a mountain. Maybe this one. Two people would pull me up high enough to feel like I was flying. It was a fun game... I was really happy.”
He noted it. As he underlined, “two people,” he followed it up with the word, “Parents?” His writing stopped at the question mark... What had happened to her parents? As he reread it, his fingers tightened around his pen. Fuck. It finally drove home the fact that Lucia... had no one else. No one but him. During the time that he treated her like a project, he never considered himself as anything but her... what, her superior? Or her new creator, in a way, having repurposed her from Miranda’s failures. He suddenly thought back to the pile of bodies, unsure if her parents were included. He wasn’t exactly checking for any family resemblances on the day he found her. Knowing Miranda’s fucked up methods, he wouldn’t be surprised if they’d been a part of the same experiments—
“You gonna bite your pen, science man?” Lucia piped in. Heisenberg stopped his writing utensil halfway towards his mouth. He’d nearly done it without thinking.
“No!” he defensively responded, pointing the pen at her, “But good job wasting your question, dumbass. My turn.”
“W-Wait, no— Shoot— I didn’t mean it, I want a redo!” she blathered while suddenly sitting up straight, a blush spreading across her cheeks. Heisenberg couldn’t stop a smirk forming on his face. He reasoned it was purely from her being flustered, and not at all relief at seeing some personality return to her. Mostly. Just for that bit of progress, he’d allow it.
“Fine. Go ahead.” He smiled just a tad wider at her quiet, sincere phew under her breath.
“So how did the lycans and Soldats turn into... what they are now?” How curious that she’d focus so much on the experiments rather than finding out more about him. Whether she still searched for closure on their arguments, or had grown accustomed to his guarded nature, he couldn’t tell. After all, he’d replied so poorly to her Miranda question, so perhaps she gave up on that front. But hey, whatever. Maybe this was a chance for her to actually see his view on the matter.
“The lycans are failed experiments,” he began, “Poor shmucks who had the Cadou forced on them, like us. Except they had a low affinity to that shit, so their bodies rejected it. Ends up turning them into beasts. And the Soldats? Just bodies that died before they could turn. Whether they’re killed by Miranda or died by accident, they wind up here.” He shrugged. “I’m just giving them a chance to get back at the bitch for ending them.” Not that corpses really had a choice—nor were his motives completely altruistic—but she got the picture. The similarity was not lost on Lucia as she subconsciously reached for her reactor again. The source for her own return.
He saw her think on his words. It was calculating, but there was also a hint of that characteristic pity of hers. He shifted at the memory of how she’d held his face, prickling at the phantom warmth and how it chipped away his defenses. Her naïveté would be the death of her, one day—probably was what killed her in the first place, honestly. But that’s what he’s here for: to keep her from dying.
That unwarranted thought made him covertly stab the pen’s tip into his palm. Focus on the now instead of her contagious sentimentality, damn it!
By the way her eyes darted between her reactor and a specific spot on his side, he could tell she pondered why they had a higher affinity to the Cadou. Now that was a question he wouldn’t be able to answer, should it come up. He brushed the possibility off to the side... With her markedly calmer, he decided to take his chances and push on the heavier subject.
“Can you tell me about the flashback from last night?” He watched her inhale through her nose... then exhale through her mouth. Tried not to think about how she maintained that breathing practice he’d taught her. The normally impatient man forced himself to wait until she felt ready to speak.
“I-I... I was in a house, I think...? I knocked someone’s drink over. The person didn’t like that and I... I felt so scared, like I knew they’d hurt me. Badly. A-And...” Her lips quivered. A gut feeling told him she couldn’t go on. He didn’t pry further while adding to the entry. Although his pettier side grew annoyed that whiskey was a trigger for her... he couldn’t have this happening to her again.
“I won’t drink alcohol around you anymore,” he openly decided. Lucia moved to speak, her familiar guilt beginning to show itself until he held up his hand to stop her. “Not up for debate. Just ask your question.” Bewildered gratitude lingered on her innocent features. But not for too long. A somewhat serious aura replaced it as she took her turn.
“Why do the lycans listen to you?” Heisenberg froze, secretly hoping that the thicker fabric of his coat hid the subtle tension in his shoulders. He attempted to deflect.
“Why don’t you ask that about the Soldats?” He tried sounding a bit offended at her not being curious about his personal creations. Lucia squinted at him. Shit. Maybe he shouldn’t have done that. The regret creeped a tad closer with her observation.
“...You made ‘control units’ for the Soldats. The lycans don’t have them. So why do they even listen to you?” Shit. She remembered him “testing” the remote headgear from before. He couldn’t... exactly tell her that he had the mutts on loan from Mother Miranda herself. Not without her following up and edging closer to the truth. Yet, so soon after their argument, so soon after he’d resolved to mend their broken trust... Outright lying to her felt wrong, now. Heisenberg relied on vagueness again, with all the caution of defusing a ticking bomb.
“They were... given to me.” He kept his face placid. The sunglasses helped, but her pupils darted to everything else. She desperately looked for a tell: his brows, nose, mouth, posture, anything to see if he was lying. The Duke’s mockingly omniscient voice rang in his head, warning him about childrens’ intuition.
Whatever she thought, Lucia appeared to somewhat accept his answer. Actually... She appeared too prepared for her next turn. Fuck, she was going to ask who gave him the lycans next. He’d give anything to personify his inner anxiety just to choke the life out of it. To distract himself, he gave his notes a once-over before bringing up what he decided would be the final question. He had to end this exchange soon... but not without testing a theory.
“Can you speak Romanian to me right now?” Judging by her raised brows, she hadn’t expected that.
“I, uh... What... What should I say?”
“Anything. ‘Hi, my name’s Lucia,’ or that weird ladybug song or whatever.” Heisenberg waited, expectant. She stared down into her food, then closed her eyes... She knotted her brows and pressed lips together... At last, she looked at him with slow surprise.
“I... can’t.” He paused.
“...What do you mean you ‘can’t?’ You were yelling at me in Romanian during the entire flashback.”
“I-I know, but I don’t know how I did, I swear!”
“Tell me what ‘gărgăriţă’ means in English.”
“I said I don’t know!” The lights in the kitchen flickered with her rising distress. She drew back, muttering quick apologies. With that outburst, he knew she meant it.
Confusion overtook both of them. Heisenberg was hardly in the right mind to jot that down as speculations brewed in his skull. Selective bilingualism didn’t make sense... Several generations ago, when Miranda had first conquered this mountain, many villagers spoke their native language. As her influence took root in their minds, so too did they start to lose their cultural identities. They began to speak as she did, wanting to be as close as possible to their dearest prophet from on high. It wasn’t entirely out of place for a mere handful of villagers to remain fluent in Romanian, so he’d thought Lucia could’ve picked up on it from the elderly at some point.
But right now, she was convinced she couldn’t speak Romanian. And the way she went internal... The way she breathed with fear and frustration, absolutely unnerved by this revelation... Something told him she was genuinely lost. Finally, he resumed his writing, knowing this must be an important, if baffling clue. From the corner of his eye, Lucia anxiously shifted.
“...C-Can I still ask—”
“That’s fine, I think I’ve heard enough.”
“Wait, what?”
“No more questions.”
“But I wanna know—”
“Lucia,” he said sternly, “Enough.” She winced at that, slumping back into her chair. The girl didn’t need to read him to know when he no longer wished to speak. Heisenberg took a few moments to consider some options... “Finish your food, then follow me.”
Heisenberg and Lucia stood before an intricately mechanical door that displayed his House symbol. He glanced at her, fully expecting her to have those same stupid doe eyes as when she’d seen a real horse. There was some level of awe in her eyes, especially with how the gold shone in the light. But there was also... something else. Something about her taut stance and the way her fingers nervously fiddled with her cardigan’s hem. He chalked it up to just her wondering what’s on the other side of it.
“This door leads to my quarters,” he explained. And just like that, her expression dropped into incredulity.
“Of course your room has the fanciest door.”
“Don’t act like you’re not impressed.”
“Why is it so fancy?”
“What? I can be fancy.” Lucia just eyed him up and down, trying and failing to keep her sarcasm to herself. Her face all but announced, You’re not fooling anyone with that hobo look. But she apparently chose to sate her curiosity over voicing her sass.
“Why are we here?” To that, he removed his journal and waved it in her peripherals to get her attention. It was noticeably thicker with extra folded pages he’d collected from around the factory.
“This contains all the notes I have on you. And my room is one of the most secure locations in the factory. Melted down the key and hid its mold, so no one gets inside without recreating it.” She’d shortly see that he was literally the only person here who could unlock it without said key. Several mechanisms moved of their own accord: the House crest disappeared into the ceiling, gears turned, and multiple bars and pistons retracted. The door split into two, revealing a—
“AAAH what’re THEY doing here?!” Lucia cried, jumping behind his coat. She pointed at four monsters with the same headsets as the Soldats, though they were notably lankier and free of any drill augmentations. Instead, they brandished axes cobbled together from scrap, much like Heisenberg’s hammer. They turned towards her and started to hiss until he waved them away.
“Fuck off!” he barked at them. Their hissing softened to labored rasps before each individual lumbered past them. He could feel the child tug at his coat to further hide herself, but she kept an eye on them in case one decided to attack anyway. They made no such attempts; they simply dragged themselves out and obediently waited downstairs. Her observation clicked into place.
“...Guard dogs?” she asked, looking up at him.
“They’re called Haulers, but essentially, yes,” he confirmed, somewhat surprised she remembered how he’d described the failures’ demoted roles. He nodded his chin towards them, “What’re you even hiding for? Bet you could take them on.”
“I don’t... want to find out.” Heisenberg scratched at his beard, forcing himself to not suggest a combat trial. He motioned for her to follow. Once inside, the door closed itself behind them, and she visibly relaxed now that the undead workers were out of sight. He’d actually expected her to go off on her tirade about his experiments again, except... Well, she didn’t. Lucia just looked around. He was certain she didn’t accept his practices, but he’d take her silence over another fight on ethics. Maybe this morning’s talk had gotten through to her? He shook his head, returning to his priorities and moving to the workstation.
Lucia focused on taking in her surroundings. By her blinking, she’d clearly assumed the room would match its “fancy” door. In reality, it was just as grimy and forgotten as the rest of the factory. Fitted with another workstation carrying scraps, shelves with various piled documents barely covered by a torn tarp, broken tiles along the walls, and scattered springform bed frames. Not a single mattress to be seen.
“Do you even sleep here?” she asked without thinking. He removed a green plastic bin full of miscellaneous supplies.
“Nah. Hardly ever sleep in the same spot.” Too busy with experiments, was the context left unsaid. Didn’t need to be said for her to know what he meant. Once more, she remained quiet. Heisenberg opened up the journal while thumbtacks rose from the bin. As he tore and lifted each page, they pinned them to the far wall free of pipes and power boxes. Fluorescent bulbs flickered on either side to help with reading the entries. Lucia watched with some wonder as the papers organized themselves with a single thought.
“So what’s... what’s all this for?” She walked up to a particular unfolded blueprint that detailed the customizations for her reactor. But with how specific its musings and drawings were, it may as well have been a bunch of scribbles. She couldn’t even begin to understand the machinations.
“Wanted a visualization of your progress and flashbacks,” he explained, repurposing the tarp from the shelf to cover the one barred window on the side wall. “From now on, any information on you will be kept here. Locked up, and guarded by Haulers when we’re not around. If we work together, we might figure out your past or whatever.” The two turned to each other at the same time. She got that hesitant look on her face: the subtle tense brows tilted slightly upwards, and pupils searched for any ill will.
“You want to find out what happened to me?” He leaned back by the window, crossing his arms.
“Don’t you?”
“...” Lucia looked at him, deeply, as if she could see through his sunglasses. “...Is this a test?”
“What— No, it’s... It’s to figure out how to help you... cope. Get you some closure? I can’t promise anything. But I can only help if you’re honest with me.” He stuffed his hands in his pockets, lowering his head just enough so his brim covered his lenses. “Besides... we’re not doing combat trials unless you ask for it. I mean it this time. Until then, we might as well try to sort out your shitty memories, right?”
He peeked up to gauge her reaction. Lucia seemed to brighten at the admission. She understood at that moment that this was his attempt at making amends without explicitly apologizing. After some awkward silence, she finally nodded.
“Ok... Th... Thanks...” He merely grunted in response, hiding under his hat instead of thinking about how much lighter his chest felt. “So what do I...? What should I do?” He walked up to stand beside her, scanning the papers. Heisenberg took this morning’s entry in his hand. He eyed the word, “Parents?” again before folding it up and placing it in his pocket. Wanted to mull over this one and add to it as needed.
“Just tell me whatever flashbacks you get. We’ll keep an eye out for triggers. Piece it all together as we go. Also, that might mean... no tea. No more suppressing nightmares.” His peripherals caught her shoulders squaring up in alarm. He sighed. “I don’t like it either, but we’re running low, Lucia. And I don’t think I can get more. It’ll be better for us in the long run to try to... hell, I dunno, talk things out? Fuck, I’m not good at this shit...” He muttered that last statement. “Point is, we want to manage your episodes so you don’t go insane. Think you can do that?” The child stared at him with a similar shock as when he’d first apologized to her, long ago in her prison. Considering another person’s feelings... Convincing her that he was... trying to be better... They always proved to be far more difficult, uncomfortable tasks than most in his lifetime. But he’s survived worse. He could certainly survive this.
“Y-Yeah...” she finally said, “I think I’ve told you everything I’ve remembered so far. But I’ll... I’ll tell you if any more come up.” Heisenberg exhaled slowly as he turned to regard her. Lucia’s lids slightly narrowed as she tried to read his rough handwriting from her height. He allowed himself a small grin while laying his hand on her head, and rubbed her hair.
“Good girl.” Her vision effectively blocked from his notes, she lightly pushed him off, but couldn’t stifle the tiniest giggle as she did so. They both quickly turned their attention back to the wall while she smoothed out the knots. Heisenberg read the notes to avoid the relief he felt. Lucia tried to read, to avoid acknowledging that she’d just laughed.
Both welcomed the quiet.
Lucia stayed up staring at the nearest wall that night... The first night without having any tea. It felt odd to her, how the removal of such an activity weighed on her mind. She was... afraid. She didn’t know if she wanted to face whatever hidden memories lurked in the dark. But Heisenberg’s ideas somehow... made her want to try. A rare effort to help her. Not to make her a stronger weapon, but to help her. No, wait, this was Heisenberg. Surely this was all just so his experiment wouldn’t break down and cry from invisible threats at the worst time, right? Yet, there was something about his demeanor that just felt real. Or was she giving him too many chances because she pitied him?
The image of his monstrous form appeared in her mind’s eye. Lucia tightened the blanket around her as she recalled the sheer fright violently spearing through her body. It should’ve been the worst of him. The worst she’d ever seen of him. All that repressed anguish and vehement wrath that twisted him inside, brought to light in his bodily horror. He’d terrified her more than ever before. She thoroughly believed he’d finally decided she wasn’t worth the trouble; he was going to end her right then and there...
Instead, he’d stopped that rage to calm her down.
In seeing him attempting to get her to recognize him, to stop hiding herself... That was Heisenberg talking. Not another monster trying to kill her. Only once before, she saw him as a terribly hurting man. This time... she saw a deep seated sense of self-loathing. He hated what Miranda turned him into. It’d felt so genuine, so painful that Lucia hadn’t known she’d reached for his cheek until she felt the warmth of his marred flesh. She couldn’t explain why she wanted to comfort him in that moment, even after all he’d done. After all the experiments she didn’t agree with.
Now, with him shifting focus to learning her memories, she wondered if this was Heisenberg’s way of comforting her.
She held her arms. Lucia knew he wasn’t one for kindness. Not easily, anyway. But when he tried... The man utterly confused her. Saying things like how everything he did was to ensure her survival. She thought she was just another cog in his plans, but sometimes he almost convinced her he didn’t want her to die. Utterly, utterly confusing... She sorely wished her life were far simpler. Had life ever been so simple for her, before she woke up with a foreign creature and wires inside her chest? Lucia supposed she wouldn’t remember; she huffed sharply at that. Trying to understand, she replayed today’s events over and over in her head.
...I can only help if you’re honest with me, he’d said. As much as she appreciated it, the way he’d cut off their “equal trade” earlier than she would’ve liked... It cast some doubt within her. So she didn’t feel guilty about withholding her snow angel flashback, with the scarred hand that reached out to her. She clung to the image tightly. A single, distinct clue in a fog of mysteries. If Heisenberg wasn’t being entirely honest, neither should she.
He was hiding something. Something important. And that was saying something when she thought about the man who was so vocal in all but specific topics. Lucia was no stranger to his rants, to his venting about how terrible Miranda is and how much they should want to kill her. But the more they spoke, the more she found he eluded certain details. How did he escape Miranda? How did he keep tabs on her? And most recently, who gave him the lycans? She imagined that if he had friends, he’d share that information with her. Even the one time he mentioned the Duke’s existence to her had been to mess with her. Then again, perhaps “friend” was a strong word to describe the bizarre merchant.
The merchant...!
Lucia perked up. She remembered the door to Heisenberg’s quarters. The mental picture of the Iron Horse called her to stand.
Quiet as a mouse, she put on her cardigan and socks to muffle her footsteps—not that she’d need it in this noisy factory, but she wanted to be discreet anyway. She made sure to button up as high as possible; her reactor remained hidden enough to those who didn't look for it, or so she hoped. The girl opted to leave her gloves and boots behind.
She slipped out of her door, feeling along the rough brick walls and guided by muscle memory towards the elevator call button. Lucia blinked to herself. When had she learned how to navigate these halls? Sure, there was much, much left of the factory she hadn’t seen before. But for the paths Heisenberg had deemed safe enough to show her? Oh, she proudly beamed at her improved memory! The child quickly hid this internal victory as the mechanism stopped, and the doors opened to the Duke’s emporium.
The merchant nodded to her in greeting, flipping his book closed. As she stepped inside and faced him, she knew he’d been expecting her.
“...Can I try reading that story again?” The Duke’s smile stretched further.
“Of course, Miss Lucia.”
Lucia settled herself into the same corner of the elevator as before. A large decorative pillow provided by the Duke kept her from being too uncomfortable on the metal floor. Contrasting the otherwise sweet, childish image, she set her expression with the determined concentration of a wannabe scholar. She tucked her hair behind her ears and brushed the rest to her back. Now that it fell past her shoulders, it’d distract her vision if she let it surround her face. Resolute, she opened the book: Village of Shadows.
“Long a-go,” she emphasized, reminding herself of the proper pronunciation, “A y-ow-ng—”
“Young,” the Duke kindly corrected. Dang it, that was fast.
“—y-young girl... went with her... m-mother...” She paused. Her voice was soft, but the word practically rang in her ears. Made her feel something, but she couldn’t pinpoint what. “To... to pick... burr—no, berries! For her... father...” She released a shaky breath. There it was again. That feeling. A surreal, but undeniably deep longing that weighed heavily in her heart. Barely one sentence in, and she was already thoroughly shaken. Lucia had to force herself to finish, “...who was hard at... w-w-oar-k.”
“Work.”
“Work...” The mindless repetition wouldn’t stick, for her attention lingered on the two specific words she’d never read, but felt a gnawing familiarity towards. Her pulse sped up when she reread them. She glued her eyes to the pictured mother and child, fearful of her near-blank memory as she asked, “Duke... W-What’s a ‘mother’ and ‘father?’”
“Oh, my dear,” he mumbled a tad sorrowfully, her question affirming something about her he’d apparently suspected, “How do I begin? Hmmm... A mother and father are adult figures who raise children. Otherwise known as parents. Together, they make a family. And families care for and protect one another.”
“Family...” Lucia recollected her flashbacks. After all this time, she could finally assign terms to the people who gave her that longing feeling—when she felt happy, when she wished she was normal... The hands that held her own... Did those belong to her mother and father? They must! Where were they now? Did they know she was alive? No, they probably don’t, given how long she’s been here... Were they even alive? Her fingertips pressed into the illustration, trembling ever so slightly at the possibilities that threatened to overwhelm her.
“Shall we continue?” the merchant chimed. Lucia blinked out of her buzzing speculations.
“Y-Yeah,” she responded, wiping a wet corner of her eye. When did that happen? She sniffed to recompose herself before moving on.
And so she read. One-syllable vocabulary came easily enough to her. Others, she’d hope a distant memory would aid her, unless the Duke graciously stepped in. Lucia reckoned that she’d known how to read before her death; that made this more akin to stretching muscles from retirement than learning from scratch. Her fumbling pronunciations slowed her progress, but were gradually overcome by her desire to understand.
The tale told of a girl who ran further into the forest without her mother, firm in her decision to find the berries for her father before ultimately losing her way. It described the monsters who treated her plight with kindness, each granting her a gift: blood to drink, a dress to wear, a fin to eat... All given freely to help her make the journey home. Lucia would sometimes reread certain phrases with the Duke, who was nothing but patient with her endeavor. In fact, he’d delightfully clap if she read a sentence without his help. Despite her misgivings towards the neutral businessman, his encouragement did make her smile.
Finally, she returned to the segment that introduced the Iron Steed. The gears and machinery of the forest reminded her an awful lot of the factory she currently resided in. Along with the crest that decorated Heisenberg’s door. This had to be connected to him somehow. She just knew it...
The girl of the story took the golden gear that wasn’t offered, and wore it like a necklace. Her chest tingled oddly at that picture; it made her mindlessly scratch at the edge of her reactor through her cardigan. How... eerily similar, but not quite. The horse raged and called upon the other monsters—Lucia was more nervous for the girl than she thought, but... Strangely, she simultaneously felt awe towards the once-kind ensemble. Both glorious and terrifying. Now they all turned on the girl who overstepped her boundaries. Lucia’s words hitched as their mistress, the menacing witch, appeared before her...
“D-Dark, yet... reh-gal.”
“Regal. Like royalty, or someone of high status. Elegant, even.”
She said nothing, solely focused on the terrible depiction of the witch towering over the helpless girl. How would she escape? How would she ever return to her parents? For such a small tale, Lucia empathized with the child, now haunted by her own uncanny desire to know her family and home... Her head felt heavy, the story swimming through murky waters. She felt something tugging on the edges of her memory, aching to be seen. Lucia closed her eyes and winced, ears ringing, heart racing, trying to grasp the fleeting image... She could barely make out silhouettes of four—no, five people that she... she revered.
Heisenberg said Miranda was worshipped like a god. So who were the others?
She groaned under her breath, fingers pressing against her temple. Why? Why did seeing the monsters and the witch do this to her? Why did they feel so important to her? Who ARE those people? As Lucia peeked up at the Duke—who grinned the whole time, pleased with her troubled thinking—she knew then that he had a reason for showing her this specific story. He wouldn’t provide answers. She had to finish the book first. Her chest seemed to resonate with that decision...
The elevator suddenly shifted before she could turn the page, startling her with a yelp.
“W-Was that you?” she asked the Duke.
“I didn’t press a-ny-thing,” he sang all too calmly. Oh, he knew. In a second, so did she. Lucia’s throat went dry.
Heisenberg must’ve called the elevator.
Panicking, the girl clumsily handed the book back to the Duke before taking her “seat” and hiding on the right side of his chair, furthest from the door. She hunched low and put up the pillow like a shield. It was just enough to cover her, aided by the stacks of various wares surrounding her. The merchant chuckled as he coolly hid the story back in its resting place.
“Ohoho, are you alright—”
“Ssshh! I’m not here!” she desperately hissed. He thankfully quieted down his amusement before the mechanism stopped, and a tense Heisenberg entered. She heard him breathing somewhat heavily through his nose, like he’d rushed to get here.
“Long night?” the Duke inquired innocently. The engineer grumbled, but that was it. She heard his heavy boot carefully step closer. She slowly leaned away from the sound, noting how he made no move towards the control panel. Why wasn’t he going to another floor? Was he here to shop? To talk to the Duke? But he wasn’t saying anything...
And again, Lucia felt her chest hum. It must’ve been an especially nervous heartbeat because, well... she was supposed to be asleep in her room right now. She’d never stayed up past a certain time and she didn’t want to find out what Heisenberg would think of that. Just hold her breath... Keep the pillow still...
She heard his trench coat sleeves crinkle from crossing his arms. An exhausted—perhaps relieved?—sigh drifted into the air.
“...You’re pretty shit at hiding,” Heisenberg finally said.
Fuck.
She felt her ears turn hot from embarrassment, but doubled down and pressed her lips tighter. Maybe if she didn’t say anything, he’d think she really was just a not-at-all suspicious pillow—
“Lucia,” he firmly called. Ok, no, the jig was up. Time to go.
She shyly shuffled out from her hiding spot to stand before the discontented Heisenberg. How did he know she was there? But guessing was difficult when she guiltily hung her head low from getting caught.
“You have any idea what time it is?” Heisenberg tiredly rumbled, briefly pushing his glasses up to rub an eyelid, “What’re you doing up?” And what’re you doing HERE, his shifty gaze asked, from the way he glanced between her and the cheery Duke.
“I... couldn’t sleep,” she answered with a partial truth, “Didn’t know what to do or where you were, so...”
“...” The man said nothing as he pressed the button to her floor. He kept his back turned to her. Did he believe her? Perhaps it was because she had no tea beforehand. But something about his silence made her feel somewhat... ashamed. Was he disappointed in her? Why did she care? She tugged at her cardigan’s hem, so anxious that she didn’t even say a farewell to the elevator’s resident when the two exited. Heisenberg was already several feet ahead of her.
“Sweet dreams, Miss Lucia,” the Duke called from his shop. The child flinched and stopped walking. She didn’t... How did he...? Was he aware of her fearing her nightmares, or was that just a coincidental remark? Heisenberg, who must’ve picked up on her alarm, returned to place his hand on her shoulder and gently urged her forward.
“Don’t let him spook you,” he said, “He’s just being a know-it-all prick. You get used to it.” She couldn’t help but feel the corners of her lips tug upwards, agreeing with his crass humor. Somehow, it eased her concern a bit. But she dropped the grin before he could see. When they arrived back at her room, he leaned by the door as she pulled her covers over her lap. “Talk to me, kid. Can you sleep, or do you need that tea again?” Lucia stewed on his question. With the weirdest desire to not worry him, she pressed herself back into her mattress.
“...I think I’ll be ok.” He lingered while considering his own options.
“Lucia.” She looked over at him. Heisenberg seemed like he wanted to say something... before settling for another. “Don’t wander around the factory without me again.” A stern order. Of course that’d be it. Unsure of what she was expecting, she simply nodded and turned away.
Once he’d left, the girl allowed both mental and physical exhaustion to carry her to sleep. As she did so, she promised herself that she’d think more of her parents. She’d think more of the four figures that loomed in her foggy mind. And... she should avoid asking Heisenberg about the Iron Steed, for now. An instinct told her that if he found out too soon, he’d permanently forbid her from visiting the Duke, who clearly had his own motivations...
Lucia decided to keep the story a secret until she finished, then hear what exactly the mysterious merchant had to say. But since Heisenberg found her there, she wasn’t sure when she could be alone with the Duke again. She’d have to be patient. Disappointed at that roadblock, she drifted off with the image of the book’s mother and daughter in her mind.
Heisenberg would never let Lucia know that he’d set up his own space a few rooms away from hers because of her little elevator visit. Just around a hallway corner, he laid back in a medical cot and listened for any movement. Any jolting nightmares, any attempts to sneak off... He knew it’d be difficult for her to want to sleep without the suppressant, but he didn’t think she’d go to the Duke. There was no way secret meetings with that guy boded well for him. Then again, he supposed the fat bastard was far nicer company in comparison... Couldn’t leave this to chance. He’d keep an eye on them both. Thankfully, Lucia’s room remained undisturbed all through the night. Despite his distrust of the situation, he let himself nod off a few times. Gotta get whatever rest he could.
When morning came, he cracked his neck and scratched his beard— Jesus, he needed a shave. A trim, at the very least. But later. Grooming himself was a little lower priority these days. He tucked that minor task to the back of his mind as he went to check on the kid.
“Lucia,” he called through a yawn. He froze when he saw her missing, the blanket and pillow in disarray like she’d scrambled out. The only thing that kept him from sprinting away from her room was hearing her quiet sniffles underneath her bed. Fuck, she must’ve seen something terrible. “Lucia?” He heard her gasp and hold her breath. Heisenberg carefully kneeled down a few feet away from her. “Hey, it’s just me. What happened?”
“T-Te rog nu mă face rău,” he heard her whisper. With a flick of his fingers, he turned on her lights and lifted her bed into the air. The girl gasped, hiding her face in her dark hair.
“Snap out of it!” She flinched before blinking up at him.
“H-Heisen...?” she stammered. Then, she had the strangest reaction: she stared at her hair. Lucia slowly sat up and held the strands between her fingers, confusion lacing her features. He supposed her hair had gotten longer. That was hardly worth looking as perplexed as she did. Not exactly the reaction he was expecting, but at least she’d broken herself out of her latest flashback. “I-I’m ok. I’m ok.”
“...Remember anything new?” She dropped the locks and shook her head.
“Just... more hiding. From someone who wanted to hurt me.” Heisenberg exhaled through his nose. Figuring out her past would take a while.
The days were often spent taking it slow, while the evenings contained listening carefully for any more nightmares or escapes to the elevator. She heeded his order and stopped leaving her room before morning. Or maybe she figured out that he had his own way of locating her; he didn’t particularly care, so long as she obeyed. But she often woke from dreamless slumber or with terrors already known to them.
Finding anything new to trigger her memory was a total shot in the dark, which left him theorizing while he worked. Heisenberg started with one point: she hadn’t recognized the Duke. They had to introduce themselves to each other when they met. He’d chalk it up to amnesia, except that the merchant was such a distinct individual. If she were a villager, then her parents must’ve shopped without her most of the time. Eating herbed fish didn’t trigger anything either, which might mean she and her family couldn’t get ingredients for the Duke’s cooking. Were vegetables more easily accessible for them? Was that why she hated them?
On another note, Heisenberg found her drawn to chores now that training was on pause. Cleaning up crumbs from the table, sweeping the floor, wiping dust with rags; he wouldn’t have really given a shit if he weren’t on the lookout for her previous habits. There was an awkward, yet potentially practiced manner in her movements. Although he threw a fit when she got near the goddamn sink. Her eyes were freakishly distant when he caught her scrubbing dishes.
“I fucking said no water around the reactor!” he snapped, dragging her away from the running faucet.
“But I should help! Mother and father are working—” They both stopped at that, and his hand on her shoulder tightened. He should’ve known she’d remember her parents eventually... He pushed past the discomfort to try jogging her memory some more.
“...What’d they do for work?” She was unprepared for that.
“I... I don’t remember.” All he could do was remove his paper and pen to note the development. To mirror his own practices, she’d take her tape recorder and repeat whatever he found worthy of writing. As always, he distanced himself from thinking too much whenever she copied him.
One answer came days later, while Heisenberg lifted debris in the outdoor scrapyard. Sometimes, he preferred to use his strength instead of his powers. Had to find moments to be more... human. Heisenberg bristled, but he admitted that the physical exertion was almost meditative. Eventually satisfied with his finds, he returned to where Lucia sat waiting in the garage. Normally, she’d be squinting while she basked in the sunlight; her sight was far more adjusted to the factory’s dimness nowadays. However, she didn’t squint now. He knew that look. Perhaps it was something about his silhouette surrounded by the dry mountain grass that informed her next memory:
“Father was a farmer,” she habitually spoke into her tape recorder. Of fucking course he was. Should’ve been the most obvious occupation, to be honest. Heisenberg wrote that down, too.
“Know what your mother did?” Lucia sank in on herself, dejected.
“Not yet... But when I try thinking of her, I feel like... I missed her more than my father.” She pushed the “Stop” button, signaling that she had nothing new to say afterwards. That information could mean her mother was away most of the time. Left her father to take care of her. Could she have been a maid for Alcina? No, that thirsty bitch preferred young virgins for her wine, and they lived in the castle. Gardener for Donna? Nah, she’d only needed the one, who’d been a longtime friend of the Beneviento family back then. Before she got her Cadou powers and opened the job position back up herself, anyway. Lab assistant for Moreau? That blubbering moron needed all the help he could get, after all. But partaking in experiments was reserved only for the most devout and secretive villagers. Even if all they did was hand them tools, only a select few were ever chosen to learn about the Cadou... Well, in that case, he supposed they didn’t have to be that smart. Just enough to know to keep their mouths shut, or expendable enough to terminate if they couldn’t. But she couldn’t have helped with experiments. If her father was a farmer, then her mother was probably something just as simple.
That guess was somewhat shaken the day Lucia caught Heisenberg washing his bloodied work shirt. An unsanitary side effect of performing surgeries on corpses, but one he’d gotten accustomed to. He heard her push the button to record, but Lucia’s following advice unnerved him.
“Hydra-ghen purr-ox-id helps get the bloodstains out.” He halted almost immediately.
“...You’re shitting me.”
“Eeeww, gross—”
“Not literally, you fucking idiot. Hydrogen peroxide? Really?” He fully turned to her, dropping the soaked cloth in the wash bin. She shifted her weight uncomfortably, embarrassed at the mispronunciation... Until she noticed that those were two words she hadn’t remembered until now. “How the fuck would you know that?”
“...Mother taught me,” she realized.
Heisenberg wanted to believe that she’d learned that during her mother’s monthly periods, or maybe the woman helped the village butcher. Just something mundane. Anything mundane. But specifically hydrogen peroxide? The Duke could procure such supplies, yes, but not for the common rabble. That solution was typically for disinfecting medical equipment... Now there was that darker possibility that, perhaps, Lucia’s mother was devout enough to be closer to the Lords. A castle maid could have that cleaning knowledge, but simple-minded peons were more likely to use a mix of salt and water. Perhaps Alcina wasn’t the only one who needed to keep her home clean. Anyone who performed experiments needed someone to clean up their messes—Heisenberg being the exception, what with his secret army and all.
More theories. More notes. He’d expand on the initial page and start new ones, each eventually adding to the wall in his quarters. He also showed Lucia where he kept spare microcassette tapes for when she needed more. Taught her how to replace it, and which bin to store used ones for safekeeping. He also begrudgingly permitted the girl to take an entry or two of her choosing; see if any of it would help her remember. Heisenberg didn’t let himself appear impressed by her improved reading, but he would chuckle whenever she scowled at a particularly long word.
“Sh-Shut up, your handwriting’s just messy,” she claimed. She wasn’t wrong, but it was legible enough. He shrugged and return to his ruminations, comparing notes to form sort-of-informed opinions:
Lucia was definitely a villager. She had to be. Outsiders were singled out fairly quickly and reported to Mother Miranda, then usually met an untimely demise when they had nothing of value. She said her memories often contained snow and farmland. That was confirmation enough. But the real riddles lay within her hot-and-cold Romanian. She spoke of her parents... fondly, he admitted. They sounded like decent people... So which one of them drank enough alcohol to hurt a child? Why were her more painful memories spoken in Romanian in the first place? Not to mention that alcohol—aside from Alcina’s wine—was strictly prohibited by Miranda. Didn’t want her precious lab rats to be too “tainted.” And therefore, the beverage became secret and expensive at the Duke’s emporium. Only the Lords were allowed such goods if they so desired it. Sure, he imagined the merchant could be swayed by a villager with enough lei. But if Lucia and her family were poor enough that they couldn’t afford herbed fish, how would they have ever gotten their hands on alcohol? Heisenberg turned to her to ask—
Fucking CHRIST, she drew on his notes!
“The HELL do you think you’re doing?!” he barked. She flinched from her cross-legged position. His scientific studies were NOT meant for doodling! She must’ve taken her own pen from the supply bin when he wasn’t looking. “Gimme that.”
He snatched the page and turned it around. It was actually his earliest entry of her, from when she was first resurrected. Apparently, she didn’t take kindly to the part where he wrote that she was:
Fucking dumb as shit. Can’t remember three simple words I told her seconds ago.
Because below that, she added... An extremely poorly-drawn version of him. It pictured his hat, sunglasses, coat, even a line and a square for his hammer—it was held by a dark circle. Probably his glove? His beard and hair were nothing more than jagged, zigzagging scribbles. He also had an exaggerated frown, his tongue sticking out, and wavy lines that could only rudely suggest that he smelled bad. In case her disdain wasn’t clear enough, she messily scrawled out, “ASHOAL” with an arrow pointed at him... Actually, that wasn’t clear at all. The fuck?
“...A shoal?” he deadpanned.
“Asshole,” she corrected, hands on her hips, frowning but too proud of her jab at him... Heisenberg sputtered, then leaned on his knees to poorly stifle his obvious laughter. She immediately turned red, understanding that she must’ve messed something up and maybe she was fucking dumb as shit. She absolutely didn’t get the offended reaction she wanted and resorted to more defensive yelling. “What? WHAT?! IT’S TRUE!” He couldn’t compose himself long enough to even address her confusion, or remember his question. He just reveled in her loud blustering as she stuttered through explaining what exactly made him an asshole. And when she stood to reclaim the page and fix her mistake, he condescendingly held her back by her forehead while her arms angrily flailed. Oh, he was gonna hold this dumbassery over her head for a while.
When she eventually tuckered out, Heisenberg made the note and its new drawing pin itself to the wall, deciding that his quarters was still the best place to hide all evidence of her existence.
Later, he grumbled somewhat uncomfortably as the child flitted around him in the washroom. She busily swept up cut hair with two rags in hand and deposited them in a bin. He didn’t ask her to follow him when he mentioned he had to groom himself. But he had to admit, having someone else do a bit of cleaning was... not entirely unwelcome. After he rubbed his face free of any stray scruff—satisfied with the shorter, trademark beard and the return of his shoulder-length hair—he saw her staring.
“I’m not a mind reader, kid. Whaddya want?”
“...Can, um...” She looked away. “Can you cut my hair, too?” Free of his glasses, he could see her better. Her hair fell past her collarbone after all. Visual proof of how long she’d been alive now. Wait, how many months had it been since he’d brought her back, exactly? He really should start dating his written entries. In any case, shorter hair meant fewer opportunities for getting caught in any machinery. Practical.
He summoned a metal chair to face away from the sink. Lucia understood, sat back, and brushed her locks under the faucet. He began washing and lathering her hair with soap, the two falling into a comfortable silence as they both sorted through their own thoughts. Her questions were inevitable; they always were, when he was stuck with this specific task.
“Do you know who my parents are?” And there it was. He patted for her to sit up once the suds were rinsed out, squeezing the excess water out of her strands.
“No, I don’t,” he answered truthfully, “You were dead in a pile when I found you.”
“...W-Were they... dead... with me?” she pressed, tilting her head back to look at him. She got that desperate but hopeful shine in her eye. Her searching look... actually... stressed him. Formed an annoying twist in his gut. Probably because the idea that he might’ve burned their corpses without knowing was kind of fucked up. But he dismissed it—innocent until proven guilty and all that. He forced himself to speak calmly to avoid alarming her.
“If I didn’t know them before, how am I supposed to recognize their corpses?”
“Oh. I guess you’re right...” In some terrible way, her giving up comforted him. He brushed knots out of her hair with his free hand while the other steadily held the scissors.
“Hold still,” he ordered, snipping quickly. That command was unnecessary, for the child sat too still for his liking. Lucia’s eyes looked beyond his factory. It was downright creepy. The only movement that followed was her pinching a cluster of lost hair... then studying it. He noted the way her lids fluttered—she was remembering something.
“...Was my hair... always black?”
The snipping stopped.
“Um, yeah?” he replied, puzzled, “What do you mean?” She rubbed the wet strands between her fingers, watching them fall to the tiled floor. “...Lucia. You gotta be honest with me, remember?” She hesitated, then slowly relented as she shakily recorded herself. To show him that she spoke truthfully, and wanted to remember whatever troubled her so. With an uneasy breath, she finally admitted:
“...One time, I thought my hair was... brown.”
She stopped recording. Heisenberg leaned back a bit. That morning when he found her under her bed, then staring at her hair... Was that why she was so confused? As if her memories were inconsistent. Between that and her random Romanian, he couldn’t write it off as some random dream. A horrible new theory came to mind: could Miranda have been trying some new kind of brainwashing...? The ensuing silence made the child uncomfortable.
“N-Never mind, I know it sounds dumb.” He cautiously returned to evening out her hair. Just like that, he decided to drop the uncertain subject. But he couldn’t let her nervousness shut down their communication.
“...You can tell me anything,” he uncharacteristically reminded her. She glanced at him, her expression softening. Before this got too nice, he tacked on, “And if it’s dumb like your piss poor spelling, I’ll let you know.” She rolled her eyes, but her lingering smile made it less incredulous than she tried to be.
When he finished, he rubbed her hair dry before surveying the damage: he might’ve cut it a bit shorter than when he’d first met her. The length hung by her jawline now. Whoops. But she didn’t seem too deterred by it when she looked at herself in the mirror.
“Thank you,” she said. No pause, no hesitation. No way to know if she thanked him for the haircut, or for listening. He just nodded at her reflection. She began making her way to the door, but he tapped her shoulder before she could escape.
“Forgetting something?” She gave her attention just in time to see him wave her toothbrush in her face. Her bratty manner returned.
“Ugh, do I have to?”
“Yes, you have to. You’ll thank me again when you’re older.” She hmph-ed as she snatched it out of his hand and reached for a little jar of homemade toothpaste by the sink. With her back to him, she didn’t notice how rigid Heisenberg became at his own words:
...When you’re older.
Heisenberg moved to lean against the door frame and hide this baffling distress. He’d said something similar before, back when he reintroduced her to her apparent distaste for vegetables. Some shit about eating whatever she wanted when she got to his age. He didn’t think much of it back then, he just needed an excuse for someone else to eat the goddamn greens for him. But now? Why the hell did that phrase hit him differently now?
He knew he had the ambition to get out of this shithole eventually. He fucking needed to. It’d been his goal for so long that it informed every decision he ever made. Got him through sacrificing ethics, broke him out of Miranda’s brainwashing, helped him smile through all the lives she’s ruined. As a meticulous, aggressive planner, he always knew what he wanted to do, and improvised when any obstacles presented themselves. Anything to survive under that bitch’s thumb.
...Figuring out the kid’s past didn’t necessarily add to that goal. And now, that mindless phrase—when you’re older—showed him another lapse in his plans:
Not once had he ever genuinely considered Lucia’s future.
As he looked over his shoulder at the child who grimaced at the tasteless paste, grumpy but obedient with her hygiene, his chest suddenly felt heavy at the thought that... he didn’t know what he’d do with the kid after killing Miranda. He couldn’t even begin to speculate. Unlike how misunderstanding angered him, this oversight made him feel... insecure? Like everything else that irked him, he shoved the foreign emotion away in a pile of issues to figure out later. And like every time he chose to defend himself from introspection, the world seemed intent on throwing him off.
This came in the form of Lucia bursting out of her room that night, hyperventilating and waking him when her door banged against the wall. She was so desperate in her escape that she slammed herself across the hallway and fell down, sobbing and throat seizing.
“M-Mother Miranda...! Stop, please, n-no more needles—! D-Don’t! NO!!” he heard her shriek between breaths. Heisenberg didn’t even bother putting on his accessories before running away from his cot—his gloves, glasses, and hat were easily left behind. Crumpled on the ground, the girl held one hand protectively over her head, while the other covered the back of her neck. This sent an icy chill through his core; to his knowledge, she hadn’t dreamt of Miranda until now. He immediately lowered himself onto his knees beside her.
“Lucia, it’s not real! Lucia, look at me!!” he raised his voice. She scrambled back, both hands still protecting the back of her skull, eyes wide and locked on him. Under the dim hallway lights, he wasn’t sure she’d recognize him. Just when he was about to speak—
The girl threw herself onto his left arm. Not just wrapping her hands around, but clinging to him. She hiccupped and struggled to breathe, tears staining the fabric. Heisenberg locked up, every muscle frozen from her unexpected action.
“L-Lucia...?” He looked down at her, tried to listen to her frantic mumbling. He strained to make out the words, but he picked out enough.
“...not there, I’m not there, I’m not there... She doesn’t... doesn’t smo... I-I’m not there...” Who doesn’t what? Her fingers clawed into his sleeve, tugging and squeezing herself closer as if convincing herself that he was real. Her inhales through her nose became deeper... And it suddenly clicked to Heisenberg what she meant: Miranda doesn’t smoke. And if she smelled smoke, that assured her that she wasn’t in the underground laboratory.
Heisenberg’s chest clenched at that revelation. He didn’t... Fuck, what the hell was he supposed to do with that? She’d always voiced her disgust at that “smelly” habit of his. Enough to commit it to a stupid drawing. For as many arguments as they’ve had about his faults, how did Lucia manage to find anything good? But now that she was here, trying to ground herself... he wanted to help prove that she wasn’t in another nightmare. He gingerly placed his free hand on her back. He felt her stiffen for a moment, then relax. Unsure of how else to proceed, he rubbed circles, hoping that it was more comforting than awkward. Had to fill the silence, if only for himself.
“Hey, k-kid, it’s ok,” he began, beating himself up for not knowing how to explicitly comfort someone, “You’re ok. You’re... You’re safe.” He winced at that word. Safe. Who was he kidding? She was in a giant, metal cage full of violent, mechanically-enhanced zombies, and not that far off from the village. Not nearly far enough... Even so, his words seemed to have some effect on her. Lucia couldn’t speak, but her breathing steadily evened; she only sniffed and leaned her forehead closer into his arm.
He decided to take a chance, moved his hand onto her head... And just left it there. Like how she’d held his cheek before. A tender gesture he’d never done for... anyone. She shakily sighed, her body finally slacking and loosening her hold on him.
“...You alright?” He felt her nod against him, sniffing, still too shaken to speak. He gently removed his hand on her head to offer it to her. “C’mon. Let’s get you to bed.” She kept sitting there, wiping her face on her sleeve. He almost thought she’d pick herself up, or withdraw like when she’d made that snow angel... Then, without looking at him, Lucia delicately placed her fingers in his palm.
It was the first time she ever held his bare hand. Unprotected by his gloves, it struck him then that not only was the warmth more pronounced, but she was... so small. And as they curled their fingers, he found himself being exceptionally careful with her, as if she were made of paper and any sudden moves might tear her to pieces. He rubbed his thumb on her knuckle, which prompted her to slightly tighten her grasp.
Both avoiding each other’s gazes as they stood, he guided her back into her room. He felt her walk closer to him, like he was a lifeline in the darkness. Again, he pressed his thumb on the back of her hand, quietly letting her know he wouldn’t lead her astray. He couldn’t put a name to what he felt at that moment. Once she laid back down, and he made a move to leave... The child kept her hold.
“Can y-you...” he heard her whisper so quietly. He paused, keeping his vision facing some corner of her room. “...Stay?” Heisenberg took a deep breath. So many emotions warred within him, many desperately resisting the vulnerability, while others begged him to not leave her alone with her grief. Not the way he’d been. With much internal struggle, he gradually sat himself down by her bed.
“...Just until you sleep,” he conceded. In the dark, he could barely see her head burying into her pillow.
He held her hand long after she fell into her slumber. And as he did so, that pesky question returned to interrupt his peace:
What will he do with Lucia after Miranda’s dead?
The two didn’t bring up the night they held hands. One never wanted to speak about such meekness, while the other knew it was useless to try. But even with the return of his gloves, that night’s effects showed through their actions.
For Heisenberg, he attempted to watch his temper around her. All to keep Lucia from being too frightened during her waking hours; she dealt with enough in her own head. He shouldn’t add to it... Another way of distancing himself from Miranda’s harsher upbringing, he reasoned. If a new body flatlined during its revitalization surgery, he’d resort to frustrated growling and crushing whatever poor utensil happened to be in his hand at the time. If he were lucky, the kid wouldn’t notice. But hiding his anger didn’t always work. Every now and then, a more significant failure would get the better of him: a disappointing combat trial, a malfunctioning jet, a freezer containing corpses losing power... All metal flew away from him slamming his fist into a wall, with shouted expletives to the sky.
All metal, except for Lucia’s personal belongings—and more importantly, her reactor. Those were always spared from such fury. In fact, any spare reactors that had yet to be installed were left untouched. He didn’t need her fearing her reactor being damaged. Even though he was sure that terrible scenario had crossed her mind more than a few times... he’d remind himself of that word he said: safe. Despite his brutality occasionally rearing its ugly head... he wanted her to feel safe.
For Lucia, she chose to be silent during his experiments. The girl became a shadow who simply witnessed him splice Cadou, flesh, and machine together. If a particularly gruesome act followed—say, cutting through a cadaver’s spinal column to insert the reactor into their back—she’d turn away to any other task: practice her handwriting, slip on her gloves and climb walls, or try to hold wisps of lightning together longer than before. Hide her discomfort with something productive. She obviously didn’t like watching him do this, but... he knew she’d reached a withdrawn tolerance. She neither encouraged Soldat production, nor quarreled about it. There remained the ever-looming knowledge that one day, every soldier will be directed at the one true source of her darkest nightmares. Heisenberg wondered if that was it. He didn’t know when he’d find out for sure. Didn’t want to ask, in case she changed her mind and decided to give him an earful.
Since that night, the child tried a new habit of reaching for his hand whenever she was truly troubled... only for him to instinctively grab some random tool before she could make contact. Heisenberg almost felt guilty when he avoided her like that, but his defenses called for some separation. One of many unspoken examples that any real vulnerability was... difficult for him. It didn’t stop her from finding her own way to show him when she felt scared.
They eventually discovered that tugging on his sleeve was an acceptable compromise. Not like the quick one-two pull she’d use to get him to check her spelling, but a heavy, trembling hold. She wouldn’t say anything when she did so; she simply gripped it, unable to face him. Anytime his irritation spilled into rage, anytime a petrifying vision nearly took her... Lucia’s hand made its way to his coat. When he felt that specific tug, he’d take a deep breath, then check on her. Usually, him calming down was all the consolation she’d need to let go. And when she couldn’t... he’d tentatively wrap his fingers around her wrist, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb to silently reassure her: he’ll be ok. And so will she.
It wasn’t a perfect system. The fact that neither wanted to talk through what exactly this was brought some uncertainty, some questioning on whether or not they were really alright, or just... pretended to be. For the sake of being reluctantly comfortable.
But both understood that the other was trying. That alone got them through each day.
On this particular afternoon, however, he’d find that she got too comfortable. Heisenberg removed his welding helmet to breathe, having just finished some armor for the Soldat Panzer. Now was a good time for a break. He turned around to see what Lucia was up to...
She was gone.
“Kid?” he called. He even looked to the ceiling, thinking she was planning some sort of prank with her magnetism: nothing. “KID?!” Heisenberg pulled on his coat and hat before storming out of the room. He pushed his arms against the walls from how quickly he ran into them, or how clumsily he turned the corners. Was she just waiting until he had such a time-consuming project? Was this her opportunity to run away? Or was she meeting up with the Duke so he could finally reveal that he’s a Lord like he fucking knew he would? Heisenberg flexed his fingers, calling upon that specific metal, that specific model that only she carried, following its subtle pull until—
“Wh-Whoa, watch it!” came Lucia’s surprised yelp. He nearly stumbled when his legs came to a screeching halt. Heisenberg had barged into the kitchen, where he caught the missing girl dressed in her gloves, hooded poncho, and scarves. She also kept his sunglasses on her nose, where he’d left them when he donned the welding helmet. One of Lucia’s hands idly scratched at her chest, while the other hid something behind her back. Frankly, he was too pissed to care. His nostrils flared as he threw his arms up.
“The fuck do you mean, ‘Watch it?!’ Where the hell were you?! What part of, ‘Don’t wander the factory without me,’ do you NOT understand?!” He heard her huff an indignant ugh under the scarf—disrespectful brat—before revealing the object behind her back:
A fresh snowdrop. Already planted with soil in a spare metal cup.
Heisenberg blinked and stared.
“...You went outside—”
“W-While hiding my face,” she added.
“—for a goddamn flower?” He didn’t miss the way she flinched when he angrily emphasized that word. This wasn’t the response she’d hoped for. “What if someone saw you?! What, did the Duke cry for a new one? Was that why it was so important?!” The stupid thing must’ve died a while ago, what with the lack of sunlight and all. Lucia leaned her head away, almost hiding further into her bundled fabric.
“...I got it for... for y...” she mumbled, her posture turning shy. Heisenberg’s tense shoulders squared further at the incomplete sentence.
“...Y’got that for m—”
“YOUR KITCHEN!” she suddenly yelled. She stomped over to the dining table and nearly slammed the cup down, still mindful of the plant and its delicate petals. Then, just to add to the indignation, she snatched the sunglasses and tossed it at him; he caught it with one hand, the rest of him totally still while processing this. “I got it for your KITCHEN because it’s BORING AND GROSS!” In her flustered state, she fumbled through pulling up her outdoor clothing and tossing them over her chair in a messy pile. Lucia sharply exhaled and fiddled with the edges of her gloves, all the while avoiding eye contact.
...He couldn’t help noticing how red her cheeks became. She’d sooner blame it on the rough fabric scratching her face than admit it was from giving him anything. Too proud to say it, or too awkward? Either way, he put his glasses back on with an uncomfortable cough.
Heisenberg said nothing, still sorting through if he was mad at her for disobeying his order, but also relieved that she hid her face... but ALSO hated that she risked being discovered for something that’ll die within a week. What worth did she see in it? This whole situation just confused him. She glanced at him then, her embarrassed scowl turning insecure; she tried to read whether or not he approved... before she returned to the flower, and her face dropped into complete shock.
“W-What is THAT?!” She abruptly pulled her chair to hide behind it. Heisenberg looked around in alarm, her tone taking on the same disturbed nature as when she’d seen the Sturm—
“Oh.” He followed her line of sight back to the snowdrop. Crawling out of the petals and into the light was... “A spider,” he identified matter-of-factly. The engineer would’ve lost interest... But he didn’t because the child looked as if this was the worst thing ever.
“I-I-I don’t like it, g-get rid of it...!” she shakily requested. He choked out an amused scoff, to which she pleaded, “I-I’m SERIOUS, Heisenberg!”
“Alright, alright, calm down.” He lifted his hand to slap at the insect—
“NO, don’t kill it!”
“...Fuckin’. Seriously?”
“Seriously!” she repeated. Heisenberg groaned.
“Why do I even bother...?” he grumbled, using both hands to scoop up the spider and cover it from her vision. Lucia gradually peeled herself away from her chair, visibly relaxing... Seeing her freaked out by something miniscule, then so quickly, sincerely relieved... He knew right then and there, there was no resisting it:
He HAD to mess with her.
“Alright, guess I’ll just—THINK FAST!!” He shot forward like he’d thrown it at her. Lucia immediately leapt back—
“WAAAH!!” she shouted, hands flailing defensively until she realized the spider wasn’t on her, “Wh—H-Hey, don’t do that!” He snickered.
“Ha! Fine, fine, I—OH SHIT!!” He pretended to trip towards her. He even opened his hands a bit then closed it before his little prisoner could escape. Again, Lucia shouted, but this time she magnetically pulled herself onto the nearest wall and climbed backwards.
“AAAH!! Stop, Heisenberg, I MEAN IT!”
“Y’know spiders can climb walls too, right?” He could practically see her shiver from head to toe.
“...You wouldn’t!”
“Let’s test it!”
“NOOOO!!” she whined, turning around and climbing away at full speed. Heisenberg chased her around the kitchen, mirroring her position from the ground, his powers shifting any furniture that might’ve barred him from tormenting the child. “WHY ARE YOU LIKE THIS?!”
“This is for SNEAKING OFF, ya little shit!”
“LEAVE ME ALOOONE—” Lucia’s desperate scrambling ended up running her face-first into a wall, breaking her power’s concentration and landing her back onto the floor. She groaned, clutching her nose and mouth while her eyes screwed shut. Sufficiently entertained, Heisenberg laughed smugly and wiped his hands free of the bug outside the kitchen.
“Aaah, payback’s a bitch, ain’t it?” he chuckled, turning back to her. But she laid there, curling against herself and hiccuping. He rolled his eyes. “You’re not tricking me into getting electrocuted—”
“I-It hurts...!” she cried, her lids quickly turning wet. Heisenberg shifted his weight at that. Had to be crocodile tears, but damn, she’d be getting too good at acting too quickly.
“Quit your whining. Should fix itself up soon.” But the longer he looked, the more it became apparent: blood started seeping through her fingers.
“Something’s—” She hiccuped again. “Something’s w-wrong!” Now, Heisenberg blanched. He strided over to her and kneeled down.
“Lemme see,” he ordered, all business. Lucia carefully sat up, wincing while her shaky hands carefully revealed her face. He inhaled sharply through his teeth before giving his diagnosis, “Oof... Broke your nose, kiddo.”
“W-Why isn’t it... h-healing?” She removed her gloves to position one hand over her mouth, the other gathering any blood that dripped past her chin.
“Pinch it. Stop the bleeding first.” The child flinched when she touched her nostrils, but followed his instruction. He theorized out loud while grabbing an ice pack. “Cadou probably needs the nasal bones reset first... I can align them, but I won’t lie: it’s gonna hurt. A lot. Ya got that?” Lucia only grumbled, with an intonation that could only say, I don’t really have a choice. He flashed her a smirk before kneeling beside her again, applying the ice to her nose bridge and cheeks. Once the bleeding ceased, he gave her his handkerchief to clean up her hands and face.
“Feeling numb yet?”
“I-I think so?”
“Good. I’ll set your bone back on, ‘go.’ Ready?” He held the back of her head, lightly closing his opposite index finger and thumb over her nose. She gulped. “Set—”
Without warning, he pushed all the cartilage back in place, causing Lucia to shriek through her teeth and claw at his wrist and forearm. He kept his hold firm, even bracing for any electricity... but she resisted with surprising discipline, opting for swearing it all out.
“FFFUUUCK!! Fuck, fuck, FUCK—” Her legs kicked and struck the ground multiple times, forcing herself to avoid writhing too much for fear of breaking her nose all over again. The signs proved his theory correct: swelling lowered, bruising faded, and her pain began to subside. Slow, groggy heaving replaced her flailing. Heisenberg only released her when he was sure it had fully healed itself. Lucia leveled him with a teary glare, to which he innocently shrugged.
“What? It’s easier to deal with when you don’t expect it. Be grateful I’m not making you eat vegetables for all that.”
“You’re such an asshole,” she growled, but gave a few experimental sniffs. She tapped her nose, satisfied with the regeneration... then glanced at the man who hadn’t responded yet. She realized too late that he was waiting for her to see his shit-eating grin before he replied:
“...Don’t you mean, ‘a shoal?’”
“Fucking PRICK!” Lucia’s hands flew to hit his face, his shoulders, anything in reach. He simply laughed, easily slapping away every single strike. Then all too suddenly, their chaos stopped at a distant sound. For her, it caused curiosity, unfamiliar with the noise. For him, it caused both dread and survival instinct. A terrible reminder that shattered any semblance of mirth, and dragged him back to reality by his ankles.
His phone rang.
“...Stay. Put.” He stalked out of the kitchen, leaving the child to wonder why he’d become so grave all of a sudden. When he heard her shuffle to her feet, he didn’t even look at her while he commanded her boots to stay firmly attached to the ground.
“H-Hey wait, I gotta—” He ignored her, focusing instead on finding a landline outside of her earshot. He shut and locked the door for good measure. Fuck.. His head swam with possibilities. What were the chances of it being another castle maid, or Angie? Hell, maybe Moreau finally learned how to make a damn call by himself. Now wouldn’t that be a fucking miracle? Heisenberg held the phone to his ear.
“What?”
“My son.”
His blood ran cold, his entire being nearly shattering. It just had to be her. His hand tightened, gritting his teeth to force a smile.
“Mother Miranda. To what do I owe the pleasure?” The lilt in his tone was all too charming and polite for how much harrowing pressure he felt that very second.
“I require updates from you and your siblings,” she ordered, straight to the point, “Arrive at the cave church by 6:00 this evening.” This evening? She couldn’t have given him any more time to prepare? Inconsiderate piece of—
“Alright. I’ll be there.” Desperate for this to be over, he almost slammed the phone back down.
“Also...” she said pointedly. Goddamn it. He kept himself even, despite all warning alarms blared in his brain. Let her talk, and don’t fucking stutter.
“Yeah?” He swore he’d strain to hear her over his pounding heart.
“...Bring the Duke back to the Altar. The villagers are in need of his services. He is not yours to keep as you please.” He balled his free hand into a fist, all metal behind him groaning in protest. What a pretentious, goddamn hypocritical choice of words, from the fucking bitch who held this entire mountain in a death grip. But her severe, piercing tone might as well have been said with a knife to his throat. With such contrasting emotions, he lightly scoffed, disguised as backhanded gratitude at the Duke’s expense.
“Sure, whatever, he was getting on my last nerves anyway. See you tonight.”
She hung up first. Heisenberg slowly replaced it back onto the receiver. Any grating metal furniture behind him crushed themselves flat. His pulse picked up faster than before he picked up the damn phone. One conversation with her, and he was back in that stone pit: lungs turned to lead, and abandoned in a deep, dark place, with escape only made possible by the whims of a madwoman.
Of course he had to attend a “family” meeting at some point. Of course he had to remember he had duties to uphold, to keep himself off Miranda’s radar. How could he have been so stupid as to think he could remain in his factory undisturbed for so long? How could he have thought that he could take his time building his army, and figuring out what to do with the kid—whose oddly muffled footsteps were starting to run too close to this room.
“I left my shoes behind because I have to PEE, YOU JERK!” she yelled through his door—both upset and panicked—before she sped off to the nearest restroom. Heisenberg couldn’t even think of smiling at her childish rage, not after he’d just spoken with mother dearest. Because that’s what Miranda did: ruined any peace and safety in his life. He checked a clock on the wall. He had a few hours to rehearse a decent update, and set the kid up for being alone in the factory...
Lucia was just one more secret added to the growing list. If he could hide the existence of his metal army, he could certainly hide hers.
“I don’t get it, where are you two going?” the child asked again. Heisenberg’s orders were not well-received. It took everything to not crush the mug in his hand, which carried one of their last supplies of suppressant tea.
“I said we’re going out,” he repeated, tapping his heel while the Duke took his time plating up, “Got some business to take care of.”
“What business?”
“You know better than to annoy me, Lucia,” he growled harshly through his canines. She inhaled sharply... then decided she wasn’t done.
“You said you wouldn’t lie to me anymore.” Her hands holding her poncho and scarves gripped tighter. The Duke handed Heisenberg a fresh plate of herbed fish and a fork wrapped with a napkin, brows and lips raised in the way a spectator enjoyed uninvolved drama. Heisenberg snatched the items and stomped out of the elevator towards Lucia’s room. The girl could only follow, desperately searching for an answer between his back and the merchant waving to her in farewell.
“I’m not lying, we ARE going out of the factory! I’ll be back before morning. Duke won’t.” This seemed to distress the kid.
“W-Wait, he won’t be back? What...?” He heard her stop in her tracks. He turned to look her up and down; the fuck did she care about the greedy bastard leaving?
“Yeah? What’s it to ya?”
“...Never mind,” she said, clearly conflicted while catching up to him. Heisenberg narrowed his eyes at her, but allowed her to push forward into her room. A chair moved itself by her bedside, upon which he deposited her dinner to eat whenever she got hungry tonight. The tea was more carefully placed; he couldn’t have her panicking from her nightmares alone. Not when he might arrive much later. Lucia stayed quiet, almost appreciating the preparations... until she saw an iron bucket float into the corner. “W-Wait, are you locking me in here?” Her eyes went wide with disbelief, her words taking on a fearful edge. He hadn’t resorted to locking her in since... since back then. When it’d been nothing more than fences, a gurney, and a pair of shackles. Hell, he hadn’t needed to visit the village for food as often once the Duke had set up shop in the elevator—this was the first time she’d be alone in months, and it reminded her of that imprisonment. Now that he realized the connection, he bristled. But he had to be adamant.
“...It’s just for tonight,” he tried reasoning, “To make sure you’re—” And then there was that tug. He looked down to see Lucia pulling on his sleeve with both hands, having dropped her poncho and scarves onto the floor. This time, she looked directly into his lenses. Just to show him how undeniably afraid this made her.
“Please, d-don’t...” she stammered, fingers shaking, “...Don’t lock me in here. I-I’ll stay put, j-just...!” Then she lowered her head to hide her quivering lips and her glossy eyes. Heisenberg looked to the ceiling, cursing every god imaginable for the way she reminded him of how he’d begged for Miranda’s mercy. A few seconds passed before his willpower crumbled beneath that comparison.
“Ugh... fucking damn it, kid, fine!” He pulled his arm away harsher than he meant to, causing her to blink up at him with equal parts gratitude and confusion. He towered over her to habitually rely on intimidation. “I’m letting you off on today’s little flower-picking stunt, but I’m warning you: Don’t. Leave. The factory. Because I’ll find out if you do. And there’ll be consequences to disobeying me again. Understand?”
Lucia shivered. And once more, he hated seeing her afraid of him, rather than upset. But he’d play the villain if this ensured that she wouldn’t leave. That she wouldn’t be found by that scheming bitch. The child only quietly nodded while backing away, then walked too quickly to her covers. She didn’t even remove her boots before wrapping her whole body underneath it, holding herself while turning her back to him; Heisenberg looked away from her trembling form.
“...See you later,” he weakly said, not wanting to end this conversation with a threat. She said nothing. She just pulled the blanket tighter to herself. Closing her door behind him was more unnerving than he thought it’d be.
“Your mentorship seems to have improved,” the jolly merchant mused from the driver’s seat, enjoying the sunlight and fresh air.
“Not now,” Heisenberg ground out. He lowered the scrap metal platforms containing the Duke’s wares. He muttered to himself, grumpily loading luggage and trinkets back into their original mobile shop. Improved wasn’t the term he’d use for the way he and the kid left things just now. The large fellow must’ve sensed this, for he said nothing more after chuckling. He simply returned to his journal listing requested materials, speaking only to confirm some items with the irate engineer. The Duke only changed his tune when Heisenberg roughly tossed a tall woven basket inside, not at all concerned for any of the goods underneath its secured lid.
“Do be careful with that,” the merchant called, closing his book, “You’ll be paying for any damages, you know.” Heisenberg merely sneered at him.
“What’s so special about shit I’m not interested in?” He hardly cared for anything he didn’t wish to buy. The merchant removed something from his coat pocket.
“One man’s trash is another man’s treasure.” He dropped it to the ground: the snowdrop that Lucia had given him. Its once pure white petals had shriveled and turned a sickly brown. It laid there sadly in the soil, now returned from whence it came. Heisenberg stiffened as he thought of the new one currently sitting in his kitchen, then growled. This fucker always had some underlying intent behind his phrases, and he was far from any mood to play along. He refused to entertain whatever grander message the Duke tried to impart.
“You and your stupid metaphors...” With the last of the wares loaded up, he summoned his hammer and prepared to walk.
“Why not rest inside?”
“...What?”
“Well, you’ve certainly had your hands full, between your projects and... training your apprentice.” Heisenberg’s hand squeezed around the handle at the Duke’s careful, clinical rewording. “A break does wonders for one’s health.” Even he had to admit how exhausted he felt these days. And with the caravan’s limits in using the stone elevator across the bridge, they’d have to take the longer mountain route anyway. Walking the whole journey wasn’t exactly tempting.
“...If it’ll get you to shut up for a minute.”
“But of course, sir.”
He scoffed. What an absolute puzzle, this guy. Heisenberg entered the carriage, slamming the door closed. He laid his weapon flat on the floor, then sank into the furthest cushions before placing his hat over his eyes.
“Not a damn word,” he warned. He left it up to the Duke to interpret if he meant to never reveal this accepted nap to anyone, or if he simply wanted peace and quiet. Honestly, both would be great. The Duke simply hummed, then whipped the horse to action.
Onward, to the village.
As the wagon rocked him into an uneasy rest, Heisenberg thought back to the last family meeting. Back to his demonstration with the lycans, back to the specific, sickening tension he felt around Miranda, back to all the bodies and the child she’d thrown away like trash and FUCK the Duke and his FUCKING metaphors!
He physically turned his body away from the aggravatingly calm driver. Heisenberg shifted focus to just breathing. He couldn’t think further on the Duke’s phrase that tried cracking through his iron walls. He shouldn’t think further on it, if he wanted any chance of fooling Miranda for the next few hours. She’d find any weakness and snuff it out. Because her favored son wasn’t made to be weak.
Heisenberg cannot be weak.
The Duke hummed as he opened his shop through the back of the caravan, proudly looking upon his wares laid before him. Heisenberg had been gracious enough to offload the heavier trunks and containers, while the rest were left for him to sort. The merchant understood: one mustn't try Mother Miranda’s patience, even with Heisenberg’s rebellious streak. Although the Lord typically didn’t care for punctuality for their family gatherings... there was more at stake now. But he’d never want to hear that from him.
“I shall await further instructions here,” he reassured, “Thank you for your assistance.” The engineer just grumbled before making the remaining trek on his own. He notably skirted behind buildings on a memorized path, all to avoid any wandering villagers and their irritating worship. The Duke sat back to light his own cigar. Gave himself five minutes to listen for Heisenberg’s heavy boots to completely fade... As he said, a break does wonders for one’s health.
He enjoyed the smoke filling his lungs. A pocket of peace amongst the rather interesting developments he’d witnessed while in the factory. He thoroughly took his time, basking in the spring breeze. Or perhaps summer approached faster than any of them noticed... This mountain had a way of fooling people with its constant snow. In any case, with his break over, it was time to unload some more luggage:
The Duke reached his bare foot out to a specific, tall woven basket... And pushed it until it toppled onto its side.
“Wh-Whoa—OOF!” came a startled cry.
“My, my, how clumsy of me,” he innocently announced, without an ounce of actual surprise. The impact loosened the lid on top, which popped open with a tentative push. The content of the basket pulled itself out:
Little Lucia of the factory.
She nervously tugged her poncho’s hood lower and the scarves higher, searching for any sign of an explosive foreman.
“Y-You knew I was in there?” she whispered up at the Duke. Her wide eyes betrayed her inner questioning: did he hear her float up the elevator beams after they’d reached the top floor? Did he see her slip through the elevator’s open wall? In fact, did he set up the basket specifically for her? He’d answer only the spoken one.
“Any good merchant keeps a keen eye on his stock. Whether anything goes missing, or in this case, has added inventory!” He chortled from his wagon. “You’re a brave girl for defying Heisenberg. I doubt he’d look kindly upon a stowaway.” Lucia stood and dusted herself off, then leveled him with a knowing look.
“You won’t tell him.” She didn’t ask if he would; it was a factual statement, pure and simple. The Duke leaned forward, smirking.
“No, I won’t,” he agreed, “Our first-class customer service prides itself on the utmost discretion.” She radiated understanding, for while the Duke kept Heisenberg’s secrets close at hand, so too did he keep hers. Their little storytimes remained unknown. Speaking of which... “I must ask, dear child: why risk sneaking away now? This can’t simply be to brush up on your reading.”
The girl looked at the Altar. Really looked at it. Her gaze washed over each individual surrounding gate and their House crests... before falling onto a particular archway.
“...No. I’m not here for the book,” she began, “I don’t need to finish it to know you had me read it for this. You wanted me to come here, didn’t you? To the...” She swallowed. “...To the village.” The Duke smiled further. She faced him again, wanting to hear what he had to say.
“Indeed, Miss Lucia,” he affirmed, “However, I must reiterate the dangers I’m sure you’ve heard from Heisenberg. Take care to draw as little attention as you can. Word spreads rather quickly in such a small, devout community.” The implication didn’t need to be said: she’d be surrounded by Mother Miranda’s followers. The risks of getting caught by her were far greater than whatever consequences Heisenberg could throw at her. “Are you sure you want to do this?” She inhaled carefully before responding.
“...He isn’t telling me everything. And sometimes... he can’t. I want to learn more on my own. I... I need to.” The Duke was well aware of her spotty memories, along with the limits of the factory. There were only so many ways she could trigger them within its confines. But determination lined her features, the very same he’d seen when she put her mind to solving his riddles. The same that he knew she wore when standing up to Heisenberg. The merchant knew he liked the child for a reason.
“I thought you’d say that. But! It wouldn’t do for you to be caught in your first tour, now.” She shifted her stance, remembering the temper that’d threatened to meet her later. The Duke continued, “...I insist you return here before sundown. I can provide you with a map to return to the factory unseen. That... and you don’t want to discover what lurks around at night.” Lucia tensed, her lids fluttering; it could’ve been from genuine fear... But the Duke knew it must’ve sounded familiar to her. A warning from long ago... She chose to push past it for now.
“O-Ok...” she nervously replied, “Thank you.” She took a breath, absolutely rigid as she inched forward towards the arch. The poor girl was more akin to a walking statue; she’d be singled out rather quickly. He should help her relax.
“One more thing!” he called, reaching behind him. She visibly flinched. But he didn’t keep her waiting long before plopping a bag of lei into her startled hands. “A welcoming gift. Why not buy yourself some fresh bread from the bakery?” She looked between him and the bag, utterly bewildered.
“I, uh... I don’t know where it is.”
“I’m sure you’ll remember...” he foreshadowed, a twinkle in his eye; it unnerved her, before he changed his tune, “And it’s quite easy to find! You simply... Follow your nose!” The child shivered viscerally at that, much like she would if she found a spider on her clothing.
“Eeeuuugh, geez, how do you do that?!” she whined incredulously, bringing her hand to her recently healed nose with a frown. He laughed heartily at her astonishment, but liked seeing some of her petulance return.
“Best of luck, Miss Lucia. If you need my services, I’ll be here.” In spite of clearly being creeped out, she nodded, much looser than she was a moment ago.
With bated breath...
Lucia entered the village.
If a certain obnoxious engineer had been around and in an amiable mood, Lucia might’ve agreed with him on one thing:
This place... smelled like shit.
She winced at that immediate knee-jerk review. Heisenberg really was a bad influence on her. If nothing else, she felt involuntarily grateful for the smoky scarves. They provided much-needed layers between her nose and the scattered outhouses. Not that it all smelled bad, but it was enough to prove that the village had some outdated amenities when compared to the factory. The girl eventually acclimated, taking her time in absorbing other sights, smells, and sounds:
A thick farmland odor hung in the air, punctuated by the occasional goat bleat or chicken cluck. Wet soil as well; an almost freshwater scent from melted snow soaking into earthy musk. It squelched under footsteps as villagers went about their routines. And then there was the sharp tang of someone lighting lantern oil to drive the cold away... People moved to and from weathered houses, each with its generational history from being built, improved upon, attacked by things that go bump in the night... All to be rebuilt for those who survived.
She recalled when Heisenberg had insulted her for the same shitty smell. Couldn’t blame him for it if this first impression was anything to go by. But... It wasn’t just shit. The raised animals, mountain nature, ordinary people making do with what little they had... It appeared to be more than the terrible things he said it’d be. She easily gleaned how hardened they were by the occasional hunt; not by any explicit flashback, but from seeing the villagers and their stern, if not wearied demeanors. Combined with the Duke’s warning to return by sundown, and some awful gut feeling... Instincts reminded her that night creatures stalked them. It raised alert people who kept to themselves, distrusting outsiders for the sake of safety...
Yet, for its grim exterior, she saw pockets of tenderness from behind her tree. A stableboy swept up after his older sister; he’d learn their family trade. A neighbor wrapped a blanket around his elderly father on a porch, who kept a shotgun within arm’s reach, but fondly patted the younger man’s hand on his shoulder. A mother rocked her baby to sleep as she strolled along, toddlers following after excitedly but carefully, so as not to wake the bundle in her arms... This was a tight-knit community that relied on each other, strengthened by their will to survive and to serve.
It wasn’t perfect. But it was home.
And with that came a crashing nostalgic wave that shook her knees. Lucia gripped the bark while releasing an unsteady breath. She closed her eyes and wrapped herself tighter in the smoky fabric. She couldn’t let herself get overwhelmed when she’d just gotten here. Had to make the most of this while Heisenberg was none the wiser.
Recollected, Lucia trudged over to a rounded area. She crept closer to the walls, keeping her face low and away from everyone. Her pace kept even, especially when anyone side-eyed her... Thankfully, it seemed the villagers paid her little mind. A quick glance at their peasant clothing showed that her own outfit blended in well enough. With the bag of lei in hand, perhaps they believed her to be on an errand for her family. Everyone here was expected to be independent eventually, if they wanted to be of any use to the greater whole.
That reassurance allowed her to openly admire a magnificent sculpture in the center of the area.
The Maiden of War, she remembered. The stone woman crouched stoically in the clouded sunlight, icy and resolute in her countenance. Posed with a sword and shield, unyielding to whatever foe dared to face her... Her weapons were drawn towards a haunting, absolutely massive castle. The factory’s height—even with all its basement levels—must be nothing compared to that! Lucia gawked at it, awestruck, mouth hung open underneath. The entire village could fit in there! Couldn’t they? Before she could speculate further, a new smell reached her nose:
Fresh bread.
The combined visual and aroma called to her...
She held her father’s hand as they walked quickly past the statue, eager for a midday treat from the bakery. She always liked taking him away from work during his breaks. But she slowed to a stop whenever she saw that looming castle. Ancient, mysterious... and as elegant as its Lady.
“Thinking about being a maid, little starlight?” her father smiled, compassionate. Mother HAD taught her more than a few cleaning tricks. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t consider it before. Yet... She pressed herself closer to him, timid under the castle’s shadow.
“...Elena says I shouldn’t,” she replied, looking up at him; her tone invited him to explain whether or not the other girl’s caution held any truth. Nothing there but blood and death, she’d once said. But her father didn’t need to hear such a controversial phrase. His hold on her tightened ever so slightly.
“It would be an HONOR to serve Lady Dimitrescu,” he firmly stated, almost riling himself up at any hint of blasphemy. She attempted to copy his flawless pronunciation.
“Laaadyyy... Daw-mee-TREGGGHHH-skhuh!” That seemed to snap him out of what could’ve been another lecture on their benevolent rulers.
“...That was a good try, sweetie,” he chuckled. She’d definitely have to work on that before offending their Lady. The child scanned the stone spires once more.
Many girls dreamed about serving in its beautiful halls and warmer upscale living. There, everything would be provided for them, so long as they obeyed. That must’ve been why the women there were so happy as to never return. But... each missing presence must’ve scared Elena. That contagious doubt began to scare the child as well. Sensing this, her father aimed to lighten the mood.
“But I understand. She wants to stay with her papa.” He playfully pinched her cheek, eliciting a delighted giggle from her. “And what about you? Do YOU want to stay with papa?”
“...Only if you buy me bread!”
“Aaaw, is that all I’m here for?”
“Yup!” She pulled her scarf closer to her neck to block his attempted tickling, sharing their laughter. But he couldn’t ever deny her. He held his hand out for her to take once more. She gripped his fingers gently, consciously avoiding the scarred palm. As much as he insisted he was fine, the girl acted as if her hold could cut deeper than his sickle. Always so careful, always so kind. Like how he and her mother taught her.
Together, they continued on...
...Drawn by the smell alone, Lucia stood before said bakery, briefly sidestepping away from exiting customers. She shakily exhaled again as the truth reminded her: even for all the village’s faults, she seemed happy here. With her father, and... Well... She hoped she’d remember more of her mother before sundown. She carefully stepped through the handmade fence. This place wasn’t exactly an official business. With its humble size and its outdoor clay oven, it appeared to simply be someone’s home retrofitted to their skillset. The elderly baker looked upon her softly, revealing the round, steaming loaves kept warm in some cloth and a basket.
“Hello there,” he greeted, “How many would you like?” Lucia awkwardly handed him her bag of lei for him to count for her.
“O-One, please.”
Maybe the village wasn’t so bad...
Heisenberg focused on reaching the castle’s underground tunnels that lead to the cave church, all while purposely missing the village’s more populated paths. The longer route meant more walking, but less attention. Although Miranda preferred that the Lords maintained some public relations, the worship did all the work for him. It rendered his absence a myth, and his rare appearance a miracle. So avoiding the lab rats thankfully had few to no repercussions. But try as he might, a handful of villagers unfortunately saw him anyway, and here we fucking go. They each fell to their knees and clasped their hands together.
“Oh, Lord Heisenberg,” they’d mutter in prayer, “Deliver us from the lycans. Deliver us, that we may give glory to Mother Miranda.” He sneered. Protection from the very monsters his “mother” created and that he controlled... What a joke. They kept their eyes down, never wishing to test his temper. Never wishing to treat him as anything less than a demigod.
On his worse days, he basked in their reverence. Tricked himself into liking this higher status. Let himself get lost in the limelight because sometimes, why the hell not? He was stronger, smarter, and less likely to die compared to these pathetic peons. Even he had to admit that being Lord Heisenberg made certain things easier. The fools ate up every word he said, followed every order to the letter and then some—so long as it was in service to their great Mother Miranda. Anything for Mother Miranda.
And that was it. The better days—if he could call them that—came with the devastating reminder of the pedestal he’d been forced upon. This unholy seat at her table, built upon deceit and death. A glorified prisoner with a longer leash. The very title that put him above the rest did just that: put him so far above that no one ever believed he wanted out of this sham of a religion. How could they fathom it? Miranda’s family, flawed? Torturous experiments? Brainwashing? She could never be capable of such evil...
It filled him with such baneful antipathy. Every one of these villagers could burn in hell. He couldn’t call to them for help as he once did in his youth. Not anymore, if he wanted to keep up his sacred charade. Not if he didn’t want Miranda asking why he’d ever try to ruin their picture perfect reputation.
Forcing a pleased smile, he walked past them all. In all honesty, Heisenberg only managed that by imagining kicking them down to the mud. The last thing he wanted was them wasting his time with their cult drivel. He shoved the nauseating experience away from his mind, steadying himself as he entered the cave church’s inner sanctum. He had to focus. He had bigger things to worry about.
“Do my eyes deceive me, or has Heisenberg arrived on time for once in his pathetic life?” came a sardonic voice from on high. Speaking of big...
“Didn’t think you could even crane your neck down, what with that stick up your ass,” he shot back. Alcina haughtily strode from behind, peering down at him with such amused disdain. The giantess was always the first to speak her displeasure at his tardiness. Like he gave a damn about their time. But now... He couldn’t afford to be too risky. Besides, only his older sister would ever treat punctuality with suspicion anyway. So fuck her.
He dropped his hammer down on its head with an audible crash before casually slumping onto his pew, lighting a fresh cigar. His only indication of Moreau’s presence was some dark blob flinching from his peripherals. The fish freak always hid off into some shady corner to escape ridicule from him and his siblings.
Heisenberg avoided eye contact altogether from where he knew Donna and Angie sat. The doll hummed while bobbing left and right, though her creator sat completely still. A phantom simply witnessing events unfold. He couldn’t even begin to guess if she thought about the child in his care. If the past few months told him anything, it was either that she truly hadn’t ratted him out to Miranda, or that she believed the kid died after all. He’d give no hints.
Finally, Alcina slowly lowered herself onto her taller custom pew across from him. Of course, it was the only one with stronger foundations and a plush, luxurious cushion. Were it any other chair, it would’ve flattened beneath her weight. He sorely wished any piece were metal; he pettily dreamed of disassembling her seat from underneath her more than a few times. How hilarious it’d be to bring the damn aristocrat to the dirt with the rest of them.
Any other fun musings were promptly cut off by a new pair of footfalls. He exhaled smoke through his nose, dulling his senses and willing his pulse to remain steadfast. Mother Miranda stepped down the center aisle, emotionless and measured. Not a single feather drifted off as her wings kept closely wrapped around her form. As she turned to face them, none could determine if she smiled beneath her gilded mask.
“My children. How good to see you all...” she spoke with false affection. Did she fool herself, sometimes? It made him want to gag. Instead, he tilted his hat at her with a grin, following everyone else’s greetings.
“We are pleased to see you as well, Mother Miranda. You look as lovely as ever,” cooed Alcina. That kiss ass. “How are your experiments?”
“Fruitless,” she responded bluntly. The noblewoman’s lashes fluttered, stricken by mild guilt upon reminding her of failures she wasn’t aware of. Heisenberg resisted smirking by taking a long drag. He always enjoyed Alcina’s sad displays whenever she tried too hard to be the favorite. And Miranda? Her bad news was among the wretchedly few victories he could claim before his rebellion. Anytime her experiments didn’t go the way she wanted was cause for celebration. Miranda continued, “So I would hope that any of you have made progress in your own endeavors this past season.” Smoke briefly hindered his vision as he recalled why they were given so much time to themselves:
The creation of some vessel. Another child to add to the family. But he knew better. Given what he and the other Lords became, he could only assume Miranda wanted another weapon while deluding herself as a mother. She wanted someone stronger than Alcina. Hell, someone stronger than him. Whatever the lunatic bitch’s greater goals were, he hadn’t the faintest idea. For all he fucking knew, this could’ve been the world’s slowest, most elaborate plan to replace Moreau. God knows she couldn’t care less for that sad sack of shit.
But Miranda’s greatest downfall had to be her exceedingly impossible standards. She didn’t just want perfection, she craved it. And never being satisfied by any results gave him more time to plot. It’d been the crutch he leaned on his entire life. Although she had time to spare—too much time, given her ageless nature—so long as none of her vessels proved worthy, then she wouldn’t win whatever fucked up endgame she had.
“Alcina,” she called, “Have you any new developments?” The eldest of the Lords puffed up, gratified to have been chosen first. Heisenberg leaned back to rest his arm along the back of his seat.
She loved talking. This’ll take a while.
Lucia didn’t dare sink her teeth all at once into the country bread, no matter how tempting. Had to keep her face covered. Thankfully, some houses had hidden crawl spaces underneath them. When she was sure no one was home, she ducked below where she could safely lower her scarf away from prying eyes. The girl finally took a bite...
This tasted so much better than any of Heisenberg’s stale bread.
A crispy exterior, followed by a pillowy crumb. Almost could’ve melted in her mouth were it not for the lovely, crunchy texture that its crust provided. Fresh from the oven, the food was a true comfort to her stomach. Not out of hunger, but of remembering what it meant to her. Again, the corners of her eyes grew wet. She wiped them while sniffing.
There were times that this was all she and her parents could eat. During a particularly harsh winter season, bread and prayers for mercy were all that kept them going. But her parents never left her wanting. If that meant giving their ration of food to their only child, so be it. She wished she could do more.
So enamored was she with the sensation that she hadn’t realized she ate the whole loaf in one sitting. No specific images. Just that gut feeling, and aching yearning to belong. To be at her home... Lucia held her knees to her chest... She wanted to wave the fog away, see a clearer picture of what the house looked like in her mind. But these memories came and went as they pleased, teasing enough to where she could cry from impatience alone...
Lucia slapped her hands onto her face and squished her cheeks. Had to learn more! She had to recognize one of these houses as hers eventually, right? Covering her face with newfound determination, she slipped out from her hiding spot for more exploring—oh no, she could hear strangers approaching!
Quickly, she tiptoed to a nondescript alley and pressed against the wall. Within seconds, their footsteps passed... Exhaling, she felt comfortable enough to scratch at her throat; it seemed the bread made her thirsty. Lucia began to cough. She squatted down, trying to keep herself quiet... The tight chest and the chilly ground brought about a new vision.
She couldn’t stop coughing. Her body hurt, breathing hurt, just... EVERYTHING.
But not as much as being hurt by mother. The only consolation here was that that woman, too, currently suffered through whatever she had now. Alone on the floor, probably calling for her to come back with sweet apologies and promises to do better...
She NEVER did better. Not anymore. Not since father’s death. The girl knew anywhere was safer than that home, ruined forever by endless drink and grief. Broken by their arguments... Bitterly striking her mother when she’d finally had enough was one of the hardest things she’d ever done. She violently coughed again, this time spitting out blood. The red liquid dripped down her nose and mouth, the flaring pain prompting her to lean her elbows onto the dirt.
She couldn’t keep running. Not while she decayed from within. But at least she was away from that awful place. She laid down, succumbing to fatigue and hurt. Maybe a nap would help. Maybe when she woke up, the pain would be gone...
She hoped she’d dream of flying away like a ladybug.
Lucia loudly gasped at that, all hearing and eyesight returned to her all at once. She stumbled back, suddenly hating this alley, suddenly needing to get away. The girl struggled to her feet then ran, only crouching down when she heard more unfamiliar voices. Again, she hid under a new crawl space, desperate to calm her racing heart.
Inhale! Exhale! Inhale! Exhale!
She shook as she bundled the scarves closer to her face, holding herself for comfort.
Inhale! Exhale... Inhale! Exhale...
She thought of holding his bare hand. Scarred skin, but warm and gentle... It meant safety. He’d always keep her safe.
Inhale... Exhale—
She stopped.
Whose scarred hand did she want to hold?
Heisenberg snuffed out his cigar on the wood next to him, adding to the plethora of other dark circles burnt into the pew. The seat practically had his name written all over it without a single letter. If Miranda was at all interested in Alcina’s updates, she did a good job of acting like it. Nothing special about any Moroaica; he doubted she wanted her precious vessel to take after some lowly undead women swinging swords around. And as for the latest accidental creation? He actually barked a laugh as Moreau passed him a drawn diagram of the Samca.
“Pretty sure Mother Miranda wants a vessel with hands, at least,” he jeered, tossing the image to Alcina’s feet. Of course, she had to believe wings would be indispensable assets.
“I admit it’s not perfect, but this is a mutation we could develop to our advantage. It’d allow for evasive maneuvers, as well as monitor any threats from the sky.”
“We don’t get a lot of air traffic here. Thought you’d notice that from your golden toilet on the top floor.” Angie and Moreau snickered from their spots. If they didn’t agree with him, at minimum they enjoyed the bickering between the two.
It’d always been apparent that Alcina wasn’t a true scientist. Mother Miranda oversaw the creation of her three daughters, and since then, she’d been unable to recreate the experiment alone. And with Miranda declaring them unfit, well... She didn’t need any more pests that couldn’t stand the cold. That project got shelved. Since then, any of Alcina’s “creations” were little more than happenstance; a shot in the dark from whatever victims were left behind in her dungeons. The eldest sister fumed at Heisenberg’s undermining.
“Donna,” Miranda called, effectively shutting down their quarreling, “Have you any substantial updates?” The doll perked up; even if she hadn’t been addressed by name, everyone knew she spoke for them both.
“All our playmates went bye-bye~” she sang without any regret, “They don’t last very long. Maybe a few hours before their hearts stop. Can’t take a little scare, hahahahaha!” Heisenberg often wondered how much of Angie’s sadism was what Donna truly felt. The woman herself just sat there, only adjusting her veil or her doll’s dress every now and then. Most days, she was more of the lifeless puppet than Angie was meant to be. Miranda glanced at her youngest daughter.
“No evolutions in your memory manipulation?” Heisenberg stiffened at that specific topic, but he continued to play the unimpressed genius. Miranda must’ve catered this assignment to her abilities. Although Donna practiced on villagers, she lacked the morbid curiosity to bring new results to these meetings. Would that change today? He listened intently, contrary to his bored posture. The doll pulled her elbows up and tilted her head in a sort-of-shrug, limited by stiff toy shoulders.
“The pollen just enhances what’s already there,” Angie sighed, “We can’t create a new memory out of nothing.” Then she rubbed her fists under her eyes in an acted crying motion. “Too bad! So sad! Give us more playmates and we’ll try again! Pretty please~?” Miranda turned her head away, disappointed.
“I’ll review the population, then send for more test subjects when available.” To that, Angie squealed with glee, while Donna silently turned her head away.
Once more, he kept himself from revealing his inner musings. Some part of him felt eased, knowing the psycho doll was incapable of planting false memories herself. That had to be it: the bitch was testing the extent of the youngest Lord’s abilities. Were Donna’s powers created from this desire to warp memories? Was Lucia among Miranda’s first trials towards this goal? The fact that she was researching this kind of brainwashing...
Taking away her subjects’ dignity wasn’t enough for her anymore... She needed to take their identity from them, too? The thought made his blood boil.
Same as all the other atrocities Miranda encouraged, he couldn’t do anything but bide his time until some advantage presented itself...
Lucia wandered aimlessly while keeping her head down. Every now and then, she’d hear a villager’s whisper, to which she’d subtly redirect herself to some other shadowy area. When passing through alleys, she kept her eyes closed and counted steps. Didn’t want to relapse... She blinked open when sunlight shone red through her lids.
That flashback scared her. Mother would never hurt her, right...? But she tried to repress feeling afraid because then... she’d go back to that question under that house:
Whose scarred hand did she want to hold—
“I want to hold PAPA’S hand—not Heisenberg’s, OBVIOUSLY!” she berated herself in her mind. But for all her insisting, the question’s mere existence was enough to make her wonder what exactly Heisenberg was to her. Lucia held her elbows over her stomach as she debated with herself.
Holding Heisenberg’s hand must’ve been a habit she’d formed with her father. With a proper parent who treated her kindly. Heisenberg was merely opportunistic, right? He saw the worth in her powers, tried raising her to be a weapon against Miranda, just another pawn in his plans... At the very least, he wouldn’t sell her out to their shared abuser. Neither did the Duke, but for selfish reasons, he refused to be a potential savior in this mess. That left only Heisenberg to deal with her, and she to deal with him. And he... She could admit he wasn’t as cruel these days, but... Whenever she fearfully reached out to the engineer, she was really just latching onto how her father would comfort her, right?
She stopped walking.
Yeah... The only reason she’d ever want Heisenberg’s help was... she had no other choice. That’s it.
...That made Lucia feel guilty, and she couldn’t explain why.
She decided she didn’t want to process this. Not now. And so it was with great effort that she kept herself numb while moving on. It helped if she looked at her footsteps instead of where she was going... But how would she trigger any memories like that? Did she even want to find out more?
The girl looked up, having meandered to a large plot full of wheat, and a huge estate in the distance. It seemed the decision was out of her hands, for her eyes glazed over before she could turn away.
She swung her legs forward and back on the crate she sat on, hiding her longing as boredom. Father was working the fields with the other farmers, while she sat on the shaded porch. She never liked being left here with a BABYSITTER. She’d much rather be alone at home. Wasn’t she old enough for that?
“Would you like to come inside, dear?” an older woman’s voice called out. She didn’t respond. Couldn’t even bother to address her elder by name, though she tried to be respectful even in her silence. The woman brushed down her black dress, understanding who she truly missed.
To both their relief, that person’s silhouette appeared in the distance.
“Mama!” she cried out happily, hopping off and running over to her. She leapt into a swinging embrace, legs lifting off the ground for a few seconds before landing.
“Hello, my little starlight,” she laughed breathlessly, kneeling down to brush her hair and hold her cheek, “Were you good while I was away?”
“...C-Can we go now?” she deflected, hugging closer around her hip. Her mother only grinned—that wonderful, wide grin, always so thoughtful no matter how exhausted her hours made her. With that smile and the way her ponytail drifted in the wind, the child couldn’t help thinking how pretty she was. Baggy, sleep-deprived eyes and her paler-than-normal skin didn’t take away from that. Her mother stood to address the older villager.
“I’ll take it from here, Luiza, thank you!” she called to her. Her mother coughed, but gave her daughter a reassuring look before she could even ask if she was alright. She gestured by pointing her chin from the child to their elder. “Say good-bye to Luiza, honey.” Her farewell wave to her was lackluster, to say the least. But the woman didn’t seem to mind. She and her mother swung their arms together with each step. “Are you ready to put the offerings together?” The child nodded, thankful for what little time they had together. If they were quick, they’d be back in time for a meal with papa.
At home, they had several items to wrap in colored cloths and ribbons. She never could pronounce the names of their great rulers—much to the child’s embarrassment—but it didn’t curb her devotion. When she and her mother finished, she helped carry two of the four baskets during their deliveries.
Their first stop was the castle, which held a specific time frame to give offerings. With the stone doors open, villagers were free to meet awaiting maids. They bowed, and handed a basket of carefully wrapped goblets purchased from their local glass-blower. The Lady of the castle was of noble birth, her mother explained, and so she enjoyed the finer things in life. Expensive for their family of three, but worth their Lady’s favor. Together, they prayed for her wine to flow freely, for its success brought good fortune upon the village.
Their second stop also had a time frame, if they wanted to catch the gardener before his shift. The newest of their rulers was quite the shy woman, who rarely interacted with the villagers during her occasional stroll. And so the child gave the man a basket of sheep’s wool; they didn’t have the means to properly turn it into fabric, but they were sure it would be useful in her craft. She liked the gardener. Her mother said he was like family to the dollmaker, and would see their gift safely received. He thanked them for their tribute. As he left, the two prayed for warm seasons and even warmer memories, for her handmade dolls were exquisite and brought joy to all.
Their third stop had no time limits. Just a warning tug from her mother to stick close to her, especially when they got close to the water. By its edge, she left a basket of various foods: dried meats, fruits, and most importantly, goat cheese. A rumor had spread that the ruler of the reservoir especially loved cheese. Although, that wasn’t the only rumor they heard... The thought of boats being eaten whole chilled them to the bone. They fervently prayed for bountiful fish and the safety of their fishermen, for his waters kept their neighbors fed.
Their final stop was the easiest. Always saved for last. No assistants spoke for the fourth ruler, and villagers certainly weren’t permitted past his gate. The child carefully placed their final basket on the stone floor: a bouquet of various mountain flowers.
“Why flowers, mama?” she asked. In all their years of worship, the man hardly made an appearance, or hid himself extremely well. Only one photo of him existed in the church, which too many people clamored over; in turn, they had few ideas on what would be useful to him. The woman beside her shrugged.
“I hear he’s a mechanical mastermind,” she responded.
“...What does that mean? Does he even DO anything for the village?” Her mother lightly slapped her shoulder in mild reprimanding, but hummed a light giggle.
“It means he works with machinery at odd hours. And he’s the favored son of our beloved Mother Miranda, so don’t be disrespectful...” She gasped with some embarrassment. “Oh! Don’t tell anyone I said that. Mother Miranda doesn’t play favorites.” She winked at her daughter, who always liked that she tended to know a little more than most. Secrets made her feel special. “But in any case... maybe it’s because he’s such an industrial man that flowers could lighten his mood.” To that, the girl looked at the ground. They spotted dead petals from the last time they visited, either trampled on his way out, or blown away by the wind.
“...I don’t think he likes them,” the child muttered.
“Oh well—!” Her parent suddenly coughed again—somewhat louder this time—before clearing her throat. The child tightened her hold on her hand, concerned, but she kept speaking as if it hadn’t happened.
“...Oh well. It’s the thought that counts, even if we don’t see him take them,” she dismissed. Then she looked down to her to emphasize her next point. “Never let that stop you from being kind. Ok?” The child hesitated before nodding. So long as they showed their dedication, their rulers would give back. Her mother prompted them for their last requested blessing. But unlike her mother, she felt a specific disconnect from the fourth’s consistent absence. So she prayed less to the ruler himself, and more to his House crest and what it represented: quiet, steadfast strength, and a will as tough as iron. She prayed that she and the village could embody such qualities, for these would carry them through all danger.
It wasn’t until a few hours after they’d returned that the village bustled with chatter. Someone caught wind of an upcoming family meeting, and everyone in the closest vicinity scrambled to be present for their arrival. Mother guided her closer to the castle’s path, where they immediately kneeled down in unified worship. They bowed their heads in perfect tandem with the crowd, hands held together and over their chests. However, the girl could never resist a curious peek at them:
The revered lady of the castle waited past the entrance to her domain. The only reason the child could make out her form from this distance was because of the woman’s breathtakingly daunting height. A graceful figure draped in alabaster white, hidden by a wide-brimmed, ebony hat. If the child leaned further, she might’ve caught a glimpse of ruby red lips.
The youngest from the valley of mist moved gracefully, almost like she glided through rather than walked. Her head hung low to avoid looking at anyone. Her doll, on the other hand, rattled off like a queen amongst her subjects, enjoying the attention. The child was sure this must’ve been an act. A puppeteer who hid her face with a veil to fake that shrill voice.
The elder one from the reservoir always sounded like he struggled greatly during his treks. Her mother tapped her shoulder twice, the signal for her to hold her breath. He smelled AWFUL, but they’d never show it. They simply did their best to understand his physical plight. The child did worry for his health, especially as her mother’s coughing seemed to happen more often. Almost mirroring her thoughts, the man dry heaved several feet past them, threatening to puke until he inhaled and regathered himself. She was amazed by how the nearest villagers didn’t budge.
As soon as their mutated brother arrived, the three went on their way to their hidden meeting place.
The fourth... was never on time. Some of the younger villagers—eager to prove their zeal—would wait until he hopefully passed by. Those who were familiar with his tendencies, however, began to disperse. That included the child and her mother.
“Why don’t we ever wait for him?” she asked as they walked off.
“It’s fine if we’re not here to greet him,” she said, breathing deeply to soothe her sore throat, “A man who wishes to be alone will always want his space. The best we can do for him is grant it.” The child supposed that was fine. She always knew best, anyway. “Come along. Papa will be free soon.”
When they neared the plot where he worked, they stopped just short of it once they recognized some familiar faces.
“Leonardo, hello!” her mother exclaimed. The older male widow was less vocal, but amicable enough to wave back. He couldn’t stop the woman from giving him a big hug, much to the amusement of his own daughter. These families hardly had time to see each other nowadays. While the adults caught up, Elena crouched down to the child’s eye level to whisper.
“Pssst, would you like to know a secret?”
“Yes!” She was immediately enamored. Two secrets in one day? Amazing! Elena leaned in close.
“I know the route that HE takes to the castle, not too far from here. If we hide, maybe we can spot him!” Their eyes shone with innocent delight, the child’s especially as she skittered after Elena. They reached a decent hiding spot and squatted below tall mountain grass and wooden fences. Even as minutes dragged, Elena remained firm in her conviction. The mysterious man preferred to skirt around the village, often changing his path when called upon for a meeting. This was the most recent, she explained. While waiting, the girls traded rumors.
“Mama says he’s an in-duz-tree-uhl man,” the child relayed, “It sounds smart.”
“Papa says he’s strong and dangerous, that he’s the one who fights the monsters at night with a mighty weapon,” Elena gave back.
“Oh, oh, what if—What if he IS one of the night monsters?” she suddenly theorized, aiming for the unexpected fairy tale twist.
“But then why would he fight his own kind?”
“B-Because, um... Huh. I dunno.” The older girl began to chuckle at her imagination, until... “Wait, I think I see him! Shush...!”
Within minutes of anticipation, a figure walked in the distance. Their eyes grew large upon seeing a gargantuan tool slung over his broad shoulders. It was him. If she squinted, she could just barely make out the—
Violent coughs reached her ears, echoing in the air. The girl whipped her head in time to see her mother crumpling and covering her mouth.
“Mama...?”
“There he is! I knew it—!” Elena whispered excitedly, unaware she’d lost any attention.
A second later, the girl’s mother collapsed, barely held up by a panicking Leonardo calling for help.
“M-Mama?!” She left Elena’s side, moving to see what went wrong. Why couldn’t she stand? Why were her eyes closing? Hesitant steps turned into frantic running, desperate to reach her—
“Hello?”
Lucia instantly snapped out of it. How long had she been standing there? Regardless, she straightened to attention at the new... No... A familiar voice. She looked up past her flowing tears, swiping them away until she saw... an elderly woman...
“L... Luiza...?” she gasped in disbelief. The babysitter from her flashback. The woman’s wrinkles seemed slightly more defined than before, moreso as they knotted together with concern. Her matronly nature took hold as she lowered herself.
“Yes, I’m Luiza,” she answered, “Are you alright, child? Where are your parents?”
Luiza.
Lucia.
Was this woman why she was so quick to take on this name that Heisenberg suggested...? That possibility made her want to sink into the ground and disappear. She should’ve known. She should’ve remembered that Lucia couldn’t possibly be her real name and yet, after so much time with it, she...
“Sweetie?” she called, bringing her out of her existential reflection. The child sniffed, stalling for some answer. In her panic, she ended up speaking somewhat truthfully.
“I-I don’t know... where they are... I’m lost...” The woman made a gentle move to wipe her tears—and Lucia jerked back, remembering the vision. She could recognize your face, her mind wildly warned, Don’t let her see you!
Thankfully, her elder relented, not wanting to scare her away.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, dear,” she responded, eyes lowered to think of a solution. It came to her when she looked up. “Here, I was on my way to the final evening Mass. Perhaps we’ll find them there.” She stood, and Lucia quickly scrambled for some secrecy.
“P-Please don’t ask around!” she suddenly asked, much to Luiza’s confusion, “I’ll... get in a lot of trouble. I-I don’t want to make a fuss... Can I just walk to them when I see them?” The woman wistfully sighed, apparently having a soft spot for troublemakers.
“Oh, very well. But behave next time! Your parents must be worried sick! At least point them out to me before rejoining them, alright?” Luiza rested her palm on her shoulder, gently nudging her to follow.
Unable to refuse without good reason, Lucia anxiously moved forward.
“Heisenberg. How has your season gone?” It finally fell on his turn to speak. He crossed his ankle on top of his knee, acting nonchalant.
“Little progress on my experiments, I’m afraid,” he lied, “Busy guarding the village perimeter with the lycans. Lost a few mutts while getting rid of some outsiders.” Much more than that, actually, as he thought back to all the times Lucia needed saving during her combat trials. But Miranda sure as hell wasn’t counting.
“Hmph. Not often an outsider can best a lycan,” Alcina derisively commented.
“Sure can when they’ve got guns.” This seemed to catch Miranda’s attention.
“Are you saying we may have a bigger problem on our hands?” their leader asked. Heisenberg waved it off. Couldn’t have her investigating.
“Nah, nah, just some ballsy pricks. Wrong place, wrong time. Happened to be armed, is all.” The woman looked down, thinking deeply. He caught onto that; perhaps she was concerned about their cover.
“A poor excuse to show no progress,” Alcina judged with both noble sophistication, and the contempt of a teacher’s pet throwing him under the bus, “And may I remind you that you kept the Duke from us? What was so important that you had to stall my wine distribution?” Heisenberg scoffed at her.
“I think the village’s security takes higher priority than your side hustle.”
“Agreed,” Miranda announced, surprising them both, “What steps have you taken, my son?” Was she nervous about something? Whatever the cause, he had to lean into the rare doubt. Just like he rehearsed.
“Well!” he punctuated, piercing Alcina with a pompous grin, “I’ve been showing the Duke blueprints for some of my inventions. Needed to see what materials he can and can’t provide. Wanted to install traps around the village, or...” He tapped his boot twice on the tiled floor, indicating the empty underground passages beneath their feet. “...Anywhere we don’t want people snooping. Your call.”
He tilted his head, peering into what little openings her mask provided. He could at least gather that she was considering it. What was she plotting that warranted extra caution? He decided to take a gamble as her current favorite.
“...You're worried about something.” It paid off, for the woman gave a light huff.
“You always were a perceptive one.” She held her hands behind her back as she coolly paced around her raised platform. “I’ve been collaborating with foreign associates for nearly two decades. I’d hoped with their technology, they could provide the results I seek. Disappointingly, their experiments have fallen under investigation for the past few years... which may eventually trace back to our location.” Each Lord had their own distinct reactions: Alcina tensed, ashamed and upset that she wasn’t privy to Miranda’s offsite activities. Donna must’ve been stunned that interacting with foreigners was even an option. Moreau anxiously shifted left and right, uncomfortable with mother’s obvious displeasure. And for Heisenberg... He’d have fumed at the fact that Miranda had left her laboratory unguarded so many times, if not for one thing: she’d made a mistake. And Miranda making as big as a mistake as potentially endangering the village could make her sloppy. He had to take advantage. This reeked of opportunity. But he kept himself from reacting until he knew more. Miranda continued:
“I must assess the damage for myself. Monitoring the situation will require me to leave for a time... I will notify you all when the plans are set in stone. However, it would be prudent to improve the village’s defenses, should my actions draw any unwanted attention.” She turned to face his black spectacles. “Heisenberg. Begin construction at your discretion, starting with the cave church labyrinth. And Donna,” she turned to the veiled woman, “Cultivate more of your flowers. Work with your brother to plant them around the perimeter. Any outsiders are to be drugged and interrogated from now on. I will brief you all later on the uninvited guests we may expect.” In spite of these foreboding instructions, Heisenberg flashed his wolfish grin.
Miranda leaving the village unattended, specifically from the fear of being found out by some bigger threat? At long last, his patience would be rewarded. If she was so concerned, then perhaps he could convince her to unwittingly let him into her lab for—
“And who would you assign to guard your laboratory, mother?” Alcina asked, clearly looking for a way to redeem herself. This fucking bitch!! he roared internally. He couldn’t let her take this from him!
“I’ve not needed anyone to guard my lab for decades. It’s unnecessary.” Heisenberg listened, deciding he needed Miranda’s public approval. As much as she claimed to trust her lieutenants, none of them had left her lab consciously once they’d been brainwashed to her satisfaction. His childhood and adolescence had been full of drugs pumped into his veins, always before Miranda ever transported him anywhere. Not even allowed to count his own steps or track the turns, she wheeled him from trial to trial. Darkness and pain clouded the true location of her dungeons. No more. He needed answers.
“If these ‘uninvited guests’ have you so worried, then I ask you to reconsider,” Heisenberg piped in. Everyone turned to him, somewhat shocked that he agreed with Alcina without explicitly stating so. “Should anyone get past the flowers, the lycans, and the traps to get to your secrets... imagine their surprise when they’re faced with the strongest Lord of the village.” He said that last phrase with a smug gesture of his arms as if presenting himself; Heisenberg clearly volunteered for guard duty. Of course, his sister leered at him with contempt at that pretentious claim.
“Won’t you be too busy building your little toys?” she scoffed.
“It’s called, ‘hiring a damn team.’ No different than your posse of virgins cleaning up your shit.” He turned to appeal to Mother Miranda once more. “You know I can do it all. You’ve already trusted me with the security of the village. The lycans are self-sufficient, but I can command them wherever I go. And while villagers build the traps, I can keep your sanctuary safe.”
She thought for a moment. Her pauses always felt like years.
“...Very well,” Miranda conceded, “Heisenberg shall guard my laboratory.” As usual, he tilted his hat in thanks, his smile stretching even wider.
“Mother Miranda—!” Alcina tried to object.
“You have an image to uphold, Alcina,” their mother interjected, “You will serve as my voice in my absence. Keep the populace appeased and under the impression that I am ever present should anyone begin to question. I entrust this only to you.” That last sentence nailed that manipulation home.
“...Of course. I won’t let you down.” Although she felt proud at this assignment, her venomous glance to Heisenberg didn’t go unnoticed.
“Likewise, Mother Miranda,” he added, “Thank you.” Even with all that finished, Miranda didn’t turn to the deformed creature hobbling up to her side. As the only one who didn’t receive an order towards defending the village, Moreau wished to appear useful.
“I made something new, mother—!”
“Begin construction at my discretion, you said?” Heisenberg interrupted, standing up and kicking his hammer back onto his shoulders, “How about I start now? Gonna need some time to update the Duke, recruit some villagers, assign a foreman... You get the picture.”
“M-Mother I—”
“You are dismissed,” she responded, neither of them paying attention to Moreau. Heisenberg gave a short bow. Please. As if he wanted to listen to the miserable bastard slur about people’s stomachs exploding again.
With a final wink at Alcina—who pressed her lips together with restrained fury—he made his exit. Heisenberg had to plan ahead, find a handful of loyal workers to do most of the heavy lifting for him. Ensure the kid could take care of herself, but he’d figure that out later...
And then wait for Miranda’s call. For that chance to find her weaknesses. He couldn’t wait.
In any case, this exit had fine timing. The villagers were either at home or finishing up the final Mass by this hour. A few visits should be a breeze. Heisenberg quickened his pace. If he played his cards right, things might actually start to go his way. He could finally discover her Achilles’ heel.
Lucia was going to be sick.
Of all the places she could’ve gone to in the village, this had to be the worst. This godly house, all dedicated to the woman responsible for her death. The woman who made her reliant on a parasite and a reactor to live, and who made Heisenberg the vengeful man she knew.
Lit by candlelight, a glorified image of Mother Miranda lifelessly stared past them all.
She couldn’t even react to Luiza’s wordless, questioning signals about her parents. Her elder scanned the room, searching for any recognition from the child. When none came, the two quickly sat themselves down at the back of the congregation.
As tonight’s priest led the Mass, Lucia struggled to keep her composure. She could barely register the sermons being spewed, all of them lauding Miranda’s benevolence and awesome powers. She’d believe their fervor, if it weren’t for all the evidence to the contrary: her shattered memories, the needles that plagued her at night, and the creature that pulsed in her chest. Her latest flashback proved that, once upon a time... she did believe their fervor.
From her peripherals, she caught Luiza glancing at her as the priest led them into prayer. Had to blend in. She tried to mumble, act like she knew what to say in time with the rest...
The worst part was finding out that she knew exactly what to say.
“Great ones, hear our voice, together as one in reverence.”
Lucia stunned herself still.
“We call on thee within the endless dark to deliver us into fate's hands.”
Like muscle memory, the prayer fell out of her lips too naturally.
“As the midnight moon rises on black wings, so we make our sacrifice and await the light at the end.”
Lucia clutched her stomach beneath her poncho, digging just enough pain to keep herself from spiraling. Her voice became no more than a whisper amongst the crowd.
“In life and in death, we give glory... Mother Miranda.”
She swallowed rising bile. The anxiety of being found out quashed her apprehension from praising that vile monster. Heisenberg had warned her that the village—no, this cult worshipped Miranda like a god. He’d said they’d never get help from her followers. And that if they got in his way...
He’d have no reservations about the ensuing bloodbath. If they were willing to die for Miranda, she knew he’d grant their wish without a second thought.
Now, more than ever, Lucia realized how true his words were. Their devotion to her was too sincere; she couldn’t even be certain that they’d believe her if she were able to remove her reactor and reveal the hideous Cadou in her chest. The baker, Luiza, Leonardo, Elena... Her parents. A new fear wrenched her heart:
If her parents were alive, would they believe their child over Mother Miranda?
Lucia could only try to mentally block out more of their scriptures. At this very moment, she suddenly wished she could magically be whisked back to the factory. There, she had places to hide, walls she could scale, a man and his army who saw through the lies. Once again, she blinked back tears.
She wanted to go back to Heisenberg. Where did Heisenberg go?
Luiza eventually patted for her to stand, breaking her free of her turbulent mind. Lucia saw each row begin to move towards the front to kneel and pay their final respects, followed by exiting the building. Some left too quickly upon seeing the setting sun—it’s sundown! Like she needed more to worry about! She wiped sweat off of her brow, trying to use logic to ease her emotions. She could pretend to need something from the Duke. Yeah, that could work. Then she could run back to the factory and never return to this place.
She followed behind her elder, wringing her hands together more from anxiety than prayer. They both kneeled together—another sign of worship she dreaded from her visions. But she couldn’t linger on the action as she observed the items before her.
Lucia saw four photos within intricate, diamond-shaped frames. From left to right, each image tore her memories from the void:
The elder one from the reservoir. More of an artistic rendition, it pictured a grotesque fish-man. Perhaps no photographer would brave the waters.
Lord Moreau, her mind rang. She blinked at that, drifting to the next.
The lady of the castle. As stoic as Mother Miranda, but distinguished by her own lavish hat and fine, pearled jewelry. The black and white colors did nothing to subvert her beauty.
Lady Dimitrescu, she thought, recalling the name from her vision. And then...
The youngest from the valley of mist. She’d been photographed with her precious porcelain doll. Like in the past, Lucia couldn’t get a clear read on the woman. Only the doll’s lidless eyes and hanging jaw greeted the world. It unnerved her.
Lady Beneviento, her memory said.
And finally, the fourth who made efforts to elude the village—
Lucia’s entire world drowned out.
Her reaction was so disturbed that she couldn’t resist her electromagnetic field from briefly bursting out, as if she wanted to back away from the display but couldn’t move her frozen legs. It shook the metal frames, prompting the candlelight to wave wildly for an instant. If any villagers noticed, she couldn’t hear their confused but reverent gasps above her beating heart.
There, upon the very altar dedicated to Mother Miranda, sat a portrait of a man...
Their eyes grew large upon seeing a gargantuan tool slung over his broad shoulders. It was him. If she squinted, she could just barely make out the—
—shoulder-length, unkempt hair, a scruffy beard on his face, and a hat that blocked his eyes from view... The shadows couldn’t hide all of his facial scars.
“A man who wishes to be alone will always want his space.”
...A near-complete profile, like he’d been turning away. Like he didn’t want to be photographed at all.
“I hear he’s a mechanical mastermind.”
She reached over her poncho, laying her trembling hand upon the reactor that kept her alive this very second. She couldn’t believe how stupid she was: how much he knew of Miranda, all the secrets he’d kept, the Iron Steed on his doors and on the gate she’d once offered flowers to... How she didn’t realize from the start that even he thought she should’ve known who he was from the minute they’d met.
He expectantly peeked at her from the top of his glasses. She obviously didn’t know what half those words meant. Amused, he flourished his hand in a semi-grand introduction.
“I am—”
“—Lord Heisenberg!” came a gasp from outside.
With all the force of an avalanche, Lucia understood the gravity of the situation:
Lord Heisenberg, the favored son of Mother Miranda, was approaching the church.
For all his malice towards these backwater peasants, Heisenberg understood it’d be practical to keep specific individuals in mind. In the years that Miranda sent the lycans out, some survivors proved themselves especially resilient in contributing to the village’s safety. Among those who stood out, he filtered down who’d be a suitable foreman for his project. During the trek from the underground tunnels to Alcina’s vineyard, he eventually landed on a name: Vasile, an older fellow who lived past Fallow Plot.
He’d often heard of the man’s bold, proactive potential for leadership. In his youth, he was quick to step up. Vasile swiftly warned people when he scouted approaching lycans, learned how to tote a shotgun as soon as he could carry one, and the guilt from losing any livestock or person to the onslaughts drove him to volunteer first to rebuild. Heisenberg could’ve respected that dedication. Perhaps in another life, they could’ve been friends. But in this one? Vasile’s loyalty to the village meant loyalty to Miranda. Their genuine belief in her bullshit prevented Heisenberg from making meaningful connections with anyone here. More positive potential, taken from him by that conniving bitch.
He remembered when she’d publicly commended Vasile for his service. A typical scheme to bring comfort and praise to a lowly commoner, permitting the community some performative victory. While it ensured he and his wife wouldn’t be targeted for experimentation, it truly gave a false sense of security and a folk hero who, in turn, thanked her for her generosity. Thanked her for her protection, that they never lost their home to the monsters. Vasile never desired life outside the village. Therefore, he could never be an ally...
But if villagers were useful for anything, it was hard labor. Vasile would be a suitable foreman; it helped that Heisenberg had worked with him a few times before. A man of his experience and reputation would ensure his traps’ creation to their specific designs—happily so, if it meant more defenses against lycans and outsiders. And with the respect he’d earned within the village, his neighbors would fall in line to fulfill the wishes of their Lord and Mother... which would allow Heisenberg time to find everything he wanted in Miranda’s lab. An unknowing ally, indeed. That settled it. If his memory was correct, Vasile preferred the morning Mass, which meant he’d probably be home at this time. Heisenberg reached the staircase that led to the castle’s furthermost stone doors. Just as he considered the least-populated route to Fallow Plot...
His boots came to a standstill, eyes flinching beneath his lenses.
There was a shift in the air. A quick kind of charge.
In honing his skills, he’d shown Miranda his most brutal powers while hiding the most subtle. Those took a specific concentration, practiced until they became second nature. Among them included being able to distinguish pure metal versus metal/polymer without looking, or sensing radio waves to tell which villagers were home... But that pulse he felt? That was an electromagnetic surge. Uncontrolled, random, gone as soon as it’d flashed. Even for its immediate disappearance, he pinpointed that it was close. Too close. Knowing only one other person who could do that summoned more trepidation than anything else. Paranoia instantly jumped to the worst case scenario:
Lucia is in the village.
Heisenberg’s exhales came out in short, ragged puffs in the icy, evening air. The sunlight fell below the horizon, the evening sky gradually matching his darkening mood. Dread brewed into fury. That thought was followed up by an internal, outraged:
She better FUCKING not be!!
He stormed down the stairs, questions buzzing in his mind like vultures vying for corpses. Who the fuck knew how quickly Miranda would cut Moreau’s update short and ALL of them could come find out what’s got him so riled up? How the hell would the kid have found her way here? He was going to MURDER the Duke if that fat fuck had anything to do with this—
“—Lord Heisenberg!” a villager gasped before him. He stopped. Every peasant leaving the church gawked at him like a legend come to life. His name rippled through the crowd as each one picked up on the alarm. Heisenberg inhaled sharply from both their attention and his own anxiety... for his instincts told him to look inside the church. He’d have sprinted to it if it weren’t for so many imbeciles kneeling around him! He tried to shift around, avoiding knocking them over except an entire congregation had just finished the damn Mass, and wished to be acknowledged. Even those who didn’t see him at first heard the commotion, then returned to be another fucking obstacle in his path.
“Oh, Lord Heisenberg,” some of them began, “Deliver us—”
“Get out of my way...!” he severely snarled through his canines, harsh enough to make the people closest to him flinch. Their panicked expressions and their fumbled scrambling across soil would normally entertain him, but he couldn’t enjoy it. Not with how his eyes burned into the church’s side entrance. That, too, was full of people, until they all stood aside as if his glare had physically pushed them away. He stormed inside, startling everyone while scanning the room like a bloodhound.
Just more kneeling villagers in awe of his wrathful appearance. Heisenberg’s pupils darted between each of their petrified, yet venerating expressions.
...No Lucia.
He took a deep breath through his nose... And then he slipped on a shell of a smile.
“...Evening,” he greeted with all the softness of barbed wire.
“L-Lord Heisenberg,” the priest responded, “Welcome! It is an honor to—” The man’s next words may as well have been gibberish, for Heisenberg slowly glanced around the room, flexing his fingers on the metal hammer’s handle. His other hand sneakily splayed out by his side, then curled into a fist, sending his own magnetic wave within the church. He hoped—or rather, shouldn’t hope that her reactor would echo back to his call. If she were hiding behind the door, under a pew, hell if she’d even climbed up the rafters, he’d find out...
...Nothing. Not here. She wasn’t here.
His shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, nodding along mindlessly as if he actually listened to the priest’s pious chatter.
”W-What brings you to our humble—”
“Thought I heard a lycan,” he cut in derisively, prompting the older man to silence himself. And here, he could see their tiny rats in their tiny brains spin in a wheel. Oh, of course Lord Heisenberg was here to protect them. Of course he’s only this upset because a beast was on the loose. They always had some benevolent justification for everything he did. It made lying to them far too easy. They began to shift, frantically looking around for the hidden monster. “So pack it up.” And with that sharp command, everyone bumbled to their feet with nervous bows. As they began to clear out, Heisenberg didn’t know what to make of this. After decades of hiding secrets from Miranda, he’d like to think he’d developed an accurate danger sense. He always listened to it when something felt as wrong as it did now...
Heisenberg glanced at the one photo of him in this building. The proof of his esteemed social standing. He couldn’t help the sinking feeling looking upon it, and thinking about that surge he felt... Had Lucia been here, she would’ve seen— She isn’t HERE, stop thinking about it! he berated himself. He ordered her to stay. Just this once, he wanted to believe this really was just baseless paranoia. He was just on edge after meeting up with his “family,” and maybe he should get a full night’s sleep, for once. On a mattress, even. He wanted to believe that—even for the menacing way he’d commanded her to stay in the factory—he and Lucia had progressed enough for her to listen to him. When he returned to her room in the morning, she’ll have shown that he could trust her. Maybe, in this crucial time when he’ll finally infiltrate Miranda’s lab, he could actually leave the kid alone.
...But the universe must enjoy proving him wrong.
A woman pushed open the back door of the church, out of breath like she’d ran across the village. But she forced herself to address him.
“Lord...! L-Lord Heisenberg!” It wasn’t a greeting. It was a plea. Paranoia hit him like a speeding truck. He recognized her as Vasile’s wife, Luiza—didn’t even get a chance to respond before she threw herself down at his feet. Desperate words tumbled from her panting. “My Lord, p-please forgive me for burdening you, b-but the sun’s set! I-I lost her, and now I fear...!” She couldn’t finish her sentence as her lips quivered, and she lowered her head in earnest shame. Like she wished for divine retribution, but worried about something worse than his judgment.
“Slow down,” he ordered, “...What are you talking about?” WHO are you talking about, he really meant. She pushed past her own fear of potential punishment.
“A-A child was with me, milord. She was lost, looking for her parents. I thought we’d find them in the church, but they weren’t here... And th-then she ran from me after the Mass, I couldn’t... couldn’t keep up! She fled to the woods, please...!” She shuffled closer to him, her hands brought together so tightly her knuckles nearly bled. “...Please! If she’s killed by those monsters, I-I wouldn’t be able to forgive m-my... She’s so young...!” Luiza covered her face as her sobbing wracked her body, overwhelmed by her failure as a guardian, however temporary.
She wasn’t allowed to wallow in her self-pity; before she knew it, Heisenberg got on one knee to roughly grab her wrist away from her face, to her sputtering confusion.
If looks could kill, this entire church would’ve been annihilated.
“Which way... did she go?”
Lucia’s lungs were on fire. She ran, and ran, and ran well into the moon’s arrival. Couldn’t tell how much time had passed.
She didn’t look which way she was going. She simply aimed for as far away from the church as possible, anywhere without metal that he could use to find her.
Lord Heisenberg.
Subdued but sharp whispers rose in unison around her. Many stood to peek out the side door—the closest she kneeled to. Their delighted gasps were all the confirmation she needed to know that he was on his way here.
Delighted. They were delighted by his presence.
Lucia shot up and staggered away so fast that she stumbled into villagers clambering their way to the front. They each shoved past her, wishing to lay eyes on their Lord. She couldn’t immediately tell if her forward steps were to catch her balance, or from this odd, sickening instinct to... to join them?
She harshly pinched the flesh of her forearm to erase that thought. What was she thinking?! There was no rational reason to do that! Her eyes darted to the flock of onlookers between her and where Heisenberg must be, ironically becoming the only barrier keeping them from seeing each other. But he wasn’t entering the church yet. She had to give thanks to him—NO, she had to leave NOW!
So torn was her mind that this devolved into an out-of-body experience for the child. She couldn’t describe what puppeteered her to the back door, now that the center aisle behind her had cleared out. For all the horrid stress of the situation, she watched herself take fast, nearly jogging steps, eyes wide but not looking. Ears ringing and not listening. Even her quietly opening the back door was less from being sneaky, and more from a contorted numbness soaking through her soul.
Once again, Lucia kept her head low as people who’d been heading home turned their heels back towards the church. Now her hearing returned, each phrase stabbing through her like stakes.
“Lord Heisenberg has graced us with his presence! Quickly, we must pray!” one man said.
“Oh, this must be a good omen!” an elder proclaimed.
“Out of my way, I wanna see!” some women fought, rushing past each other.
They... WANT to see him, Lucia’s mind uttered as she stumbled further and further. Each footstep grew heavy with every passing person.
They don’t know that... that he wants to kill Miranda.
The pure adoration on display shook her. Less than an hour ago, they prayed so loyally to Mother Miranda. And now, they fought for the chance to see the son who tirelessly worked to overthrow their gracious goddess.
It didn’t make sense. Somehow, in all the time she’d known him, his vengeance towards Miranda convinced her that he’d escaped her. Lucia simply assumed that was the truth. That, maybe, the factory was just where he set up shop to gather information on Miranda; close enough to keep an eye on things, far enough to remain hidden... Those assumptions crumbled before her. The villagers wouldn’t be so overjoyed to see him if they knew. For them to still hold him with such high regard, to continue believing that he was the favored son...
Heisenberg must serve Mother Miranda—
“Child! Where are you going?!” She felt a wrinkled hand snatch her wrist. Lucia whipped around to see that Luiza had come to retrieve her. From her alarmed but quiet tone, she expected her to have the stern expression of an adult who’d been disobeyed, her voice whispery so as to avoid being embarrassed. Instead...
Her eyes SHONE with admiration.
“Don’t you want to greet Lord Heisenberg?” she asked with a smile. Like this was a treat. Nothing else mattered more than his attention. Lucia tore her hand away with such unadulterated disgust; no amount of fabric could hide that from her horrified gaze. She heaved past the scarf.
“...I’m finding my parents!” she seethed at the woman. Luiza blinked and recoiled. What could’ve been a reasonable excuse to bring more attention to their Lord was contrasted by the child’s panicked and hateful tone. Lucia couldn’t care less, or allow the woman to react. She spoke one last time to her former caretaker, all sorrow and loathing in her hushed words. “I can’t... I can’t be here. S-Stay away from me!”
“Child, wait—!”
Lucia bolted away from Luiza. Away from the church and from wherever Heisenberg’s line of sight could land. She never looked back as she sprinted past Fallow Plot, past West Old Town...
She didn’t recognize anyone else in the village. Even those flashbacks she had, her mama and papa’s faces were frustratingly blurry. Maybe expand her search; two birds with one stone. There had to be some outskirts she could hide in. Maybe her parents lived further past the village. And when she found them, they could run away from this awful nightmare. They’ll snap out of it when she showed them what Miranda did to her. They had to escape! She hopped the nearest wooden fence and looked above to a steep mountain hill. Her fingers struggled for some purchase, but she climbed like her life depended on it.
Driven by the goal to find her parents, she dashed towards the forest.
She heaved, leaning on a tree with one hand while the other slapped onto her mouth. Between the terrible revelation and her dizzying exhaustion, her stomach threatened to relieve her of the bread she’d eaten before—bread made by these cultists. She’d scream with sheer distress if it didn’t risk him hearing her. The child shut her eyes and inhaled—
This is Lord Heisenberg’s scarf.
She ripped the smoky fabric from her person and threw it into the muddy snow. She grunted as she stomped on it repeatedly, kicked it against the tree with her steel-toed boot—
He MADE these shoes. Made these gloves.
The child’s panic threatened to lock up her throat. She pushed herself away from the tree, removing one glove, then the next, each tossed with such virulent hatred. Her steps only paused for her to tear at her laces and throw each boot into completely different directions. She gasped and shivered as wool socks absorbed the unforgiving cold. The snow seeped into her feet, but she steeled herself with stubborn determination. She wouldn’t let him use his powers against her.
Lucia pushed forward, guided by the full moon. Under the crisp, untainted mountain sky, it shone brighter than she thought possible. It both relieved and scared her. On one hand, it allowed her to see the way forward. On the other, she feared getting caught under its light. She skirted through the shadows of the towering trees, both trying not to leave footprints and not caring, so long as she’d get away from him.
He’s Lord Heisenberg, the favored son of Mother Miranda, her mind kept repeating.
She growled under her breath and pulled her poncho closer to her—especially around her neck, now that it’d been exposed. Her feet weren’t faring much better. They screamed for reprieve from the frost; she actually hoped the disgusting creature in her chest would keep her from suffering worse consequences. She had to keep going, had to find her parents, convince them of the truth so they could escape together. She desperately clung to the more benevolent memories, repressing the ones that confused and pained her. They were good people, they don’t deserve this! None of them did!
The cold sought to drag her down. She whimpered against the elements, rubbing her arms for warmth and trekking onwards. The search would be far easier had she not thrown those accessories away. But she didn’t want them anymore. Couldn’t keep them if she wanted to avoid his powers. Everything she owned since her resurrection... they’d all been given to her by him.
Ungrateful.
Lucia’s heart skipped a beat, shocked enough to stop her in her tracks. What...? How could she call herself ungrateful? She thought back to all the terrible things he’d done, repeating grudges and traumas: Heisenberg kept her imprisoned, sicced a lycan on her, tricked her into fighting a Soldat, experimented on corpses, LIED about being the son of Mother Miranda. He MUST be working with her. Was it all a trick? Would he have given her away eventually—
Lord Heisenberg deserves respect. He wouldn’t have done all those things if I’d OBEYED. I brought this on myself for being so FAITHLESS.
“N-No...” she cried to herself, tears pricking at her eyes, “He hurt me before... He hurt me...” Anyone in their right mind would’ve reacted to his decisions with righteous fury. If he could rage against Miranda for the experiments she committed, then so could she. Lucia made herself walk while trying to decipher why she battled with herself in the first place.
He brought me back and took me in. A peasant from the village. Fed me, clothed me, comforted me through my worst nightmares... I should be HONORED. It would be an HONOR to serve the Lords.
She tripped onto her knees, then stared into the snow with huge, horrified eyes as she understood from this pose: it was that twisted faith ingrained in her. She warred between her experiences with Heisenberg—both the good and the bad—versus a glorified image of him. This familiar kneeling position, the flashbacks, the way she easily remembered that prayer verbatim... Lucia brought her hands to her ears, as if it’d quiet her own debating thoughts.
He LIED to me! He lied about being Miranda’s son! He works FOR Miranda!!
He’s Lord Heisenberg. He doesn’t have to explain anything!
I don’t even know his real name!
I don’t deserve the PRIVILEGE to know his real name!
It was too much. It was all TOO much. Her religious upbringing weaponized guilt against her enraged logic. It suffocated her. She wrapped her fingers around her hair and pulled, slowly curling forward onto her lap. She shook with a quiet, dry sob. She wouldn’t shed tears. She wouldn’t let any of them have that.
I’m not a villager! I don’t want to BE a villager anymore! Not if it means worshipping him and MIRANDA! I don’t owe them ANYTHING!
I owe them EVERYTHING!!
Her chest hummed.
The sensation froze her in place. She scratched at her poncho, where she felt her fingers meet the edge of something solid: her reactor. Stunned, Lucia could only place her hand on top of it as she contemplated.
Miranda implanted the Cadou, which killed her. But without it, she wouldn’t be capable of healing her previously dead body.
Heisenberg implanted the reactor, which powered the Cadou. Without it, she wouldn’t even be breathing.
Miracles, her devotion told her, Gracious GIFTS I took for granted. This was meant to be. This was all her doing. Glory to Mother Miranda—
Her chest hummed again.
This time, Lucia gasped, her back shooting upright as she realized... it wasn’t just her chest. And it wasn’t her heartbeat. Her eyes darted around the ground, brows knotting as she wondered why it felt familiar. She first felt this while she read with the Duke. She thought she was just invested in the story, but then Heisenberg found her shortly afterwards... The second time she’d felt it, she was watering the snowdrop in the kitchen. Then she hid it behind her back when... when Heisenberg found her...
Slowly, the child stood, a disturbed foreboding pooling in her stomach as she searched the trees. She nervously pressed her hand closer.
...Her reactor hummed for a third time.
Heisenberg was trying to find her.
With that epiphany, Lucia sprinted as fast as her legs could take her. Polar wind pricked her sweaty skin while frost spiked through her feet. She tried darting left and right, the woods appearing endless. She didn’t know if she was making a confusing track to follow, or an easier one from how wildly her feet kicked up the—
She tripped down a small hill with a startled gasp, tumbling down and trying to roll onto her back. By pure instinct alone, she covered her chest instead of her head. And when she slowed to stop, she shot up and wiped as much snow as she could off of her poncho. Couldn’t get the reactor wet, couldn’t let it get damaged and explode, or else she’ll die!
Yet again, this night hit her with a truth she didn’t want to process. She walked to the nearest tree and numbly leaned her back against it. In an act of unthinking dissociation, Lucia held her reactor... gripped it tight... and pulled.
...It didn’t budge. She pulled harder, groaning with effort as metal refused to detach from flesh. She readjusted, reaching under her poncho and through the cardigan with both hands... then tugged until it hurt and everything in her SCREAMED to stop! With a frustrated whine through clenched teeth, she finally relented and sat on the ground. Lucia’s breath was heavy as her Cadou dissipated any pain around its source of energy. Even heavier as her processing resurfaced, made as clear as day with these attempts:
She’d never survive without the reactor, which in turn... meant she’d never survive without Heisenberg. The only one who knew how to build and maintain it. And as long as such a crucial piece of metal remained lodged into her body, he’d always find her... She’d tied her fate to him forever the moment she agreed to the surgery.
Lucia felt like she was imploding at an excruciatingly slow pace. A deep void of hopelessness like none she’d ever felt before. So much so that she simply sank further into her slacked posture, arms limp on her lap... Despair overtook her so wholly that she couldn’t muster the energy to cry. Only her embedded cult conditioning could find anything to say in this situation.
In life and in death, we give glory...
What a cruel existence. To live and to die for a false prophet.
And then, there was a snap in the woods. Not behind her, like where she’d expect Heisenberg to eventually catch up... But further in front of her. Lucia slowly dragged her head upwards, peeking from below her hood. She sensed a bloodlust similar to what she’d experienced firsthand in Heisenberg’s arena. Except the silhouette that lurked in the distance... was larger than a lycan...
On all fours, this creature stalked, hackles raised and body poised for the right opportunity to strike. From its shadowy cover, moonlight reflected off the snow to illuminate under its dripping, ghastly maw, as well as highlight its unblinking white eyes. Mountain wind brushed past its long matted fur. As it slowly edged towards her, she saw its angular nose, mutated fingers, and remnants of torn clothing... It was then that she knew it must’ve been human, once. Another villager. Another failed experiment, fallen prey to Miranda’s influence... And it had to arrive at her lowest point in life. Her expression fell into half-lidded, stinging passivity.
Lucia was tired. So, achingly tired...
Finding its opportunity, the monster lunged for her.
Maybe she should let it rip her throat out. Without her gloves and boots, she wouldn’t be able to escape to the trees. For an instant, she bitterly mused that it certainly looked strong enough to tear the reactor from her chest. And then that’d be it. She could rest.
“...”
At the last possible second, she threw herself to her left, somersaulting away from its attack. As Lucia stood to see it crash face first into the tree she’d just been sitting against, she blinked her heavy lids in exhausted surprise.
Why did she dodge? Was it just muscle memory? Some remainder of her training?
The monster shook the daze away and roared at her. This ugly thing, no doubt made solely to kill, an improvement on the barbaric lycans. Once again, it charged her to pin her down. This time—as it threw a high swipe towards her face—she ducked and sidestepped. It crashed again into another tree, and while it was distracted, she reached for its back and shot electricity through its body. It growled low and angrily, stiffened by pain until it forced itself to resist. It tried kicking its hind leg at her, but she released it the second she saw it try to move and staggered back several feet away from it.
She was fighting it. Why was she fighting? Instead of her own inner dialogue giving her answers, she annoyedly heard his voice.
“...when nothing else gets you through the pain, spite does.”
Lucia clenched her jaw, frustrated that his ideals echoed in her head at a time like this. Yet, perhaps this was the most appropriate time. Because as adrenaline rushed through her veins, she recounted the worst day of her life with no comfort to be found... What fueled the lightning between her fingers was nothing short of pure spite.
“You build the sheer will to look at all the shit the world’s thrown at you, and deny it the satisfaction of killing you.”
She inhaled as she saw the beast shake off its paralysis. Maybe that was it. Maybe she wasn’t cut out for lying down and accepting death anymore. She still felt all the hurt and betrayal that came with discovering the village’s loyalties, and Heisenberg’s true identity... But Lucia was also beyond pissed. Not just for herself, not just at him... but that these mutations were the wretched destinies for anyone unlucky enough to be born in Miranda’s village.
Glory to Mother Miranda... FUCK that.
She lowered her stance, ready to evade its next attack. As she looked into its wild, nocturnal eyes, devoid of any human cognizance... She could only think that this was no way to live: being reduced to a mindless beast, ordered by Miranda and her family to kill their former neighbors. Lucia briefly wondered if she’d have recognized him before his experimentation... Before she could ever rest, she should put an end to this creature’s misery first.
It snarled at her and snapped its fangs, to which she flinched. She was still a small kid compared to this thing. Didn’t know if she could manage it, but she’d at least try. Lucia would finally be putting Heisenberg’s lessons into practice: killing to survive, and to deny the world the satisfaction of killing her. And if she failed? Well... at least she’d die on her terms.
...But of all the things she could think of in her potential last moments in this fucked up world, why did it have to be of Heisenberg?
This time, as the creature roared, she stood her ground. Instead of letting the hopelessness consume her, she roared back, giving voice to her despair and hatred. Lightning danced within her palms.
As angrily as when she’d been brought back to life, Lucia launched herself at the beast.
Blood and scorch marks littered the forest. Every scratch sent red spraying before closing up, every stunning strike fraying electricity to bark. The creature’s overwhelming strength was nothing to scoff at. Torn wood lay across the field where it had missed her, and crimson stains where it hadn’t.
If there was one thing that Lucia learned from facing lycans in the arena, it was that everything could end all too quickly with one mistake. She’d come close to death in several ways back then: as slowly as healing scratched legs—defenseless against a stalking foe—or as suddenly as an open jaw nearing her surprised face. However, her safety net came in the form of a mighty weapon cobbled together by a superpowered mad scientist. The lycans’ mistake had been to follow a cruel master. Ended all too quickly with one swing.
The safety net’s absence heightened her senses to an intensely stressful degree.
Lucia’s eyes never left the creature, more a nightmarish wolf than a lycan. She didn’t have the luxury to be reckless. Its mutated hind legs made its gait awkward, but the lunges were fast. So those had been her targets for the last several strikes. She evaded its charge with another roll, whipping her hood back as she recovered.
It’s starting to slow down, she observed.
She chased after it. Maneuvering on snow was difficult compared to concrete, but the monster’s unsteady turns gave her precious extra seconds. Her swift hand clutched its calf. Lightning seared through bone and muscle again. It bellowed—one, two, three, LET GO—then it gnashed its yellowed fangs where her face had been a moment ago.
It’s big. Can’t follow me everywhere.
Lucia discovered this as she escaped again. The environment dipped underneath a fallen tree propped up by a hill, which she used to her advantage. At the last second of her sprinting, she fell onto her hip to slide the rest of the way under. The monster lodged itself in the opening, snarling and swiping with one wild arm. It gave her time to climb back around and—it kicked her side and onto the dirt.
She landed with an oof and caught it freeing itself in time. In a second it was on her. Its sheer size difference filled her vision far more easily than a lycan’s. It unhinged its jaw far too wide for a human, showing why its cheeks were torn so sickeningly—
Lucia’s nails dug into its neck and raked electrical burns through it. She yelled with its howling, all adrenaline and survival. When it pulled back, muscles stiff and struggling to balance, she clambered to her feet. As she gained distance from it, Lucia’s lungs were aflame with labor and frustration.
She didn’t have any tricks up her sleeve. No way to kill as quickly as he could. A lightning bolt would take too much from her depleting reactor. She could only hope to chip away at it, escape, and repeat. Electrocute its legs to slow it down, sure, but it was obviously much tougher than anything she’d fought before. Had to get to its neck again.
Even for the headstart she got, she could hear the creature quickly catching up. She spotted something. There! A tree that grew in two different directions. The space between the split trunks left little room for it to follow. She forced her legs to speed up, tucked her arms in, and successfully leapt through. Its breath right behind her—
Merciless teeth clamped around her left shoulder, ripping a tortured SCREAM from her throat.
She couldn’t even think coherently. Everything blurred within her tears. Grievous torment overwhelmed her senses. She heard its strained snarls by her ear, the squelch of torn flesh and blood, nails scratching at the bark on either side of her. When it couldn’t reach her, it resorted to waving its head wildly from left to right. It dragged her across the ground like a mere ragdoll. Lucia whimpered and shrieked, desperately scratching at its face, its eyes, anything! The agony of being mauled flooded all else. The next time it pulled her to the left, she heard then felt something pop in her arm. Her delayed yell shouted her fears to the sky: it was going to tear her arm off—!!
But it slowed down. She felt it puff hot air from its panting, her hair billowing forward and back. Its throat rumbled.
“AGH—!!” she cried as it suddenly detached its salivating maw. Lucia didn’t think, just reacted and had to get away. She fell onto snow, weeping and holding her wounded shoulder—FUCK!!! She groaned sharply at the sensitive skin, leaning on her right side while trying to crawl. The lacerations didn’t close up completely; something was out of place. She gasped as she saw the creature pull itself out of the tree’s headlock. When it stumbled past the wood, she sat up and raised her trembling right arm, prepared to stun.
It kept exhaling sharply. Its breaths steamed into the air while it pawed at its nose. The creature shook its head, then peered at her through its overgrown hair. Those terrible, glowing irises... It growled at her, which made her shake... But Lucia stood. Nervously so, but she stood. She backed away in a line towards a further tree, in case it’d lunge again.
“W-Well? Come on!” she shouted at it, more fear than bravado in her tone. Lucia was desperate for this to be over. She could feel her physical energy whittling away. Maybe if she had a spare battery to shoot lightning, or if she’d trained with Heisenberg more, this might’ve been over sooner. She hated knowing how much stronger he was. And she especially hated that some small part of her wished for his protection, still. She took a harsh stomp forward and back, as if to work off the disconcerted energy and bait the creature.
To her surprise, it took a step back.
Was this a trick? It couldn’t be any smarter than a lycan... She disliked this sudden unpredictability. She sparked electricity again to rile it up.
“Come ON!!” she challenged, stomping closer. This time, its snarl sharpened as it swept at the snow before her. It made her jump back, barely avoiding its nails with a gasp. Fuck, was this an impasse? Lucia didn’t have time for this! But she had to watch it for new patterns. As an icy gust beat her sore back, her sweaty hair drifted in front of her vision...
It sniffed the air several times, as if following some unseen trail. Slowly, it looked up to the night sky...
Its neck was exposed. Now was her chance! Lucia shot forward, bleeding arm be damned!
Her stomach dropped when those ice-white eyes snapped back to her.
The air in her lungs was knocked right out of her as it backhanded her torso. She grunted as she made contact with bark and tumbled down. That familiar scarlet cough racked pain through her, painting the snow as she fought to regain her breath and steady her spinning head. Damn it! She knew it’d be near impossible to take on this monster alone, but damn it! She didn’t want to die here. She refused to! Lucia whipped her hair back to glare at the monster she expected to pounce.
It didn’t. It just crawled forward before stopping several feet from her... then paced left and right, staring. It irked her through and through. She groaned deeply as she felt her organs repair themselves. She had to be more frugal with her remaining battery in order to keep healing. The window to be on offense was dwindling. The child weakly brought herself back to her feet, despite her muscles protesting.
The beast stiffened, growling when she tried to move towards it. Lucia didn’t... didn’t know what to do. She hissed as she gingerly held her left arm, wanting to stop the bleeding but too sensitive to put more pressure. She took another experimental step forward... And again its claws struck the ground to keep her back. A stray thought came to her, remembering what was seen as a weakness during her training.
It’s... hesitating. Why?
Suddenly, it perked its head. Picked up on something before she did. Too late.
A sharp whistle later, three lycans ambushed the monster. They mercilessly tackled it to the ground; they clawed, sliced, and burned with torchlight.
Lucia screamed at the whirlwind of violence, all roars and teeth and hunger; the monster pushed them off, retaliating just as ravenously. She tripped onto her backside and covered her head from flying dirt and snow. She timidly peeked past her right arm, then froze upon registering another presence in the distance. One that she didn’t need to see to know, but fearfully, inevitably turned to:
Lord Heisenberg.
Tucking his sunglasses into his coat, he leveled the scene with the most intimidating, infuriated glare she’d ever witnessed. He didn’t need to say what already emanated from his heaving, intense demeanor:
You’re fucking dead.
And she couldn’t tell if that aura was directed at her, or the creature.
Both, she decided. We’re BOTH dead.
Karl Heisenberg vowed to himself that he’d never be afraid again.
As a boy, he absolutely was. Taken from his home, separated from his parents, wondering when his captor would just let him die... He feared for his safety—and his sanity—at all times. And that mortal terror only waned when he did as he was told.
Heisenberg didn’t know when he got tired of being afraid. Perhaps when his powers manifested and he thought he could fight back. Or perhaps it’d been a slow build that ate away at him, test after wretched test. He wrapped himself in anger and spite like armor. Made him feel unshakable under such dire odds, made every little conversation with Miranda a trial that he had to survive.
And as the years flew by, he and that armor became one. Forged from misery, welded by fury. All to contain every instance he feared for his life. Vulnerability never got him anything. His adoptive mother and her loyal subjects hurt him for ignoring his cries for help; he hurt himself believing they’d ever care. Only that meticulously crafted armor guaranteed his survival and protected him from pain.
...But it did nothing to protect him when he heard HER screaming in the forest.
He’d never run so urgently in his life. Didn’t think as he whistled for reinforcements. Didn’t linger on the fact that he no longer tracked her reactor with his powers; he followed the screams that ruptured his armor. Frantic thoughts fired off one after the other, each as explosive as a frag grenade.
You idiot. You FUCKING IDIOT!! You don’t GET to die under my watch! Should’ve locked down the entire goddamn factory! Why the fuck did you leave? What else could I have done? Wasn’t I doing better?! What else should I have—
As soon as his instincts caught onto some new ungodly crime against nature, he whistled for the lycans to attack on sight. Wouldn’t give himself the time to register anything else other than the fact that it was in his WAY. He focused instead on the one priority in his mind. And then he finally saw her:
Lucia.
Shaking on the ground, but alive.
Heisenberg had no idea what new fucking abomination she’d been facing. Where it came from, who made it... None of that mattered. It wouldn’t pose a threat while he was here. The mutts could eat it down to its bones. What did matter was the child who’d lied to him and weaseled her way to the village without his permission.
Oh, that bastard wasn’t gonna get the chance to kill Lucia before he did. His armor easily returned to smother any weakness with anger.
“Get over here now...” he ordered. Compared to her flinching, he didn’t move a centimeter at the snarling bloodbath far off to the side. She distractedly looked between him and the near-literal dog pile; she was clearly baffled at how unconcerned he was by such a terrifying, never-before-seen monster. She scooted back.
“N-No...” she stuttered, “Stay away from m-me...” Heisenberg’s nostrils flared. She had some balls to say that at a time like this!
“You disobedient, stubborn little BITCH...!” He began to stalk towards her. The hammer shook to reflect his boiling temper. That prevented him from hesitating at the sheer terror she expressed. Like she’d sooner place her head in that creature’s jaw than face his wrath. For all the stress she just put him through, she deserved to be afraid of him. She lashed out to mask fear with fury.
“Fucking STAY AWAY FROM ME!” At the height of her voice, the creature’s mutated nails sliced with a vehement speed. The first lycan gurgled from having its throat torn out. Its death remained ignored by Heisenberg. So was her rage.
“One thing...” he growled as he crossed half the distance towards her, “I ordered you to do just one...! Simple! THING!!” She rose on wobbling knees, only to slip back into the snow. Still, she tried crawling away.
“Leave me...!” She winced. “Leave me ALONE! I don’t want to go anywhere with you!!” She groaned, breath catching in her throat as she turned her shoulder away. He seethed further at how much they mirrored each other’s aggression.
“That’s not up to you, you fucking BRAT!” He was getting too close, and it made her panic. She forced herself up again and tried to run—his free hand grabbed her upper left arm, which she screamed at far louder than he anticipated. She was overwhelmed by pain. And it cut through part of his defenses yet again.
“S-STOP! It hurts! Let me go, PLEASE!!” Several barks echoed past them, followed by the sickening, wet sound of the second lycan’s body being torn in half. It was only then that his anger dissipated enough for him to see how bloody her poncho was. Heisenberg cursed under his breath. He slammed the hammer into the ground. With a rough reshuffling of fabric, he pulled the layers apart to assess the damage:
A nearly-healed bite mark, and a dislocated shoulder. He tugged her cardigan to check her reactor light through her shirt. It blinked slowly, but it’d last until he dragged her to the factory; the emotional and physical exhaustion weighed her down more than anything. He clenched his teeth.
She’d been fighting for her life, alone. Where he wasn’t around to protect her.
And for all her limited joint mobility and searing pain, she still fought just to get away from him. He cursed again. His mind tried to convince himself he was mostly frustrated at her. Tried to launch a tirade to distract himself from anything other than rage and redirected blame.
“You see?! This is what fucking happens when you go off on your own!” He couldn’t give enough of a shit to warn her; he took two seconds to grab her wrist and pulled, using traction to abruptly pop her joint back into place. Lucia shrieked and cried and crumpled onto the ground, which he had to follow onto his knee to keep his hold on her shoulder. Her hand clawed at his own.
The creature in the distance roared with her cries, but Heisenberg couldn’t be bothered. He kept watching the swelling reduce and her wounds mend themselves—and the bitch fucking shot electricity through his glove. He shouted with more surprise than pain, for it left just as quickly. Like she either couldn’t keep up the concentration, or she knew she had to conserve what remained in her battery. Either way, Lucia was on thin fucking ice.
“GOD you’re really gonna be a nuisance, even now?!” Unable to speak, she answered by weakly slapping his chest. She tried pushing him away. “You idiot, all you had to do was stay at the factory! Why the FUCK couldn’t you have done that?!” She blearily glanced at the two remaining monstrosities in the distant battle. By the lycan’s hanging organs, it was obvious which would be the victor. She couldn’t wrap her head around how unthreatened Heisenberg was. At all. Instead of preparing to face the wolf monster, here he was lecturing her.
“Th-The lycan...” He ignored her again. He grabbed her right arm and stood, forcing her up to her knees as she yelped and pulled back. He couldn’t stop his words from spilling out.
“I know I said you didn’t have to like me, but I was actually trying to be decent, goddamn it! This the thanks I get? The fuck else do you WANT?!” The third lycan’s body flew above them and crashed into the nearest tree, snapping in unnatural angles and falling lifelessly onto the snow. Its eyes glazed over, then gradually disintegrated. Lucia shuddered watching the wolf-monster—bloodied and weakened, but breathing—shake itself to regain its bearings. She began to tug at his coat, trying to warn him of the encroaching danger.
“...L-Lord Heisen—!” And she stopped. So did his thoughts. He exhaled so shakily, that title piercing his heart as sharply as a speeding bullet. It proved that the surge he’d felt from the church had come from her... So she saw the photo of him there. Among their worshippers, among the other Lords... and with Miranda’s visage.
“Don’t call me that...” he hissed, “Don’t...!” He didn’t want to hear that from her. Anyone but her. That title and her kneeling disgusted him. He released her arm to bundle his hair with frustration, then waved his hands as he ranted. “You did it. Great job! Fucking congrats, you remember who I really am now! Can’t wait to hear what else you learned on your little field trip!!” The creature roared once again and sped towards them. Lucia stammered, caught between wanting to hide behind him or run from him. “I can’t believe all the trouble I’m going through for you and I’m FUCKING TALKING HERE!!”
With a wide arc of his arm, the hammer he’d laid down whirled to life. Solid metal cruelly slammed into the creature’s ribs, flinging it against the nearest tree and pinning it upright.
Lucia could only gape at this. How all her efforts to survive before his arrival were so immediately dwarfed by his strength.
The gear head crushed further into its ribs like a hydraulic press, causing it to howl and hack up blood. The hammer’s handle kept its left arm down, leaving only its right arm and short hind legs to flail about as it stubbornly snarled at him. Its glowing irises looked upon him with such feral hatred. But when it looked down at the little girl...
It whined, and reached its hand to her. Lucia shivered.
Heisenberg saw red. This fucking thing that dared to harm her, and then whined? Like it wanted to garner sympathy? No. There was blood to be repaid. He ominously treaded towards it; in its distraction, he twisted its wrist with one hand, while the other punched its elbow upwards. Broken bones pierced through sinew. The forest resounded with the creature’s agonized howls. Some part of him registered Lucia gasping with shock, but it wouldn’t faze him. Before its arm even went limp, Heisenberg switched to pummeling its face in with his fists, grunting with every strike. He had an immeasurable amount of pent up fury, and this poor soul would be left alive to torment for as long as he willed it.
Blood splattered. Teeth flew. Lycan jaws caved easily to his might before, but this thing withstood several hits before he felt a cheekbone and an eye socket give in. Undeterred, Heisenberg took the hammer back in hand, drew back, and with a barbaric yell, he smashed its left leg into a mangled mess. And the creature screeched, raggedly, tiredly. It slumped against the tree, and before he could aim for its head, he heard Lucia call out:
“PAPA!!”
Heisenberg froze. He turned to her slowly... Her eyes were trained on the monster beaten within an inch of his life. The fuck? What did she...? He glanced between them, trying to decipher what she meant. Her lids were narrowed with such unbridled sorrow. Before he could understand anything, he saw her eyes blow wide open.
“L-Look out—!”
Heisenberg jumped back—didn’t get away completely. He grunted as the creature made shallow cuts on his chest with its good arm—he was suddenly tackled onto his back, dropping his hammer on the way. It pinned his right wrist down, leaving only his left arm to push back against its neck. He struggled to keep it from biting his head off. Its slobbery, reddened fangs snapped too close to his cheek, and he growled as he tried to shove it off. Its size didn’t give him room to knee its ribs. Its unbroken leg painfully dug into his stomach and crushed his lungs. Can’t breathe...! He flexed his right hand, trying to summon the hammer once more—
“STOP IT!!” Lucia shrieked, and he watched her tackle the unbalanced monster off of him. He gasped for air and coughed. He quickly turned to see the child wrapping her arms around its throat. Lightning danced all around her body, illuminating the pair before jolting through the screeching beast. “Stay... down...!” she pleaded at it through tears. She shed tears for it. But Heisenberg didn’t have time to think about it; he had to take advantage of its stunned state. He forced himself to his feet, the metal hammer arriving in his hand.
“Lucia, MOVE!” At the sound of his voice, she gasped and rolled out of the way. With great force, he swung down at its skull.
It stilled.
Whether by its enhanced mutation or by some fucking miracle, its head didn’t explode into pieces. But it finally stopped moving. He laid his free hand on Lucia’s collar to pull her a few steps back, and checked her for injuries. She seemed to have the same idea, or perhaps just wanted a distraction; in spite of her earlier rage, she held a shaky hand to the streaks of red across his chest.
“Y-You’re hurt...” she whispered. God, he wanted to be pissed. Wanted to openly blame her again for all of this. However, under her concerned gaze, he couldn’t find the words... All he did was pat to check himself: definitely bleeding, but not fatally so. He’d have considered himself lucky... but then he saw her back away from him. Recognition creeped into her features as she eyed his face. Her knees shook, like she was conflicted with herself on what to do next. Neither of them knew what to do...
That is, until they heard ragged puffs from the monster.
She gasped, and he held his hammer to its nose. But it didn’t lunge or anything. Heisenberg saw it simply struggle to breathe... and then it let out a series of noises. It whined, and hissed, and grunted, like it was testing what sounds it could make. A deliberate effort in its final moments. It tried reaching its arm to Lucia, and they both went rigid as they heard it voice two broken, guttural syllables:
“...Ssssste... laaaaa...”
Then, it laid its bloodied head into the snow, life draining from its dimming eyes...
The child was the first to move. She sat by its broken arm and carefully turned it upwards.
A single, deep scar ran across its palm.
The sight of it made her impossibly still. As it crystallized, the hand she held crumbled into little pebbles, slipping between her thin fingers. One could’ve mistaken her for dead as well, from how little she stirred.
Heisenberg couldn’t think of a single thing to say. He chose to not piece it all together, if only to avoid this new, dark truth. For as physically close as he currently was to the child, he couldn’t have felt further apart. Not just from the way her back was turned towards him, or from her mournful aura... but simply from the way he could feel her shut down. And he had no idea how to bring her back...
For all the solutions that eluded him, he dreaded hearing the worst one. The only sound that could’ve called them both to action right now. Lucia turned to him, a specific brand of fear lighting her tiny pupils. The only kind he recognized when she woke from a specific nightmare. They both heard it:
A flock of crows, cawing in the distance.
“...Hide,” he gravely commanded. Her breath was but a whisper.
“H-Heisen...” She couldn’t complete his name before he suddenly lifted her up from underneath her arms. He took several long strides until he found a suitable tree to drop her behind. One large enough for its trunk and shadow to engulf her. He looked directly into her eyes as he quietly repeated himself.
“Hide...!” The gravity behind his voice snapped her out of her daze. She realized that he—the man who stared down lycans, mechanical zombies, and that feral beast without any ounce of concern—had never sounded so shaken.
“It’s... It’s her, isn’t it?” she numbly said more than asked.
“Lucia—”
“Th-That’s not— That thing, i-it— oh god it IS her, isn’t it? Th-This is all because of...” Then, the girl did something that only he would’ve recognized, for it was all too familiar to him: she hardened her demeanor, a wave of fury masking all else as she hissed, “...I’m going to kill Miranda...!” She tried to push past him, to which he simply pushed her back by her collarbone.
“The hell you are!” he barked. Under different circumstances, that resolve of hers would’ve made him grin. But right now? These were losing odds, making her appear more suicidal than anything. She shoved against his stomach.
“Fuck OFF!” she snarled, “She took everything from me! She needs to die!”
“You’ll die in the state you’re in!”
“I don’t care!” She weakly punched his stomach again with that last word. He huffed, and held both her arms down.
“Lucia, listen—!” She shook out of his hold, still pushing and punching as she resisted.
“Shut up! Th-That’s NOT...!”
She was heaving, switching between furious phrases and weakly striking his torso where she could. He could barely get a word in, he needed her to quiet down and obey him! Why didn’t she ever obey?! He needed her to stop and think. She was too angry—
But it wasn’t just that. He saw how red her eyes were, how the corners glistened in the moonlight, how her fists shook against him when she paused to take labored breaths. She’d been through so much in so little time... No, she wasn’t just angry. She was scared. And realizing that she’d begun to create her own armor struck him in an unexpectedly remorseful way.
Without thinking, Heisenberg lowered himself to embrace her.
He wrapped one arm around her small frame while the other pressed her face into his shoulder. He heard her mumble with surprise... But she fell quiet in his warmth. He told himself this was just to get her to shut the fuck up. Needed her to hear him out. But what could he even say? She hardly listened to his stern orders, and ran away from his threats... With so little time on their hands... Heisenberg finally let his armor go.
“I’m sorry...” he shakily exhaled into her hair. She tensed in his arms. So did he, upon hearing himself explicitly apologize to her for the first time. He kept going while he had her attention. “I’m sorry. You’ve been through hell, and I know you’re hurting. But I need you to listen to me. Stay hidden, stay quiet... And I promise I’ll tell you everything. But first, we need to get out of this alive...”
The cawing drew closer.
Heisenberg released her, placing his hands on her shoulders to gauge her understanding. Her eyes were wide, dumbfounded... yet present. He didn’t break eye contact until she nervously nodded. As soon as she did, he left her to sweep the area. She pressed herself against the tree while he kicked tiny footprints away. His hammer glided across snow to aid that goal before returning to his grip. One last look towards the child peeking at him.
He lifted a single finger over his lips. Stay quiet. Without his lenses to hide his desperation from her... she saw that he was pleading for her to listen. For both their sakes. She placed both hands over her mouth, then silently slipped out of sight.
Heisenberg waited for the inevitable, crows finally breaking the treeline. That family meeting proved that she was on alert for outsiders; the commotion here must’ve gotten her attention. He cursed himself for getting lost in his emotions. Should’ve killed the creature sooner so they could’ve escaped to the factory by now. They may yet have a chance. A slim one, but it was a chance. He kept himself from glancing in Lucia’s direction. He was by no means a religious man. Had to thank his upbringing for that particular cynicism. But if there really was any higher power out there, he demanded that they throw him a fucking bone just this once.
All danger senses blared when the birds nosedived onto the nearest hill.
Crow calls were replaced by a morbid silence as the birds merged into one. A dark figure rose from the feathers, blowing a mild gust when all sets of wings unfurled. The gold of her mask glinted coldly. Moonlight bathed her back, stretching her unholy shadow further over Heisenberg. Too closely did his greatest secret hide herself from his greatest foe:
Mother Miranda.
“Heisenberg.”
“...Mother.”
The woman scanned the surroundings with a deep foreboding. Her aura could only be described as heavy, suffocating tension in the very oxygen they breathed. Lucia dared not make a sound; she gripped her mouth tighter and forced herself to take excruciatingly slow breaths through her nose. She kept her eyes on the timber directly in front of her. Although Miranda’s voice made her want to puke, somehow her silence was even worse. She tried not to wonder if the false prophet could hear her loud thoughts, all screaming for her to run.
Simultaneously, the entire experience scared her stiff. Her legs turned to stone. Her rigid body warred with her flighty mind... but her childish heart told her to trust the one other person who hated Miranda. Told her that, in spite of the truths that came to light today... Only he could protect her at this exact moment.
Heisenberg broke the silence.
“...What brings you all the way out here?” The child heard her take a few steps in her direction. Her pulse sped up.
“Moreau insisted on showing me his latest creation,” she began, “But when we heard the sounds of a battle, I wished to see if it was caused by any outsiders.” As her deliberate footsteps drew closer, Lucia circled in the opposite direction, ever so slightly. When Miranda stopped, so did she. The girl dreaded imagining her inhuman eyes boring into the tree between them.
Did she hear me? Did she hear me? Did she HEAR me? Does she know I’m here...?!
Her brain was reeling, pupils shaking. Sweat pooled on her distressed brows. She held her breath...
A shuffle of fabric, and a crunch of snow. Miranda lowered down to investigate the creature’s crystallized bones. Her father’s bones.
“...The ‘vârcolac,’ he called it. But it seems you found it first.” She didn’t know who the vârcolac used to be. She didn’t care. If anything, she sounded uninterested now that there was nothing for her to see. It made the girl sick. Lucia heard Heisenberg shift.
“It found me,” he lied, justifying the kill, “Moreau probably didn’t feed it enough to keep it in a cage. Went completely feral.” If they were safer, his tone could’ve been more mocking. But with this god-awful, wound up scenario, he sounded reluctantly matter-of-fact, at best... Didn’t sound like him.
“...Indeed.” She stood and turned to her son. Lucia heard her stroll closer to him; he was too restrained. Too quiet. A far cry from the boisterous, rude man she’d come to know. “It appears to have given you trouble.” She must’ve seen the scratch on his chest, or all the blood in the snow—
Was it too much blood for him alone, or did Heisenberg cover up enough?
Lucia squeezed her eyes shut, begging her anxiety to keep her thoughts and her breathing quiet.
“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” he gruffly replied, as if pulling away from unwanted scrutiny, “Especially when I can call on lycans as cannon fodder.” Ah, those bodies would explain away any of Lucia’s blood—
“You summoned the lycans?” Miranda’s judgmental tone shattered any reprieve his lies could’ve provided. More of a sharp statement rather than a question. Heisenberg shut his mouth, like he was either processing whatever he could’ve done wrong, or he simply knew better than to return the interruption. “Did any villagers hear you?”
“Of course not!”
“How can you be certain?” A crinkle of his sleeves had Lucia opening her eyes. She could see his shadow flailing in the way he did when he was getting exasperated.
“We’re out in the middle of nowhere. And they hole themselves up in their houses every night. How would they hear me?” he firmly argued. Miranda hummed. Lucia couldn’t tell if she was the slightest bit convinced. Not by voices alone. She chanced peeking past the bark.
There they stood: Lord Heisenberg and Mother Miranda. Although he physically stood taller than his mother, her very presence—authoritative and holy in her decorative halo and mask, imposing with her wingspans—towered over his own.
“Trust me, I know what I’m doing.” Without his sunglasses to hide his eyes, he tried appearing somewhat blasé about it all; his squared shoulders and fingers pressing against his side said otherwise.
“Trust you...” his mother repeated. She eyed his bleeding chest, displeased. “Yet it was capable of injuring you. Perhaps you’re not as strong as you believe.” Heisenberg inhaled sharply at that blow to his pride. If she saw it, Miranda easily brushed it off. She glanced at the scattered lycan remains. “...However, I understand that the forest must make you uncomfortable. You always were weaker without enough metal.”
Heisenberg fumed, the gears of his hammer shaking as he contained his temper. His only option here was to talk back.
“And whose fault is that?”
Something changed in Miranda’s poise. That passive challenge to her genius couldn’t be ignored.
With blinding speed, Miranda grabbed Heisenberg by the throat and lifted him into the air, a startled grunt escaping his curled lips. Lucia stifled a gasp, eyes expanding at the sight of it:
Heisenberg—the strongest person she knew—was completely at Miranda’s mercy.
To make matters worse, he heaved with a panic she’d never heard from him before. She never believed he was ever truly afraid; more pissed than anything, really. Even against the vârcolac’s fangs, he’d growled back.
But this?
This was a man who felt his life was in danger. His free hand clutched her wrist, eyes flashing like he recognized this punishment. Hopped up on adrenaline and survival instinct, he did something Lucia had hoped he would.
He threw his metal hammer to the side, suspended for a moment... before slamming it against Miranda’s head.
Lucia gasped. Her voice drowned under the resounding rings of the halo and mask being knocked off, and the horrid cracks of bones fracturing. The force of the impact left his mother unbalanced for a moment, lowering Heisenberg back to his feet and granting him some air. Silence always followed after he used his trademark weapon. A phase of safety returned until its next victim.
...Miranda was no victim.
Still, she stood.
Still, she gripped his throat.
Still, she breathed... And slowly straightened to face her unruly son.
Lucia could now clearly see the results of his attack: her neck bent out of place, her jaw hung at a nauseous angle, all with a disconcerting lack of blood... But her eyes—those terrifying eyes, somehow more lifeless than any undead—stared at Heisenberg with absolute apathy. Like this was little more than a mild inconvenience. By his expression, they both knew he fucked up.
“...I thought...” Miranda rasped. Her free hand reached up to snap her neck back.
“...we were...” Then, she pushed her jaw into place.
“...past this, boy.”
The child heard them before her vision could catch up. Pierced flesh, the hammer falling from the air, then Heisenberg yelling through grit teeth—yelling in pain. Her eyes darted down to see why. Miranda had withdrawn her hand from his neck, then stabbed it into his side. The one where his Cadou burrowed into his organs. But they were spread wide, surrounding the mutated nematode rather than attacking it directly; too ready with the threat of ripping it from his body.
Lucia’s mouth wordlessly opened, raw terror keeping her from speaking out.
No no NO! Stop hurting Heisenberg, PLEASE...! N-No more...!
Her mind tore at the seams, this image of Miranda inflicting anguish too familiar. Mirages flickered into her view. Trees were replaced by cell bars, snow gave way to molded stone, icy moonlight faded to red torch fire.
She’d seen this before. Miranda was about to KILL. She held someone she knew much in the same way: hand choking the life out of them, fingers red with blood. She had to call out to them! BEG Mother Miranda for mercy! She has to do something! ANYTHING!!
Lucia took a step forward, the moonlight a barrier she could cross all too easily. Just another step, then she’ll quickly break into a sprint, and she could save—
Something pushed her back.
Not painfully so. Just a force that kept her from moving further. It made her blink out of the foggy memory. She tried pushing forward again, tantalizingly close to emerging from the shadows. Then she saw it. She saw him.
While one gloved hand shakily gripped Miranda’s wrist—keeping her from stabbing further—the other was subtle. Tilted just out of his mother’s view, but fingers tense with effort.
...Heisenberg was using her reactor to keep her back.
It subtly pulled her closer to the tree. Lucia dumbly followed the nonverbal instruction to hide, absolutely speechless. She searched his eyes for answers; he refused to look in her direction, glaring daggers only at Miranda. Keeping her attention solely on him.
He’d broken his one rule about never using her reactor against her... to keep her hidden.
That realization made her weep. She put her hands back over her mouth to stifle herself. Her tears fell freely over her hands from her overflowing inner conflict. All she could do was stand and watch.
Heisenberg looked like he was struggling to stand. But even with his curses, even with his haggard breaths, he never broke eye contact from his assailant. His stubbornness and pain were so inconsequential to Miranda that her tone remained disturbingly even. As if he hadn’t just struck her with the failed intent to kill.
“You... are nothing without metal. Nothing without the gift I gave you.” She torturously curled the fingers around his Cadou, accentuating her point. He gasped and hissed, but didn’t lash out again. They could only listen helplessly. “You are only strong because I made you so. You are given your freedoms because I allow them. And what is given... can always be taken back.”
She pulled her hand so violently that Lucia expected the Cadou to have been in her clutches. She’d have been relieved at the empty hand, except that was his blood dripping from her fingertips. Heisenberg grunted, desperately holding his newest wounds and staggering a few steps away from her. He bent his knees like his body craved rest... But he wouldn’t let Miranda have the satisfaction. He continued to stand, if only for himself. It neither impressed nor upset his mother.
“Know your place, Heisenberg... Unless you’d like more reminders to your collection.” That sent a nauseous spiral through Lucia’s core. He’d told her before that his scars were accidentally self-inflicted, or resulted from his transformations... She grimly wondered how many were from Miranda herself. How many more scars could a man possibly have? But he lowered his head, tamed for the moment. Giving in when Miranda had shown only a fraction of her power... That was enough to inject more terror into Lucia’s veins. Satisfied by his submission, she stepped closer into his space.
“I will tolerate no deviations in my absence. So, my son...” She pinched his chin between scarlet fingers, forcing him to look into her eyes. “...Are you going to behave yourself?” Her tone held such patronizing, belittling menace that Lucia wished he could let his explosive temper loose on the woman. She wished that they were closer to the factory, where he had an entire arsenal to use against her. That maybe even his monstrous transformation would give him a chance to finally end her.
But here, in her forest... They could be slaughtered, and none would be the wiser. None would dare question their beloved prophet... Lucia shuddered seeing this unbreakable man slowly nod.
“Yes, Mother Miranda...” he quietly conceded, “Forgive me. I-It won’t happen again...” Did she hear that right? Did he stutter? How much of that was a ruse, and how much of that was true? At last, the child understood how outmatched he felt. And that stressed her more than anything.
Miranda released his face. She collected her mask and halo, brushing off the snow without a care in the world. Like everything was as it should be. Lucia tucked herself back to the tree, pressing her forehead into bark and hoping she’d remain unseen.
“...Await my call for the next meeting,” she heard Miranda order. The woman couldn’t be bothered to confirm or deny him forgiveness. Couldn’t be bothered with any niceties or fake comforts. With one last nerve-racking scan of the scene around her... the seconds dragging on like hours...
Lucia heard the flutter of wings flapping, and crows cawing...
Until they were gone.
Minutes after they were gone, she still stayed in place.
It was only after hearing a pained exhale, and the sound of a body hitting the ground, when Lucia looked past her hiding spot.
Heisenberg laid back into the snow, finally, finally heaving. Like he was drinking in all the oxygen he was denied while in Miranda’s presence. He hatefully groaned through his teeth as he pressed his hands harder into his bleeding side. But before he properly assessed how bad his wounds were...
“...K-Kid?” he breathed out.
...She let herself stumble forward. Each step through the snow dragged and pierced her with its frost, but she wanted to reach him. The man who risked himself to hide her. Her lips quivered as she pulled her poncho off of her, gasping at another torrent of icy wind beating through her cardigan. When she saw past the fabric, Heisenberg was looking at her. So much was conveyed in his exposed green eyes...
Shock, recognition, relief, and... most surprising of all... fear.
Regardless of whether it was fear for his life, or even fear from her having seen him so powerless... It was there, clear as day. Underneath his thunderous roars for revenge, under that guarded, spiteful armor, under the self-loathing and carrying around a pompous showman persona... He was scared.
Everything he ever did was because he was scared.
Some piece of her wanted to resent him for that. As if being afraid justified the ways he’d hurt and lied to her. She wanted to hate him for all the pain he’d caused her. She wanted to thank him for saving her life... She couldn’t parse how turbulent her feelings were. While she had yet to process one loss, she nearly experienced another within minutes. She realized just how close she and Heisenberg were to losing each other... And the stunned way he looked at her now, like he couldn’t believe she hadn’t run off, or feared the worst...
All of it broke her heart.
“I’m s-sorry...” she whimpered as she approached him. He half-blinked; he didn’t think she’d say that. “I’m sorry...” Lucia sat next to him. She pushed her poncho against his side, applying pressure to slow the bleeding. Like he’d taught her... “I’m sorry...” The conflicted emotions overwhelmed her. She wept, and sniffed, and hiccupped, forcing herself to apologize again and again for everything all at once:
For running from the factory, for putting him in harm’s way, for getting Miranda’s attention, for killing her father, for failing to save—
“I’m sorry... I’m sorry...!” Lucia kept repeating. She couldn’t look at him, screwing her eyes shut as the tears kept falling.
She vaguely registered his uneven breathing as he readjusted his arms. Awkwardly, but carefully, she felt his strong arms slowly pull her down... Her ear laid against his chest, where she could hear his heartbeat. One hand pressed into her shaking back, while the other stroked her hair. Under the cold, cold weather, she clung to his warmth.
“It’s not your fault...” he whispered above her. He strained to speak, but he forced himself past the pain. “None of this is your fault, damn it, so just...” Heisenberg breathed deep. When he exhaled, the hand on her back moved to hold her fingers. Then, it became a firm grip on the back of her palm, despite his injured state. He always stayed strong. “...It’s ok. We’re going to be ok.”
Lucia quietly cried onto his chest, desperately wishing he was right.
When the bleeding finally slowed, Heisenberg tied her poncho tightly around his waist. Not the best stand-in for gauze, but they both knew he needed it for the journey back. So much distance to cross and unrelenting cold to withstand. The two were far more exhausted than ever... But he mustered the strength to get up on one knee.
Lucia couldn’t stand. Everything had finally caught up to her. He could see it in the way she struggled to keep her dazed eyes open. He removed his trench coat and motioned for the child to lean on him.
“Gonna be a long walk,” he groaned, the chill seeping into his bones, “Won’t be comfy, but... I can carry you on my shoulder. Alright?” It only took a few seconds before she nodded. He guided her to lean her stomach against him; with a determined inhale, he pushed himself from the ground and lifted her up. He felt her arms balance herself against his back before she settled, almost hanging limp. He draped his trench coat over her form. Thankfully, it was long enough to cover her body, both warming and hiding her from the world.
With a few more measured breaths—and his metal hammer returning to his free hand—Heisenberg began walking.
They traveled in relative silence. He kept his eyes to the sky, always making sure no crows lingered before deciding on a path. Every so often he’d stumble, then lean against some tree to regain balance... Spat some blood out. Whenever he paused for too long, he’d feel Lucia’s head shift, her hand smoothing against his shoulder blade to wordlessly check on him. He’d pat the small of her back to reassure her before forcing himself to move on.
It was only when he reached a dirt road that he took more precautions. Heisenberg kept closer to rocky walls and the shadows they provided. They favored the side where he carried the child, granting them some natural cover as he searched for any fenced borders.
But heavy, bloated breathing reached both their ears.
“Motheeerrr...” it called out woefully, “Mother Miranda, where did you go?”
Heisenberg stiffened, and stopped walking. He whispered to the girl.
“Don’t move...” He felt her nod against him. He leaned her closer to the darkness as he recognized the pitiful garbage bag that heaving belonged to. The deformed figure flinched in the night as he appeared into the distant view.
“H-Heisenberg...” the hooded freak wheezed, immediately on edge at the sight of him. Must’ve been on his way to his “special” mountain lab. Heisenberg sneered.
“Evening, Moreau,” he all but spat out.
“You’re... Are you b-bleeding?” The fish-man squinted in the dark. He’d always had piss poor vision outside of the water, but there was no hiding red blurs. Heisenberg’s jaw tensed as he recalled the family meeting, the vârcolac encounter, and Miranda’s confirmation.
“Yeah... Ran into your pet project.” Moreau brought his slimy webbed hands to his face with a gasp. He knew exactly what running into Heisenberg entailed.
“Ooooh nooooo,” he wailed, looking left and right as if he’d see its crystal carcass, “D-D-Did you kill it—?”
“Yes, I killed it, you fucking moron!” Heisenberg snapped, his patience running low. He wanted to move on already. He gave a wide berth around his older “brother,” ensuring that Lucia remained as far away from his disabled eyesight as possible. To his dismay, this just had to be the night that Moreau decided to grow a pair and speak his mind.
“Wh-Why’d you do that? It’s not fair!” He heard Moreau shuffling after him, to which he spun and held his weapon up in warning. It stopped the freak right in his tracks, still at a reasonable distance where he’d struggle to see what he carried. It wasn’t enough to scare him speechless, however. “You’ve always been the favorite! Th-The vârcolac was my chance to return mother’s love. It t-took so long to find the right candidate a-and now... Now I have to make another...!”
He felt the child tense at those words. A haunting promise that he’d take someone else’s family away, all in the name of Mother Miranda. Heisenberg’s scarred lips tugged into a disgusted snarl, his breathing picking up as he mulled over this abhorrent need for her attention.
“‘...Return’ her love...?” he growled, absolutely insulted. “She doesn’t love you...!” Loathing oozed in every word. It made Moreau shrink, his swollen mouth blubbering. “She’s never... LOVED you! So why—?!” He cut himself off to collect his temper. Didn’t want to raise his voice too high for villagers or birds to hear. A deep inhale, then a labored exhale... He even lowered the hammer... But he glared back at Moreau. “...Why do you keep trying?”
Miranda’s not FUCKING worth it, he wanted to shout at the top of his lungs. He simply couldn’t fathom how, even with her selfish nature, Miranda had pawns like Alcina and Moreau who obsessed over her approval. It was always made apparent as the fish freak came up with any excuse for her oppression.
“Y-You’re wrong...” he mumbled, “M-Mother cares about me. Right...? She does... I’d be dead if she didn’t...” This doubt seemed to break Moreau. More than he already was, anyway. Heisenberg stared at him, jaded by his denial, but ultimately... unsurprised. There was no reasoning with such a lost cause. Moreau turned to the clinic’s path, muttering and blundering like a forlorn fool. “Have to prove my worth... H-Have to make her... proud...”
And that was it. He left them alone, driven only by searching for some way to be a good enough son. That was all his interactions with his brother ever were: some imagined competition for Miranda’s attention, followed by confusion as to how anyone could be so dependent. So fucking desperate to please someone incapable of being pleased. That pathetic way Moreau tied his self-worth to a woman who clearly wanted nothing to do with him... He was trapped in a terrible cycle of his own creation. Wishing for a loving mother, only to be neglected, then tried all over again. Always hoping she’d be different next time. Always hoping she’d just miraculously become a better person overnight.
It drove Heisenberg mad. This sham of a family fucking deserved each other.
He felt the child’s arm make a slow, cautious move to wipe her teary face. He knew it must’ve been a difficult conversation to hear, having been so close to the vârcolac’s creator... But she’d kept herself as quiet as the dead.
...With that reminder, Heisenberg continued the trek. He pushed this stupid run-in with Moreau to the back of his mind.
For now, he had to get them back to safety.
Heisenberg’s legs were about to give out by the time he reached the Altar. The only thing that broke him from this autopilot walk was hearing someone clear their throat.
The Duke.
Of course it’d be the Duke.
His caravan had been packed away yet again, the merchant in the driver’s seat with his loyal steed at the reins, and the side door already open and awaiting its passengers.
“I’ve been informed that we’ll be working together for a while longer,” the Duke chimed, “I took it upon myself to make preparations. Shall we?”
“...”
Heisenberg begrudgingly obliged. Too tired to question. Too tired to fight. He entered, dropped the hammer, and shut the door behind him, already basking in the insulation the vehicle provided. He moved to the cushions in the back to carefully lay the child over them... Then gingerly pulled his coat down to see her face.
Lucia’s eyes were closed, but she was breathing. She must’ve succumbed to exhaustion after such an awful night.
He inexplicably tucked a stray hair behind her ear... before tiredly leaning back against some wooden shelves.
“I’ve a medical kit in the cabinet behind you. Please, help yourself,” the merchant called back. He said nothing... But he took the offer anyway. Found the box easily enough.
As the carriage rocked gently from side to side, Heisenberg followed a familiar routine: clean with burning disinfectant, hiss through the First Aid Med chemicals, then sew the stab wounds shut. He chewed on his own teeth as several needles threaded themselves through his flesh. Let the pointed stinging keep him awake long enough to see this through. He glowered at the Cadou in his side, now surrounded by new warnings from his dear mother. It was both how he was able to treat himself so quickly, and why he needed treatment in the first place.
All the pain, all the anguish in his life... For this goddamn bug meant to turn him and everyone else into some “vessel.”
Heisenberg was somewhat glad to hide it under a layer of gauze and act like it wasn’t there. At least his chest didn’t need stitches; disinfectant, bandages, and several weeks would be enough. He buttoned up and tucked his dirty shirts back in as he finished, then removed his gloves to wipe his brow and sweaty palms clean.
What a fucking mess, he thought as he habitually pulled his hat off. He tiredly sighed into his hand.
She’ll have questions. So will he. A reckoning was in store for both of them. And as his eyes drifted to the child, he wasn’t sure how ready he’d be when she woke...
But Lucia was here. Lucia was alive.
His breathing hitched as he unwittingly reflected on everything. Especially with that atrocity, Moreau. He’d never respected the guy, but after Miranda’s gracious punishment, the fish-man’s fawning struck particularly annoying tonight. He itched for a cigar as his mind grew unsteady.
Miranda couldn’t feel anything remotely motherly, no matter how much she claimed to be. Her children weren’t ever really children. Merely extensions of her will. Their shortcomings were their own, but their perceived strengths were hers. Anything valuable to her, she took. That was it. She always took, then had nothing but misery to show for it. Anything she “gave” was in service to her goals. Any pride in them was pride in her own work.
...That hit too close to home.
How many times had he pushed Lucia towards becoming a weapon, as an extension of his own will? That sickening self-awareness creeped under his skin once more. An inner demon created from his only maternal figure; his own personal monster he’d have to manage for the rest of his life.
Heisenberg hated most in Miranda what he feared most in himself.
He squeezed his eyes shut and covered his face with his palm, like the darkness in his sight would hide all the insecurities that pestered him. Yet they kept coming. Now he wondered if Lucia fucking pitied him again, for seeing him at his weakest.
For seeing him afraid.
Fear made him vulnerable. And anything good in his life was always taken because of that vulnerability. It was made worse when it meant something to him. If he didn’t give a damn, then he could save himself from more unnecessary pain. But when he chased after Lucia in that endless forest...
He feared for her life. Fuck, he feared for her in a way he hadn’t since... since his parents. But she wasn’t revolted by his weakness... It made her listen to him. Lucia listened to him when it mattered most. And because of that, he didn’t lose her.
The child shivered, pulling his coat closer to her and whimpering. Her voice was enough to bring him back to the present. It always was. He grunted as he leaned over... and hesitantly placed his bare hand on her cheek.
Lucia was deathly cold. Her Cadou must’ve been overworked keeping frostbite at bay. Once again, Heisenberg didn’t think. Just blame it on the weather.
He slowly, quietly lifted the girl onto his lap. Took special care with how her head hung over. He readjusted his coat to cloak over the two of them, while cradling her left side closer to his chest. His arm went around her shoulders, and his other hand pressed her forehead against his bruising neck. The man inhaled through his teeth at the frigid contact... But he pushed past the discomfort to rub his palms up and down her back, relying on the friction to produce some heat.
Eventually, her shaking slowed down. He heard Lucia sigh as she melted... Heisenberg couldn’t see her face. Couldn’t tell if she was awake or not when... she nestled closer to him. Closer to warmth. With her left arm resting on her lap, she brought her right arm to curl around his torso... And she buried her face against his chest, a quiet sniffle escaping her.
Heisenberg let out an unsteady breath at this feeling. His chest swelled with something he dared not name.
It made him hold the child tighter. Made him press his cheek against her hair, like he needed to make sure she was really here in his arms. He closed his eyes as his heart overtook his mind.
Miranda took everything good from his life. But she can’t have this.
She can’t have her.
Heisenberg drifted to sleep just like that: embracing a treasure he selfishly didn’t want to let go. All while the Duke kept his eyes on the road, all while Lucia rested... He let himself be vulnerable.
Snow.
It always snowed. She was born in it, as acquainted with the cold as she resented it. An unforgiving element that challenged the village, yet brought it together. But it was never really the cold that reminded her of home. It was the feeling that sought to protect her from it.
Warmth was her home.
She laid somewhere chilly, but someone warm held her against the winter breeze. Someone kind.
They pointed to the clear, dusk sky, which filled with specks of light as the sun retreated to its slumber. They appeared only under the cover of night.
“Stela,” a soft voice called to her, “Oh, look how they twinkle. Your namesake. Our little starlight.” Within a moonless night, the sky revealed its secrets to them. All the sparkling gems kept hidden from the day, all the wondrous, glowing colors that painted across the dark. The child turned to see a glimpse of her face.
“Mama...?” Her mother looked down at her with a smile, her breath framing her face. Stars couldn’t compare to how those eyes glimmered with tenderness. Forgetting what she wanted to say, Stela laid her head on her parent’s frail shoulder. She returned the grin, simply uttering, “I love you.”
Tired though she was, her mother brushed her hair away from her child’s face.
“...And what about papa?”
Stela’s smile fell.
Macabre growls reverberated through the air around them.
Lucia and her mother now sat in the middle of the forest, rather than outside their house. Her stunned gaze met the vârcolac’s white irises. It crawled towards them with one mangled arm. As her expression contorted into absolute horror, it reached out to her with a warped rasp:
“Ssssste... laaaaa...”
The child gasped intensely from the jolting nightmare, shooting up from her bed and drenched in sweat. She didn’t fully register how wet her face was until the tears dripped down her chin and onto—
“Agh...!” A quick sizzle and a spark accompanied the liquid seeping through metal. The burn was enough to have her frantically wiping at her chest with a blanket.
Wiping at her reactor.
Her panicked motions halted as she recognized this setup. Cables attached themselves to the reactor, trailing down to a separate battery underneath her bed. She inhaled deeply... Then buried her face into the long sleeves bundled in her hands, freezing her lungs as she forced tears back.
All at once, her sore muscles shouted. Lucia’s mouth hung open in a silent scream while unwittingly reaching for her left shoulder. Hungry fangs returned to haunt her as she clutched at the bite’s phantom pain. Her breathing sped up while futilely repressing the emotions again. She didn’t want to think about it, didn’t want to dwell on the fact that she couldn’t remember him.
It hurt her. It hurt that she couldn’t see her papa’s face.
Only the monster’s.
No no no, it was all too much. That terrible thought sent her reeling, choking a dry sob as she moved without purpose. She briefly struggled under several layers of heavier blankets and a trench coat. When did she get so many blankets and a— With a yelp, the child stumbled to the floor. At least the extra cloth cushioned her fall. She looked down to glare, then blinked at her outfit.
Her clothing was different. A plain, oversized undershirt layered with a thick, dark shawl. Its sleeves draped past her wrists. Her skirt had also been swapped for rough work pants; torn leather straps tied it around her waist. The pants’ material had wrinkled from years of neglect, its size definitely meant for a teenager. The ends of it easily dangled past her bare feet—the culprit for her tripping—as if to replace the socks that’d been soaked through in the snow.
The snow.
The forest.
The vârcolac.
Mother Miranda.
The trench coat.
Heisenberg...!
As if hearing her panicked thoughts—or more likely that tumble and her hyperventilating—uneven footsteps hurried in the hallway outside her door. She groaned while trying to push herself up on shaky arms. She barely managed to sit on her calves, hands clutching the blankets around her, when the door hesitantly opened.
She saw the usual dark shades first, then his scarred face... which he’d set in a guarded neutrality until he fully entered the room. The child caught the slightest breath when he saw her... But he said nothing. Made no other move. He stared as if he was still accepting that she was alive.
She, too, was still accepting that they were both alive.
Her body ached from the sprinting, the crying, the surviving. But her heart? Fatigued for having felt so much at once. From the lowest hopelessness, to as outraged as Heisenberg... to the shock from being held back with her reactor, and the frustrating relief that bloomed from seeing him alive. In her confused reverie, she said without thinking:
“L-Lord... Heisenberg.” The girl briefly stiffened at her cult conditioning. The title hung in the air. Made him lock in place for a second until he firmly shook his head.
“No.”
She blinked, then swallowed.
“...N-No?”
“No. We’re not doing any of that zealous bullshit here. I don’t stick my neck out for any of her villagers, and I never fucking will. So don’t call me that... unless you wanna be thrown out.” He balled his ungloved hands into fists, yet made no move. The words warranted his trademark explosions, but... he kept his voice low. It neither lessened the dangerous warning, nor hid the subtle plea laced within his stern tone. “...So what? Still a villager?”
She copied his tense posture, fingers tightening on the fabric beneath her... suddenly aware of the accidental kneeling she found herself in. The girl’s expression faded into a frown. Exhaustion softened the intensity, but her eyes bore into his lenses with a renewed hatred. Her once split dialogue rang in her head again as a unified mantra, all while she forced herself to get up:
Glory to Mother Miranda... FUCK that.
“No...” she seethed. She roughly unplugged the cables from her chest, dropping them to the floor and standing on shaky legs, “No, I’m not a fucking villager.” She tried reading him: the twitch in his brows, the slack in his shoulders, and the way his mouth opened ever so slightly... No, she couldn’t decipher it all. Relief? Pride? Regret? She’d never be able to fully tell when he had those protective lenses on. Especially not with how the room abruptly tilted—legs failing, she tried aiming her fall onto the edge of the bed.
The child slipped off the side and back onto the floor with a grunt. Huffing, she dug one set of nails into the mattress. Before she could pick herself up again...
Heisenberg walked to her, and quietly lifted her up from under her arms. Neither spoke as he gently sat her down on her bed, her back propped up against the cool wall. The mattress dipped when he seated himself closer to the end... He dropped his head—no hat, she just noticed—back into the wall with an audible exhale through his nose.
They sat in an uneasy silence. That careful action would be the only indication that he approved her answer... But she was done with silence.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“...Tell you what?” He knew. He fucking knew, but wanted to stall.
“That you’re Lord Heisenberg.”
“I did tell you. When we first met.”
“Why didn’t you explain to me?” She held her elbows and stared at her knees, unable to look at him. “Why didn’t you tell me you’re her son?” She imagined her pointed questions would’ve riled him up enough to a yelling contest. A part of her wished it did; they were no strangers to shouting at each other. Anger was familiar. Defensiveness was familiar.
But this quiet?
Unreal.
So much so that she’d have thought this another dream. Some vivid coping that her brain concocted in her sleep. But then he removed a cigar and lighter from his pockets. As he lit it, she decided the corrosive stench was too sharp to be any dream. He let silence linger a few moments more after his smoky exhale.
“...She’s not my real mother,” he started, staring at the ceiling, “She won’t ever be my mother... Only called me her son when I survived Cadou implantation. But I... never wanted to be ‘Lord Heisenberg.’ I never wanted any of... this.” The hand that held his cigar gestured to his side, then waved to the factory around them. The smoke trails visualized the sources of his ire. All given to him by the woman he despised. The child gripped her elbows tighter.
She remembered how easily Miranda held his life in her hands. Couldn’t fully grasp what else she’d subjected him to, or for how long. Miranda bafflingly appeared much younger than Heisenberg. He’d mentioned it before: never aged a day. What was she? How could she so casually tear families apart? And she spoke of the parasite as if it were a gift. Heisenberg’s dry chuckle had her listening to his words again.
“And you? You were born in the village. Bred to worship us monsters, and then to thank us when you’re chosen for some ‘higher calling.’” He didn’t need to describe the experiments most villagers eventually faced. She shuddered to think how many people realized the false religion too late, or how many clung to it moments before death.
“I’ve seen it happen again and again,” he muttered, idly rolling the cigar in his fingers, “So I don’t know when I chose to... not remind you I’m a Lord. I just...” He took a long drag. She didn’t know how much he thought about this prior to her awakening, or how much he was discovering with her in real time. He blew the smoke away from her. “I thought telling you would make things worse.” She scoffed.
“It didn’t make things better,” she retorted. If their collective tiredness prevented them from shouting at each other, then it also tore down any filter she might’ve wanted to use. She didn’t care if anything was too bold for his tastes. Perhaps it was that same exhaustion that made him answer so much more calmly than she expected.
“...Didn’t it?” The girl heard him shift his head to her, to which she spared a glance at while waiting for an explanation. “It took you dying...” He looked away, considering something until he committed to being blunt. “It took your death and your amnesia for you to... to see me as... some guy.” He shook his head with a mirthless grin. “A fucked up guy, I get it... But at least you didn’t worship me. Didn’t pray to me for anything... Hmph. Didn’t excuse me for anything, either.” Her expression faltered. The idea that he—the loudest person constantly calling for attention, who had a whole crowd willingly throw themselves at his feet, and who hated admitting any wrongdoing—didn’t want the infallibility that came with being a Lord... It all confused her.
“All this time, you kept that from me so you could... pretend you’re not one of the Lords? I don’t...” She groaned at her own pause, holding her face in her hands. In the time that she took to sort her thoughts, Heisenberg said nothing. Again, he unnerved her with the uncharacteristic quiet. “I don’t get you...!” If she could pace around, she would’ve. She instead settled on spending her energy by angrily rolling up the pants legs to her shins. She tried processing out loud, tugging sharply as she did so:
“Hiding it doesn’t automatically make you a better person! And even if you weren’t a Lord, y-you still... You were still cruel.” Her hands fidgeted as she finished her task too quickly for her liking. She wanted distractions, not wishing to revisit everything he’d done. But she wouldn’t need to, for he repeated a specific phrase that still shook her.
“I know... And I’m sorry.” The girl looked at him then, only to meet his lenses; they’d slid down the bridge of his nose. Just a tad. She had two seconds to catch his green pupils before he grew uncomfortable. He looked anywhere except her eyes... Then he awkwardly adjusted his seating, facing his back towards her.
“I-I...” she stuttered, somehow worried he might be shutting himself off, “Wait, I—”
“Just...!” he sharply interrupted, shoulders seizing and hands raising. When she remained quiet, he slowly placed his hands on his knees. “...Just let me have this. E-Easier to... talk like this...” She sat there, less from respecting his wishes and more from the complete shock of it all. That Heisenberg so visibly fought with himself on what to say and how he should say it. That somehow, even with his back turned to her, he was trying to be more open than she’d ever seen. He released another shaky exhale before continuing:
“I’m sorry for all of it. The combat trials, the lies... I just... Fuck, kid, I didn’t know any better. I don’t have good examples in my life. I barely even remember my own—” He paused. A sniff disguised as a sharp head turning upwards, apparently deciding against finishing that thought. “...But I got enough bad examples showing me what not to do. For the lowest bar in the world that Miranda had set, I should’ve known better. Should never have... hurt you. Ever. And I should’ve been honest enough so you didn’t have to go looking for answers on your own.”
He hung his head low, his next words so quiet she almost missed it. Like he had to force himself to speak.
“...I want to do better. And I don’t need you pitying me again. I don’t want it. It’s... It’s not your job to fix me. You’re just a kid... You got enough to carry on your own.”
The girl’s hands had slackened to a loose hold. She just... absorbed his words for a while. From the way he bounced his foot, he looked torn as to whether or not her silence was a good thing. But he couldn’t turn around. She wasn’t sure she was prepared to face him either...
And so, not for the first time... She mirrored him. She scooted until they sat back-to-back; not fully leaning onto him, but enough contact to feel his breath hitch. The girl gathered her knees to her chest, hoping that the gesture was one of good faith. Not quite fully understanding, but... trying. Because at the end of the day, for all his emotional constipation, for all their miscommunication... he’d searched for her, found her, and protected her. He ordered her to stay at the factory to keep her safe, and she...
“I’m sorry for running away,” she softly admitted. She felt him turn a little.
“You don’t have to—”
“But I am. I-I... I’m sorry...” She sniffed and rubbed an eyelid. “I should’ve listened to you. You were r-right about... about the village.” She remembered enough: her father’s unwavering faith, her mother and their offerings, her ingrained prayer in the church. What Lord Moreau turned him into, her mother’s unknown fate, the Cadou that curled in her chest. “At least if I didn’t remember, I wouldn’t have to know how little we really matter to her...” Miranda. The woman who she once prayed to, who she’d internally thanked for giving her a loving family. The woman who created and protected their home, for she was Mother to all.
She didn’t know who the vârcolac used to be. She didn’t care.
All of it, a ruse. A scientist’s playground. An awful joke of a community.
Heisenberg leaned back ever so slightly.
“Look... I’ve done the same,” he said, “Ran off. Found out answers the hard way. So I get it. Don’t apologize for it.” A pause. “I’m... I was upset with you. Part of me still is... but I’m more upset at myself. I-I mean...” She felt his resolve quiver. His free hand brushed through his hair, stress edging back into his shoulders. “Fuck, was there even a plan for if you did get caught?”
She shrank into herself. The truth was she actually didn’t think that far ahead. But what could she even say to that?
I would’ve screamed for help.
I would’ve killed to survive.
I would’ve jumped in a river just so she couldn’t experiment on me again.
...You, Heisenberg. You were my plan.
The girl released a shaky breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. A reminder that for all her frustrations with her current, horrible situation, she relied on him. Heisenberg. After all they’d been through, some part of her sought safety through him. When did it become more than the need for his mechanical expertise? More than the fact that she had no other option? How close they’d been to losing each other threatened to dredge up emotions she wasn’t ready to process.
The way he held her in the snow, reassuring her that they’d be ok, shielding her from the cold with his warmth—
In her mind, the vârcolac’s eyes looked back at her.
She couldn’t. She couldn’t process this. Not so soon after—
“Hey,” she felt a gentle shove against her back, “Answer me, Lucia.”
There was a sinking feeling in her gut. Her mouth moved on its own, her tone sorrowful as she numbly corrected:
“...My name is Stela.”
Stela, he wanted to say.
Stela, from the stars that she first remembered.
Stela, her true name.
...Why couldn’t he say it?
Heisenberg stayed still. She became as quiet as he did. Did it sound as foreign to her as it did to him? He wanted to slap himself for being so selfish. For... becoming attached to the name he gave her.
...But then he recalled that creature in the forest. The vârcolac. Moreau’s creation.
He thought back to how it trained its eyes on the child. How it roared after every single one of her cries, convinced that Heisenberg was a danger to her. How it whined after her, reaching to console her. It—no, he held out against death, fought against every warped mutation, forced his animalistic mind to call to her with his final breath.
Her true name confirmed what he’d suspected: they’d killed her biological father in that forest. Experimented, changed... and nearly killed his own flesh and blood without knowing.
All so Moreau could get Miranda to acknowledge him.
Heisenberg was simultaneously nauseous and weightless. Suddenly, he wished that her parents had been with the bodies he’d incinerated long ago. It’d have been merciful compared to what she discovered that night. The gravity of Miranda’s influence came crashing down on the both of them again. He’d made peace with his defense mechanisms long ago. Forged and buried decades ago, until now. How he made himself see each experiment as lowly creatures to hide who they once were, and all they could’ve been, had Miranda never existed. Empathy only brought pain.
He hated that this could destroy the kid’s empathy.
The kid...
The fingers around his cigar tensed as he forced himself to ask. If only for her.
“Do you... want me to call you that? From now on?”
He heard her breathing shudder. He didn’t know what to think about how long she took to answer. She eventually spoke with the shakiest voice, as if she couldn’t believe her own words:
“...I don’t know.” She curled further into herself. “I-I don’t know, and that... scares me.” She hiccupped. A brief precursor to a dry sob. A sound he couldn’t keep his back to.
“H-Hey... Hey,” he gently started, turning around, “It’s ok, we don’t have to go into this now.” Heisenberg didn’t know what to do. How the hell was he supposed to comfort her from all this? Embracing her the way he did the other night... The idea felt wrong now. There was too much to unpack. Too much and too soon. But he couldn’t leave her alone.
His hand made its way to her right shoulder, hesitantly. She bristled at the strangely light fingertips... But she made no move to push him away. He laid his palm fully, and gave a squeeze.
“You don’t have to decide on anything now. Not with your name, and not with forgiving me. Take your time. Just tell me what you need...” In the seconds that she sat still, a worry creeped into his heart, unbidden and weakening:
Does she hate him for killing her father?
Her pause amplified the anxiety.
He saw her small fingers start reaching for his...
A bit of hope.
...Instead, they returned back to her elbow.
What did that mean?
“I need... to know more,” she said, a hardened edge shielding her, “You promised you’d tell me everything.”
She shrugged his hand from her shoulder.
A slap to the face would’ve been less painful.
His chest and side hurt too much to hold her against him, while her entire body hurt too much to walk.
So it was with some awkwardness that they both found themselves like this. He carried the child on his back, his hands looped under her thighs while she leaned forward and held his shoulders. He didn’t miss the way her eyes averted from his purple neck. Miranda’s grip lingered on him. It made her hesitate to wrap her arms around him. That was what he told himself.
Nevertheless, he handled her as carefully as he could. Only his boots echoed in the hallways, along with the distant clunking from his living factory. When he reached the juncture where one turn would take them to the elevator... he made a deliberate detour. A separate door opened itself for the two of them, and he felt the girl turn her head to stare after the avoided road. She could guess that he didn’t want the Duke seeing him like this, though she chose to not ask.
He climbed the open staircase, the metal of each step dully ringing as they ascended. He felt her turn her head on every rounded corner, keeping her eyes on the expanse of the factory. The steady hums, the far-off ore mining, the inactive Soldats that hung from the production lines...
He wondered what she was thinking right now. Did she despise being here? Did she loathe the fruits of his labor, no matter how justified he felt? Did this place bring her pain?
Her neutrality told him nothing. In a way, he wanted to believe it meant she didn’t hate him—didn’t hate the factory. But she wouldn’t ever like it. How could she? She must’ve remembered the village fondly enough for her to feel so betrayed. A simpler life. A normal life. Compared to anything he could ever provide, anyway.
For the price of keeping their heads in the sand, their lives could’ve been... blissful, to a degree. He clenched his jaw at the reality that he’d never be able to give her a fraction of normalcy.
Not as Lord Heisenberg.
Never as Lord Heisenberg.
But at the very least, she deserved answers. If he couldn’t give her happiness, he could try to give her closure.
That was the resolve that carried the two of them to the top floor of the factory. A room that she recognized closer to the entrance. Its location made it so she was never allowed to loiter without him, for fear of any surprise guests discovering her. Heisenberg sat her down on a metal chair, centered in the room before a torn, yellowed tarp. He made no grand gesture of revealing the contents behind it:
Stray maps, scratched notes, red string wrapped around thumbtacks... And photos of his dear, dear “family.” Each with its own descriptor in his handwriting:
Witch.
Doll.
Fish man.
Mother.
He saw Lucia’s eyes—
...
...He saw the kid’s eyes rove over each photo before slowly reading the words. He waited for her to meet his gaze before asking:
“What do you wanna know first?”
“...How long... have you known Miranda?”
“...Most of my life.” Although she caught the reuse of his old answer, the new ominous tone told her he’d say more. “I was just a boy. Younger than you. But old enough to remember I wasn’t born in the village. She took me from my home.” Her glance between him and Miranda’s notably younger-yet-current picture showed she was processing the impossible. Their true ages were mysteries to all. He thought he saw the start of that glistening pity in her eyes... But she stayed steady for another question.
“...Where’s your home?”
“Germany.” She tilted her head. Never heard of it, of course. “A separate country from here. Far enough to know there’s a whole world outside this goddamn mountain.” A world he wanted to return to. A world he wouldn’t recognize, after so many decades. It motivated and terrified him. Heisenberg waved for her to move on.
“Were the other Lords taken by Miranda, too?” she asked. He scoffed at that before sweeping his arm before the images.
“Guess you could use a reintroduction to the ‘family,’” he said with a joyless smirk. He dug a finger into the photo of the eldest sibling. “Alcina Dimitrescu. Lady Supersized Bitch. Remember her at all?” The child briefly nodded.
“The Lady of the castle...” she muttered before blinking with confusion, “And wha... ‘Supersized...?’” She said it as if she was testing the new vocabulary. Or perhaps she was getting used to referring to the Lords so degradingly. “Knew she was taller than anyone, but was never... We weren’t worthy enough to meet her up close.” A puff of air escaped his lips.
“Yup. Sounds just like her to be above the commoners. She also wasn’t born in the village. Arrived decades ago to reclaim the castle for herself. Part of a noble bloodline or some shit. Dunno what she sees in Miranda, but she’s loyal to that bitch.”
“Loyal...” she repeated. She turned her steely eyes to the deformed picture. “Like him?” Heisenberg shifted to the next.
“Hmmm. Salvatore Moreau,” he started, then paused... “Yeah, loyal like him. Hardly a competition to get Miranda’s attention when he’s that pathetic. Only reason she gives a damn is because he was cognizant after her experiments... Plus, his family had roots in the village. Ran a clinic here for a while, ‘til the Cadou turned most of his brain to mush. As stupid as he is, he makes up for his incompetence by doing whatever the hell ‘mommy’ wants.” He glanced at the kid.
She gripped the ends of her new shawl like it were Moreau’s bulbous throat. Couldn’t fault her for it. What he did to her father wasn’t personal, but she clearly decided it became just that. Heisenberg certainly didn’t have enough sympathy for his brother to deter her. Instead of pressing on it like he thought she would, she tore her eyes away from his picture in disgust.
“And her?”
Ah. Her.
“...Donna Beneviento. And her gremlin of a doll, Angie,” he answered. Despite the rudeness, his lilt contained hesitation; it made her stare at him. How complicated an answer, for he hardly cared to get a full read on her by the time she joined the family. Mentally declared her an enemy the moment her Cadou could unravel anyone’s secrets. He moved on with his answer.
“Also born in the village. Miranda took her time with the Beneviento family. Had plenty of relatives to try implanting the Cadou in. All the time in the world to find that perfect fit.” The ire he felt towards his other two siblings was notably quieter when he spoke of Donna. He had to be honest with the child.
“...I don’t know how loyal she is to Miranda,” he admitted, “Always easier to assume that she is. Being born in the village made her prone to that...”
“...But?” she prodded. He leaned against a table with a sigh.
“But she knows about you.” The girl visibly stiffened at that, incredulous. “Don’t gimme that look! I didn’t mean for her to find out. She’s got her own messed up powers— A-Anyway, I dunno if she even thinks you’re still alive. But... Miranda never came knocking... Makes me wonder if she kept you a secret.” The child slowly relaxed back into her seat. “She was... also the one who gave me that tea. The one we used to help with your nightmares, so...” He gave a shrug. Dismissive, but hard-set enough to show he didn’t entirely trust his adoptive sister. She stared after the cold photo of her and her doll. Details of all the Lords’ powers and dangers could come later, he decided. Next, he should explain—
“So what about you?”
“...”
“...”
“...What about me?”
“...Why did Miranda... take you?” He took a deep breath.
“...Dimitrescu and Moreau were Lords before me,” he began, “By the time their experiments finished, Miranda found a common denominator between their successful Cadou implantations.” He turned to pull a hidden photo and gave it to her. A picture of four great statues surrounding a stone mechanism. “Bloodlines tied to the village. Four Kings used to rule this area centuries ago. Two descendants of Kings had survived the Cadou well enough without turning into lycans. With the Benevientos already settled in her village, Miranda would eventually find the right candidate. But my parents and I... We were far enough for her to warrant a visit. The rest is history.”
By the low hum of metal around them, she could glean how touchy the subject was. If that wasn't clear enough, he gruffly snatched the photo from her hands to return it to the board. Used it as an excuse to look away from potential pity. By her next question, he knew she thought it wise to drop it.
“What’s your name?”
More silence. Until he wondered:
“...Why does it matter?”
“You promised you’d tell me everything.” The pointed nature of that statement gave no chance to argue. His glasses tilted down just enough to witness how guarded she was. Like she was keeping herself from feeling, focused only on learning. Bitterly so. Forced to mature so much faster than any child should... A little late for him to grow a damn conscience, but it bothered him all the same. He sighed and crossed his arms.
If not happiness, then closure, he reminded himself.
“...It’s Karl,” he finally said, “Karl Heisenberg.”
Her reaction was quick. Too quick to be an act:
Widened lids. Neck reared back.
...She snickered.
She smiled.
He doubled back on her without moving from his spot, shoulders tensing.
...He never would’ve expected his name, of all things, to crack her guard.
“The hell is so funny?”
“Pffft— I-I don’t— Heheh!” The corners of her lips wiggled like she fought against the humor. “Sorry, I dunno, your name just sounds so... normal? Compared to theirs...”
Normal.
As long as she didn’t think he was a monster.
As long as she didn’t hate him...
“...I’ll take that as a compliment.” He was grinning before he even knew it was happening. Before he knew why he smiled with her. They both lingered like that for a bit longer, the tension effectively cut...
Before the phone rang.
Their smiles dropped.
And she couldn’t be a child again.
“Understood. I’ll be there.”
A click on the other end indicated that Miranda had said all she cared to. No apologies or accountability for her attack. Had she not witnessed it for herself, she’d have thought their exchanged violence had never occurred. The girl watched Heisenberg place the phone back.
She’d strained to listen, but she got the gist: a new meeting for the next morning to inform them about potential outsiders, and finalize plans for her absence.
Short though it was, hearing Miranda’s voice on the other end still sent icy spikes through the girl’s body. Despite the fresh fear in her system, she insisted on hearing their calls from now on. He didn’t protest. She held her shawl closer to herself as Heisenberg exhaled a drawn-out breath, expelling the stress that built up beneath the surface. However, she noticed just how... steady his tone had been with Miranda. Numb, but steady. Practiced. She couldn’t help sneering at him.
“Wow. Is there anyone you don’t lie to? You make it look easy.” He returned her sneer, but shrugged with passive nonchalance.
“Oh yeah, y’see, it’s all about using Miranda’s arrogance against her. Tell her what she wants to hear so she leaves me alone to do whatever the fuck I want.” He turned his sharp glare at her. “Sound familiar?”
The girl winced at that. Couldn’t argue against having done the very same thing so she could escape to the village. She dropped her eyes down, and he rubbed the back of his neck; guilt washed over the two.
“...She... could’ve killed you,” the girl eventually mumbled. She heard him turn back to her. “So why didn’t she?” He leaned against his end of the table.
“Honestly? I think she gets off on the power trip,” he bitterly mused, “And she’s on edge. Got some foreigners’ attention that she wants to investigate herself. If it all goes to shit, she still needs my power.” His expression darkened, until he tried to wave off some tension. “Besides, it’d be a hassle for her to find a replacement. Better to keep me in line than start from scratch.” The child somewhat deflated at his implication: Miranda didn’t let anything valuable go to waste. He had no choice but to play along enough to survive another day. Until he was strong enough to leave...
“M-Miranda doesn’t know? About your army and... and your plans to kill her?”
“...Doesn’t seem like she does. Or she thinks she’s untouchable. I’d like to keep it that way.” She curled her lips inwards, recalling the Duke’s words.
He’s the only one who wants to escape this mountain.
“...So what’s next, then?” His posture shifted to one of determined contemplation.
“...After tomorrow’s meeting, she’s going to walk me to her lab.” She gave him a shocked, yet skeptical look; after all that, Miranda was just ok with him waltzing into her sanctuary? He read her crinkled expression easily. “She’s not threatened by me, that’s for damn sure. Wouldn’t have gotten the job if she thought I was. Protecting her work from outsiders is her higher priority... But this means I might finally find her weakness. She has to have one...”
The child tensed as she remembered again how Miranda took his attack like it was nothing. No more than an annoyance to be flicked away. And by her response, it hadn’t been the first time he’d tried... Even for all his efforts, all his work in building his army... None of it would matter if she couldn’t even die in the first place. But if she found everything out and killed him before he had a chance to rebel... No one would be left to challenge her.
...Was challenging Miranda even worth it anymore?
“What else do you wanna know, kid?”
Her tapping fingers settled. She didn’t know whether to be concerned or comforted by how well he knew her tells... But she caved into a sad curiosity.
“...W-Would her lab...?” Her pause drew his attention. She glanced, then returned to staring at nothing. “...Would her lab have information on me and my... parents...?” Her peripherals caught him going completely still, like he’d stopped breathing.
“...Maybe,” he relented, “But do you really want...? I mean... Your experiments... You still get nightmares.”
“I just want the truth. I think we both know that my memories don’t line up.” More silence. She wrapped the shawl closer to herself. “...And I want to know what happened to mama.”
“Kid...” Heisenberg bobbed his head down, weighing some unheard options. “...She might not be around anymore.” They didn’t need a reminder of her father’s terrible fate. An ominous warning that a similar end could’ve befallen her mother.
“...I know.” When did her voice become so small? Yet she couldn’t stifle the faintest glimmer of hope. “But if she isn’t...”
The silence was deafening.
“Would you go with her?” he finally asked. She barely moved.
“...Is that up to you?”
The silence was maddening.
The girl couldn’t completely identify why it hurt to think about.
And she couldn’t parse what she felt upon hearing his answer:
“...No. I guess it isn’t.”
This was unfamiliar territory. Having no idea how to decipher all that they’ve become, all the emotions that came from that night... They found themselves in a strange limbo.
It was one thing to fear losing each other to Miranda’s cruelty.
It was another to consider parting ways.
And neither could give voice to the inner turmoil that caused them.
Miranda’s report had been efficient and emotionless. Her four children now had a name to their mother’s current thorn in her side: the BSAA. A task force designed to neutralize bioterrorism threats, the latest apparently being tied to her aforementioned associates, The Connections. By participating in their studies to attain her long-desired “vessel,” Miranda had put their little village on the map. All that, just for their lab rat to get lost and wreak havoc somewhere. The extent of which she had yet to investigate for herself. All in all, a sloppy error on her part…
But none would ever say so out loud. Not with her wrath so visible on Heisenberg’s bruised neck.
His siblings knew only one person here who would harm him in such a specific way. That neither spoke of the incident was confirmation enough. Even the way he’d entered the church gave away their discourse. His usual cocky swagger with his weapon slung over his shoulders had been replaced by a heavy drag that scratched the floor, despite his efforts. There was little he could do to hide his struggle when his Cadou was damaged.
Moreau gawked at the sight of his true wounds, his expression clearly wondering what earned their mother’s ire.
Alcina couldn’t help an upward twitch of her lips before reining in her sadism. She leered at Heisenberg with distinguished glee… and curiousity.
Donna stared. Even the chattery Angie didn’t comment.
His purpled skin and weakened state kept them all in line, for displeasing their mother would surely bring similar consequences.
Miranda made an example of him without having to say a word. And he could do nothing but sit like a trained dog. Their meeting went on without any disturbances.
Angie—with her shrill, nails-on-chalkboard voice—brightly reported on the nice volunteers planting their special flowers around the perimeter. Mostly seeds and saplings, but the full blooms would be placed at specific mountain paths while the rest grew. She and Donna will rejoin them shortly. Heisenberg spoke almost robotically with his update. Vasile and his team were gathering supplies to match his blueprints, preparing for construction once they left the church. Alcina assured Miranda that her daughters eagerly readied their dungeons to interrogate any potential BSAA agents, while she would make regular appearances in the village as Miranda’s voice. Moreau had no contribution to any immediate defenses. And with his precious experiment killed, he’d resigned himself to continue his work alone. That was, until…
“Moreau,” their mother called. Everyone turned their heads, especially her most neglected. “Accompany me and Heisenberg to my laboratory. You will help him defend it. After all…” Her cold pupils met his dark lenses, then glanced between his neck and left abdomen. “…He won’t be performing at his best.”
Heisenberg bristled. Not only from the subdued delight Alcina gleaned from his humiliation, but from the fact that he won’t be alone in her laboratory anymore. He won’t be able to take his time reading whatever files he wants. Not with one of her loyal children around.
He’d lost her favor and an advantage… All for…
He ground his jaw and nodded in a quiet, aggravated acceptance.
Moreau’s beady eyes glistened with hope and gratitude at Miranda, who glanced at each lieutenant.
“You all know your duties. I shall be gone for no more than a week’s time. Do not disappoint me.”
They all bowed their heads. With that done, she glided down the middle aisle, Alcina and Donna following after… Moreau would normally be right on Miranda’s heels. Instead, he’d hobbled up to him.
“Do you see now, brother?” Moreau gurgled, “Mother d-does love me…” His water-swollen lips stretched into a sick smile, rows of crooked, decaying teeth on full display. Heisenberg wouldn’t grace that with anything more than a disgusted sneer. Again, no reasoning with a lost cause. He growled, pulling his hammer just barely above the ground and making his exit.
On the surface, Miranda simply needed another guard to ensure full security. But his instincts threatened to throw him into a panic.
Fucking bitch knows she needs to keep an eye on me.
And who else to watch the laboratory with him than the one with the most to prove? Heisenberg’s mind feverishly began to think: how could he manipulate Moreau into leaving him alone, even for short bouts of time?
“Lord Heisenberg,” an old, polite voice interrupted. He halted outside the steps of the cave church to eye Vasile, who tipped his flat cap in greeting. “Shall we begin?” Heisenberg waved his hand dismissively.
“Yeah, yeah, I knocked out a hole in the floor for ya. Just follow the maps and watch your step.” Honestly, he couldn’t give a damn if any villagers fell to their deaths down there. But he knew Vasile—typical good guy that he was—would watch over his crew, who started moving their tools into the church.
“Could I bother you for one more thing, milord?” An impatient glance over his shoulder was all he gave to Vasile’s somber tone. “My wife, she’s… She’s lost sleep thinking about that girl that ran to the woods… Said you went after her. You didn’t happen to find her, did you…?”
The thought of the child tempered his mood. It served his stone cold demeanor while he delivered his lie.
“…She’s dead. Lycans got her…” Pity sank Vasile’s features. He removed his cap in respectful mourning.
“I’m… so sorry to hear that… The missus will be heartbroken. I’m sure you did all you could… What of her family?” Heisenberg slowly lifted his maul onto his shoulders with an unsteady heave, then began to walk off.
“Buried her with them.” No further elaboration was given. As he fell back in step towards Miranda, his thoughts wandered back to his factory.
For once in his life, he had someone other than his projects to return to. Someone who needed him… He breathed deeply.
He endured Miranda’s wrath to protect her. Fooling Moreau would be nothing by comparison. Surely, he could endure this.
At least… until they each found the answers they both sought. And whatever consequences those could bring.
The child dropped another nail into a matching pile with a mind-numbing plink. She watched it tumble down the top, then roll to a stop by her crossed legs. Like it aimed to undermine her efforts in the pettiest way. She stared emptily at it and its brethren.
While Heisenberg was away, she’d been given the vague task of sorting through a box of scrap metal. Nails, screws, pipes, rings, small grates, other thinga-ma-bobs… These somewhat organized piles took up a sizable portion of her room’s floor, yet it felt as if she hadn’t even made a dent in the bin’s contents. She squinted, like they’d speak up and provide her an explanation for their purpose if she scrutinized them long enough.
Heisenberg had a reason for everything. Even when he left in a hurry and gave her no clue as to what this was for, she suspected that these would all make their way to some murder machine… Or it was a boring punishment for disobeying him. Given his temper, she definitely could’ve been dealt a worse hand.
It would be an HONOR to serve one of the Lords—
Electromagnetic energy surged from her and effectively scattered the piles of metal. She shot up to her feet. Despite vocally rejecting her villager past, the identity’s conditioning wouldn’t release her so easily.
Shut up, shut up, shut UP. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it ever again.
In an attempt to distract herself, she took a walk.
Heisenberg’s new ground rules repeated themselves in her head once she left her room.
Don’t go anywhere unmarked. She eyed the yellow paint slathered across door knobs and floors. Really only allowed for her quarters, a distant bathroom, and the elevator.
You’re grounded to this floor. She idly turned an unpainted door knob. Locked. The entrance to the staircase had been shut off from her, as well as any other rooms he deemed unnecessary for her most basic needs.
And… Only buy what’s necessary. Her pockets jingled with just enough loaned lei to buy food. Being isolated to this floor meant no access to the kitchen. No opportunity to fumble with cooking… but it also meant no opportunity to leave. Without her gloves and boots to aid her limited magnetic control, she wouldn’t be able to scale anything.
She stopped at the button that would open the elevator doors.
…These measures weren’t needed. She was almost certain she didn’t ever want to leave the factory without protection… Without Heisenberg…
But being around him meant either hiding from Miranda forever… or waiting to see who killed who first. Miranda’s claw gripping Heisenberg by the throat was forever imprinted into the girl’s memory. How were they ever supposed to challenge someone like her? Her shoulders tensed as death weighed heavily on her mind.
Mama… Are you alive? she numbly wondered, And if you are… Would you protect me? Would you even want to leave?
Seeing the villagers’ devotion firsthand gave her enough reason to doubt. But she didn’t dare consider the alternative. She smothered it with an unstable hope, for one set of memories said her mother was a kind, kind woman. Yet another said she hurt her under the influence of alcohol. She clung to the more immaculate image, talking herself in circles again.
Like all other times, she couldn’t come to a decision until she knew more… which depended on what Heisenberg discovered from the lab. If he’d discover anything at all. So much depended on him… Defeatedly, she pressed the button… And the elevator’s resident smiled at her.
“Why hello there, Miss Lucia,” the Duke greeted warmly, “I’m quite glad to see you safe and sound.” She winced at his words, suppressing her darkest flashbacks.
“That’s not… my name…” Her mumbling got a curious expression from him. She stepped inside, a quiet anger simmering when faced with the seemingly omniscient being. He waited for her to complete her correction. Instead, she redirected. “…You knew who Heisenberg really was. You knew, and didn’t tell me… Why?” Her numbness didn’t startle him.
“I am but a merchant who wishes to keep a working relationship with your foreman. It was not my place to intervene.”
“This is more important than shopping, Duke! It would’ve been so easy for you to just…! You could’ve just told me that he’s a Lord, and what it meant to be a villager!” So that she didn’t have to go through all that pain. So that she didn’t have to see what her father became. The man only hummed.
“Would you have believed me if you hadn’t seen any of it for yourself? Would you have remembered from hearsay alone?” She hated that he sounded like he did her a favor. To her, he was just covering his ass. But her voice audibly shrank the next time she spoke, pleading for him to be straightforward.
“Did you know me? Did you… recognize me when we met?”
His smile dropped by the slightest margin.
“…I’m afraid not, my dear. My business is dedicated to paying customers… and there’s no business to be had with missing children.”
She let out an incredulous breath at the implication: that she was just one of many unfortunate villagers who disappeared without a trace. That it was all part of his job to buy, sell, and ignore the horrors that Miranda committed. How eerily detached he was, yet… sympathetic from how softly he looked down at her.
She didn’t want sympathy. Disdain bled into her features. How the gargantuan man could tolerate such circumstances was beyond her… Eventually, he brought his fingers together as if resetting himself.
“Now… How may I help you?” He’d apparently been granted an extra day or two at the factory, under the guise that Heisenberg needed more supplies for the village’s defenses. She wasn’t sure she’d appreciate his company.
“…Food,” she mumbled passive-aggressively, lifting her bag of lei up to him. He made no move to take it.
“Would you like to pocket that money for a rainy day?” The girl tilted her chin, suddenly insecure.
“…I-I… can’t go out in the rain.”
“It’s an expression. You may keep the lei for emergencies.” Her sheepishness turned into suspicion.
“You don’t give anything for free.”
“No, I don’t,” he casually agreed as he reached for something, “I’ll prepare you a most gracious meal. And in exchange…” She blinked at what he held.
The Village of Shadows.
She hadn’t finished it.
“…I thought you had me read it to learn about the Lords. And to go to the… the village.” Her tone became unsteady, blinking that night’s horrific images away. “Y-You got what you wanted… What else could you get from this?”
“Aside from the satisfaction of nurturing your reading?” When her mood didn’t lighten, he relented with a mild chuckle. “I’m simply offering an alternative, should you wish to save some lei. An addendum to our earlier agreement. Keep the coin, finish the book, and we may discuss more of the outside world.”
Her eyelids fluttered from that reminder. A chance to learn more so she’d be better prepared for leaving the mountain… Besides, Heisenberg wasn’t exactly generous with his money. She could use the change… She wordlessly returned the purse to her pocket, then carefully took the book. A sneer made its way across her mouth once she realized she probably played into the merchant’s hands again. He appeared delighted by her choice.
“I knew you were the type to finish what you started.”
“Fuck off.”
“Ohohoho!”
True to the Duke’s welcoming reputation, she found the very same decorative pillow seated in a corner of the elevator. She huffed while plopping onto it. At least this would be something other than organizing scrap…
With one last hesitant glance at the merchant, the child flipped to the image of the witch.
Moreau’s loving babbles wouldn’t cease as he excitedly vowed to do his best for mother. Miranda’s patience seemed endless since she indulged him with short answers.
Their voices hardly registered to Heisenberg. How could it, when he was so focused on memorizing his surroundings?
He shouldn’t have been surprised that the entrance required descending through Castle Dimitrescu. Given that the structure had been here long before the big bitch’s arrival, their mother would’ve utilized its tunnels for more than the cave church. If there were more entrances to her lab, this was the only one she was willing to show.
As they traversed the network that ran below the village, he tugged between past and present.
The harsh transition from opulent decor to musky earth—where he’d been dragged through after each failed escape attempt.
Glistening stone walls, devoid of life—except for Miranda’s torchlight, its flickering blurred beneath drugged vision and heartache.
And the shadowed, cocooned monstrosity clinging to the ceiling above them. Its true form and purpose known only to her, waiting to return—the Black God. Miranda’s god. The origin of their Cadou.
The origin of every goddamn tragedy in his existence.
And then, there they were.
Miranda’s laboratory.
Heisenberg consciously avoided looking at the single prison cell in the room. Always where she’d keep the subjects most unlucky to have her immediate attention. A sight that made his scars burn and his lungs seize…
And in a blink, his present self locked the past away. He had to, when faced with all this potential.
Myriads of books, diagrams, photographs, Cadou samples… Full reports, in-progress projects, discarded notes…
All within his grasp.
It was what kept his mouth shut during Miranda’s final instructions. And it was what got him to obediently bid his mother farewell with a quiet tilt of his hat.
“G-Goodbye, mother…!” Moreau blubbered, “Be safe, g-good luck—!” If she heard his words at all, she made no acknowledgement. Whatever Moreau had to say was drowned by the sound of crow calls flying away.
Heisenberg kept himself from outwardly reacting to Miranda’s departure. The immediate weight off his shoulders almost always left him breathless. He could allow himself to bask in that for a while longer… And let his idiot brother go on and on about how honored he was to be in her most holy sanctuary.
Heisenberg observed him during his prattle. The way he marveled at Miranda’s diagrams and Cadou samples, or how he itched to understand their mother’s genius, only to shy away and insist he could never… Heisenberg waited until he could manipulate him. After enough time had passed for them to settle into the space, he audibly hissed and held his bandaged abdomen. He made sure Moreau saw him take a seat while dropping his hammer. The freak felt confident enough to grin.
“You angered mother, didn’t you? What did you do?”
“None of your fucking business,” Heisenberg snarled back. He feigned another pained groan before throwing out some bait, muttering, “…How am I supposed to secure the tunnels now?” Like the dumb fish he was, he took it. Moreau perked up at the supposed doubt in his voice.
“Secure the tunnels?” Heisenberg remained quiet, waiting for him to put two and two together. He held the injured Cadou in his left side and glanced away, as if ashamed. The freak only ever put his brain to use if it was to gain Miranda’s love… which was exactly what this could be. Moreau beamed like he came up with the idea himself. “Aaahaha, you’re not at your best,” he repeated their mother’s words, “You can barely lift your hammer. You need metal to secure the tunnels… B-But I don’t.”
“The fuck you going on about?” Moreau hopped up and down with a distorted giggle.
“I’ll patrol the tunnels and I’ll secure them with my enzyme walls! I’ll p-prove it to you and her that I can be useful!” With as much gusto as one could have with heaving lungs and a malformed hunchback, he waddled out the exit, determined to outdo his brother. Heisenberg waited for the slaps of bare feet to disappear…
…Fucking idiot.
He made a beeline for the bookshelves.
Miranda was nothing if not meticulous. A madwoman with all the time in the world would be obsessively detailed should she need to reference past experiments… Heisenberg fervently opened the first unsuspecting book he could get his hands on. The journal entries were endless, the pages varying shades of yellowed age, book spines unbound and rebound… A few seconds of scanning its pages was all he needed to find a pattern. The subjects’ last names were listed in alphabetical order.
…Stela.
He had no surname to go off of.
Heisenberg sped up his efforts. He skimmed all the names for a Stela, replaced book after dusty book; filtering while looking over his shoulder for Moreau made his heart race. As small a community as this was, she had generations of families to experiment on. He tried focusing only on names that began with “S.”
Subject Name: Sabina Aldea
He moved on. The harsher part of him questioned why he looked for her files first, and not immediately for Miranda’s weakness. Even so, his fingers kept flipping pages.
Subject Name: Serghei Ardelean
Wasn’t that what he always wanted? A way to end the bitch once and for all, so she’d never threaten his life again? How much waiting it took to get to this lab… and his first priority was to some goddamn kid. The inner conflict nearly had him tearing at the paper’s edges. Next book.
Subject Name: Stefan Bagdasar
He grimaced. Stupid. This was stupid, his selfishness declared. This was always going to be a waste of time. Helping this kid wouldn’t ever actually help him escape Miranda’s clutches. What was the point? What could he possibly hope to gain by giving a damn about someone who wanted to leave if her birth mother was alive—
All thoughts and movement stopped.
He buried his cruelty with the appearance of one line.
Subject Name: Stela Balauru
A frantic look.
No Moreau. Not yet.
Flipping through, he saw that… Stela’s report had several entries. His brows drew together. What was the extent of her experimentation? Before he could read on, something loose slipped towards the end of the report. Leather clad fingers lifted it to his lenses…
A monochrome photo. Crinkled from being kept in pockets, no doubt. The dark stains that lined one end of the picture didn’t bode well.
It presented a family of three: a lean, short-haired young man with a shaved, sun-kissed face. He held a humble smile, sheepish, even. Like he was trying and failing to look more dignified than he was, and knew it. His calloused hand tenderly held his wife’s shoulder. A woman with dark locks drawn into a ponytail, tired but doing her best to appear as graceful as a Lady. Definitely more put together than her husband. But what drew his eye was the small child seated on her lap.
A girl with her mother’s ebony hair, unable to contain a wide, innocent smile just before the photo was taken.
Lucia.
Stela.
Heisenberg creased the aged photo with how tightly he held it, sure to have bent a corner with how quickly he tucked it into his coat pocket. He couldn’t afford to loiter.
Muscle memory had him calling a pocket knife to fly from his coat—he painfully sucked in air through his teeth, and the weapon faltered in the air before he grabbed it. His wounded Cadou would keep protesting, it seemed. He manually but carefully sliced through the pages he needed.
Everything on Stela was tucked away within his coat before he returned the book back to where he found it. Thankfully, the missing pages didn’t leave too noticeable of a dent. None would be the wiser.
He paced around the room for a few heartbeats, straining his ears for Moreau. Still nothing. Damn, maybe he didn’t have as much to worry about as he thought. He took a chance to turn his attention elsewhere. Now he could sate his vengeful side. Needed any edge he could get on Miranda and this goddamn family.
The glint of several decorated books caught his eye. Four heavy tomes with each house crest. That was as good a place to start as any in this limited time.
He flipped through Alcina’s book first. She’d likely be the most problematic obstacle with her healing factor. A bookmarked entry had the abbreviated observations of her Cadou experiments:
Subject Name: Alcina Dimitrescu
Cadou Affinity: Most favorable
Brain Functions: Normal
Regeneration rate is incredibly fast. The subject can heal any external wound within seconds, and grow her nails into claws in mere moments. Rapid regeneration also means an increased body size.
Oh god he fucking hated the idea of the kid growing as tall as that bitch, holy fucking shit. He almost gagged. Her regeneration rate didn’t quite match up to Alcina’s, and she didn’t seem any taller than when he’d first met her. That aside… It was odd that their Cadou shared that similarity in the first place. He continued.
Note: Due to a hereditary blood disease the subject must ingest human flesh and blood on a regular basis to maintain regeneration properties.
I suspect that if the subject’s regeneration is not properly balanced then she may mutate uncontrollably.
An unfit vessel for Eva.
He scoffed at the last sentence. Some part of him wished she’d been a fit vessel. Save him from being sought out by Miranda. How different his life could’ve been, had Alcina been what she wanted.
And how quaint. She had a name for the vessel. Leafing through the rest of her book showed diary entries that he frankly didn’t give a shit about right now.
He moved to Moreau’s book next. Not that he’d be too big a threat out of the water, but he still had to prepare for the worst. And if the kid wanted revenge on him… He began to read.
Subject Name: Salvatore Moreau
Cadou Affinity: Low
Brain Function: Surprisingly low
The Cadou has caused drastic changes to internal organs, transforming them into organs similar to fish-like gills and a swim bladder.
Another subject with irregular cell division causing him to transform into a giant fish. The subject is unable to control this transformation.
Too many defects. An unfit vessel for Eva.
There was that name again. Eva.
A quick flip to Donna’s. And briefly to his.
They all mentioned Eva.
All of them, unfit vessels for Eva.
Not a weapon. A host for someone. Which begged the question:
Who the hell was Eva?
“…The father… d-dies…?” Voice just above a whisper, her entire body stilled, save for her trembling hands. The Duke slowly ladled stew into a bowl.
“Yes, quite a tragic tale—” He didn’t get the chance to continue his thoughts. She threw the poor book mere centimeters away from him and into the wall, its spine thudding onto the dirty floor. Now he looked at her, his usually content expression replaced by a neutral mask.
Hers, on the other hand, was nothing short of barely contained rage.
“What… Why…?” Images of the varcolac flared in her mind once more, and she heaved past each one to glare at the merchant. “WHY did you want me to read this…?!” The Duke gently placed her food down on the table before him, all the while maintaining eye contact.
“It had pertinent information and morals, did it not?” Her pupils wildly searched him. He always had a motive, a puzzle for her to solve. Tears pricked at the corners as she so desperately struggled with this enigma of a man.
“I-It can’t be a coincidence…” she breathed, “It never is with you… You knew my papa got turned into a monster and died, didn’t you?”
“As much as I like to keep an air of mystery, my dear, I cannot say I did—”
“BULLSHIT!!” The electrical lights stuttered within the room, glowing buttons blinking from their panel. Thin wisps of lightning frayed from her body. She held no more caution in hiding her powers from the Duke. “You knew I was from the village! And you must know the truth about Miranda and you do NOTHING about it! What else are you HIDING?!”
Even with this display, the Duke made no indication of fear or distress. Simply… pity. As if he’d seen this before. He fell back to his mantra.
“…I am but a merchant. There is only so much I am capable of.”
“You can at least fucking talk to me…! If you ever cared, you’ll tell me honestly…” He waited patiently for her question while her vision blurred. “D-Did my papa… Did he die to protect me and mama before, when he was human…? Is that why you…?”
Disappointment. Whether at himself or with her, she couldn’t begin to guess.
“I do not know. I’m sorry, child.” Her hands balled into fists. Her chest felt as heated as her reignited anger.
“Then what was the point? What’s the fucking point of ANYTHING that you do?!” The electricity seemed to increase around them, brightening the room to near blinding. Once more, the man was unmoved. He chuckled nostalgically.
“…You are so very like him…”
And the lights dimmed to normalcy. Her rage curbed by total confusion.
The Duke poked at his chest twice in a silent answer.
Mirroring him without thinking… her fingers met her warm reactor through her shirt.
She reminded him of Heisenberg.
Her hand tensed, unwittingly tugging the fabric. Her breathing was measured, but heavy. Her heartbeat overtook her hearing. And her mind began to sink.
H-How long has he known Heisenberg…?
Was the Duke made by Miranda?
Is he immortal like Miranda?
“Child…” He was unheard.
Does he know Heisenberg was kidnapped?
Did he avoid helping him, too?
Does he care about us at all, or is this all some game to him?
“Child,” the Duke repeated. Her face felt wet.
What does he get out of any of this?
Why would he say I’m like him?
I shouldn’t be like Heisenberg. I should be like my—
“Miss Lucia!”
She blinked up at the Duke’s outstretched palm. Just as she registered a clean handkerchief between his fingers, she gasped painfully when tears soaked through her shirt to her sizzling reactor. The girl jerked away from the merchant’s offer, opting instead to wipe at it with her shawl. As the machinery stabilized…
The varcolac’s irises stared back at her.
…What was papa like? Other than… devoted to the Lords? Devoted to Miranda?
I wish I knew…
“Miss Lucia, are you alri—”
“I don’t want to see you again.”
Without another glance, she left the Duke to stare off after her, his handkerchief and stew abandoned.
She held her elbows while her feet dragged her back to her room. Not a sound was made when she stepped on and kicked at the metal parts scattered on her floor. She settled into her bed, hiding from the world beneath her blanket.
How could the Duke show her such a dreadful story so soon after her papa’s death? When his final monstrous image haunted her at every turn? She shimmied further into her pillow, until she felt something solid underneath. She removed it.
The tape recorder.
She’d left it here before sneaking off to the village, still wishing to keep it undamaged. With this in her hand, when those harrowing white pupils came to mind…
She thought of dark sunglasses instead.
She remembered his warmth in between throes of pain and biting cold. So clear compared to the distant flashbacks of a lost childhood. Her shoulders shook with a quiet sob.
An awful betrayal pierced her heart each time she compared the two. All while she futilely clung to the few memories of her father when he was human… To think that he’d died in the very same forest from the story.
She shut her eyes. She repeated the ending over and over, of the mother and daughter escaping in time. She held onto that flicker of hope. That small chance that perhaps, her mother’s survival was the hint that the Duke wished to share.
But if it isn’t…
No. No, she didn’t want to consider it.
She forced herself into an uneasy rest; as she did so, she unwittingly held the tape recorder closer to herself. For all her denials, she couldn’t repress one wish:
That Heisenberg wouldn’t share her father’s demise.
His boots were quick in their step while ascending to the castle’s interior once more. Excusing himself was simple enough when he had construction workers to attend to. Moreau had eagerly agreed to it when he’d returned; he wanted the labyrinth ready and any credit to protect the lab alone, if any enemies were to sneak in.
If Miranda wanted Moreau to watch over him, it turned out to be a dumbass move. Heisenberg left the lab knowing that these next few days of guard duty would remain easy. The freak lamented that creating his enzyme walls would take more time than expected… which meant more opportunities to get the information he wanted. No, Moreau wasn’t a challenge at all.
The constant challenge was to not look so distracted to the rest of the family. Nothing about him could be out of place. He had to be picture perfect. Business as usual.
With the plan back in place, he exuded a quiet determination, even as his maul weighed him down and slowed his steps. Damn Cadou… He groaned at how long he’d take to recover. Had to keep it together, just until he could get to the factory.
Heisenberg reached the foyer of the castle, the door just a short walk away—
Sharp steel ghosted over his neck.
His feet stopped just before his skin could get nicked.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk. That was cutting it close, uncle…” One giggle, then three followed, the sickle urging him to turn around. Bela Dimitrescu held her blade with practiced ease, a cruel grin splitting her youthful face. “Why don’t you be a good guest and put the hammer down? You look awfully tired.” Bela’s words oozed with patronizing mockery.
He clenched his jaw at her disrespect. But he could do nothing. Their sickles had been crafted specifically so he couldn’t use them against their wielders. With an annoyed scoff… he laid the maul down by its head, and dropped the handle with a resounding thud.
Bela guided him away from it, her sickle never veering too far from his throat. Cassandra and Daniela’s forms flew just outside his vision, like predators waiting to pounce.
And just beyond them, seated on a chaise lounge in front of the fireplace, was none other than the biggest bitch of a sister anyone could have the displeasure of knowing.
“Heisenberg,” the Lady spoke with velvet confidence. She placed a red-stained teacup down onto its matching plate.
Miranda never banked on Moreau to keep him in line.
It was Alcina.
It was always Alcina.
One of her golden orbs leered at him from beneath her brim.
“Let’s talk.”
Alcina’s poise remained stoic. Even the way she held her fine china contained a natural elegance. Her ruby lips turned up in a gracious smile, though the glint in her eye showed her intentions were anything but. Heisenberg could see it from behind his specs. This wasn’t going to be a civil conversation.
“Don’t be so tense, little brother.”
He made a point to sarcastically look between her and Bela’s blade pressed to his skin.
“…A little drastic for a chat, don’t ya think?”
“The girls are protective, what can I say?” Her grin stayed smug, knowing full well that one word from her would dismiss her daughters. Heisenberg scoffed, unimpressed.
“Yeah, bet Mother Miranda would be real pleased if you slit my throat the first day that she’s gone.”
“Who’s to say she wouldn’t be?” Alcina coyly reached over to tilt his jaw up, giving her a clearer view of his bruised neck. “Proud, unruly child that you are… It was only a matter of time before you fell out of her favor. Perhaps I’d be saving her the trouble...” He roughly jerked his head away from her touch. Oh, so that’s what this was about? A chance to gloat? Fucking priceless.
“Threaten me all you want. If she wanted me dead, I wouldn’t be standing here. I’m off-limits, bitch.” Her daughters hissed dangerously at his disrespect, until she calmed them with a raised hand. Every Lord and Lady knew they were barred from killing each other without Miranda’s approval. This display was toothless at best, and pathetic at worst. “Quit the theatrics. What do you want?”
Alcina pressed her tongue to her cheek, amused by the man who hid so much behind theatrics. She drew a thoughtful sip of her bloody tea before answering.
“I’m simply doing what mother asked: ensuring the safety of her village and that everything is in order… That includes the sanctity of her laboratory.” He crossed his arms, deflecting with a condescending smirk. Kept his coat tighter around himself.
“Aaawww, jealous that I get to guard her secrets instead of you? Envy’s unbecoming for a noblewoman.”
“On the contrary,” she responded too smoothly, “I’m delighted that you were assigned such a monumental task.” He bristled. Her smile spread further. “It allows us to see where your loyalty truly lies… or if you’re nothing but a snake in her garden.” Heisenberg immediately felt the hairs on his neck stand on end. The files in his coat became as heavy as anchors. He had to smother the panic under a stone cold mask.
No, he wasn’t just feeling panic… It was rage. Alcina wouldn’t have been this ballsy had Miranda never marked him in the first place.
His crueler thoughts turned on him. The ego that always demanded that he didn’t go soft. That he should never have been so foolish as to strike Miranda for a child. Alcina and her insects were only this bold because they thought he was weak!
He wouldn’t be in this situation, if not for that kid…!
“Girls. Search him.”
He needed to be strong.
Just as they reached for his coat… The hammer that’d been sitting idle flew towards the entrance, and smashed the wood to pieces.
Harsh gusts of icy wind flooded the foyer. So did the sounds of his nieces’ screams.
“AAAAAHHH!!”
“It burns, it BURNS!!”
“Mother, m-make it stop!!!”
The sickle fell with Bela. Heisenberg had a second to cough out blood, his injured Cadou writhing in protest—he heard the teacup shatter.
Alcina rose to her full height.
Her irises burned gold, aflame with murderous intent.
“How dare you!!” He backed away from her right hand extending its claws… Claws that’d slice through solid metal like butter, even if he were able to call the hammer back to him. With a grunt, he scrambled back just in time to evade her long swipes.
Sparks, splinters, and broken tiles were left in her wake. Her giant stature normally weighed down her movements, but motherly fury kept her attacking constantly. In avoiding being torn to shreds, he failed to notice he’d backed himself into a wall—
Her left hand slammed him against stone so harshly he must’ve left a dent. He shouted at the pain firing through his spine and his right shoulder, where her fingers remained clutching. The nails there grew unbearably slow, enough to tear into his coat and pierce flesh. He bellowed, the pain catching up to him all at once. Alcina snarled, raising her claws to his eye level, more than ready to stab through his skull and be done with him. Through the white hot torture, the humiliation, the blood soaking his teeth…
Heisenberg grinned and chuckled.
This made her eyes sharpen like daggers. She stayed her hand long enough for him to speak.
“Disobeying Miranda for your brats, huh?” He pushed his head forward. “I knew you had it in you.”
His venomous smirk, his supposed pride at her fury, the implication that her status could be anything less than a golden child… That she could put anyone else over the great Mother Miranda…
Her inhuman irises faded back into their darker shade. She let out a shaky breath, and her claws faltered. But her malicious gaze knew the bitter truth:
Heisenberg was worth more to Miranda alive than dead. More than Alcina’s own daughters. And if she made the wrong move now, there was no telling what retributions Miranda would demand…
“M-Mother…”
Alcina immediately looked over her shoulder. Her children’s shivering forms huddled by the dying remains of the fireplace.
No. They knew exactly what Miranda would demand.
And when Alcina returned her hardened glare to him, he was convinced… She wouldn’t give them up for anyone.
Growling, the giantess dragged him to the open door he’d destroyed. She threw him out as easily and disgustedly as garbage. He fell by his hammer with a harsh groan, holding his bloodied wounds. She flicked red off her fingers; his blood wasn’t worth tasting.
“Hurt my daughters again, and I’ll slice your legs off. Death would only keep you from learning your lesson.”
Heisenberg spat towards her doorstep while he rose, dragging his hammer back onto his shoulders in a show of pure spite—injury be damned.
“Challenge me again, and I’ll make sure your kids turn into statues next time.”
Then, it was her turn to let out a scathing chuckle. Indignation burned into a hatred unseen in all their disputing years.
“You stupid… selfish… man-thing. You haven’t the faintest clue what a parent can do when they have nothing left to lose.”
And she walked off, leaving the destroyed space to maids who’d heard the commotion. They rushed to cover the entrance with any blockade and fabric they could get their hands on. Just before they were out of view, he caught the barest glimpse of Alcina kneeling down, and embracing all three of her girls.
And he loathed that he could understand.
The child hadn’t rested so much as closed her eyes and hoped for the best. But sleep eluded her clouded mind. And so it was with quiet reluctance that she dragged herself to the scrap piles she’d unintentionally scattered earlier. But this time, she’d placed the tape recorder back in its rightful place, hanging from her neck…
Its light but solid weight brought her some peace. She found herself more focused while reorganizing the spare parts. Each piece became increasingly familiar. She was sure she’d seen these in a number of blueprints strewn about, as well as when he put them together for his army. She nearly finished her task…
Then she felt a familiar hum in her chest.
Heisenberg was back.
But it wasn’t just to locate her. She felt a subtle pull… The girl stood to her feet, and… followed it? She drew her brows together, confusion morphing into worry. Heisenberg only used her reactor when it was necessary. What was going on?
The pulls were scarce. Just quiet tugs here and there; she didn’t think to fight it until she neared the elevator. Her anger towards the Duke resurfaced, forcing her to stop in her tracks. If this was Heisenberg’s way of calling her, would he understand? She held her chest while walking towards the barred staircase, staring at the locked doorknob…
And heard it click. Her suspicions were correct. But why couldn’t he come see her himself? Her feet sped up to a trot, then entered a new floor when the hum signalled her. She turned from hallway to hallway, guided through a route thankfully free of any wandering Haulers or Soldats. All the way until she reached an unfamiliar room.
Like all other areas in the factory, it was cluttered with desks, blueprints, and discarded metal. But this space also contained countless screens. Bright, staticky feeds pictured various places: rooms, corridors, the Duke’s elevator—was that another elevator made of stone?—the outdoor perimeters of the factory, including the bridge…
Seated in front of them was a tense Heisenberg. Coat hanging on his chair, one half of his shirt shrugged off… and tending to a bleeding shoulder. As soon as the hum in her chest stopped, his breathing almost seemed to strain. He covered it up with the barest glance in acknowledgement.
“Hey…” he muttered, before hissing at a damp rag pressed into his wounds. She recognized the sharp smell of First Aid Med. “Didn’t mean to break the reactor rule again. Gotta keep an eye out here.”
His sunglasses were off. Easier for him to see, she noticed; he frowned between cameras of the factory’s borders. She’d be firing off questions right now… if not for the silent aggravation rolling off him in waves.
“I… It’s ok…” she settled. She hoped he knew she was sincere. She heard a pained groan as he started sewing a wound in front. It looked as if a lycan had torn into his shoulder. But lycans wouldn’t turn on him, would they? “What do I…?” He tapped the rag.
“Just make sure my back doesn’t fuckin’ bleed out.” She obeyed, and gingerly pressed it against four stabs across his shoulder blade. He momentarily bristled under her touch. “And look at this row of cameras,” he ordered with a sweeping point, “Tell me if you see anyone while I sew this shit up.”
They fell into a strange quiet with their attention split. The specific videos he chose showed calm landscapes, disturbed only by lycans scouting the area. Something bad must’ve happened while he was away… His dark mood kept her too timid to ask.
He only spoke again to get her to hold a small mirror up. When she spied a second cracked mirror on his desk, she understood. She angled it so he could see his back and begin the next round of sutures.
Although he’d asked her to look at the cameras, she couldn’t help peeking at his wounds; she’d blame it on having to multitask. They were a fresh, angry red. And a larger bruising handprint to match the one on his neck. The breathing through his nose was heavy, but unwavering against the needle’s pull. When he finished the second suture, she adjusted the rag so he could move on to the third… then the fourth… then the fifth…
The sight of his practiced yet detached mending—and so soon after Miranda’s own attack—made her heart sink.
Once again, she could only imagine how many scars he’d stitched himself. Learned from tending to a body his “mother” both created and destroyed. She noted that the mirror she held had a metal frame for him to control. Yet here she was, holding it for him instead. She wished she had more medical knowledge to help… With that, concern won out over fear.
“…What happened?” She heard him hiss through his teeth as he tightened the stitch.
“Fuckin’ supersized bitch is what happened,” he growled, “Got bold and we had a fight. Dunno if she’ll send anyone…” That was all she caught before she had a hard time piecing the rest together. He might’ve muttered something about not losing his edge, or other expletives towards his older sister.
“Why did she hurt you? Did she—” Panic shot through her. “Did she find out about your plans?”
His dry scoff followed. “She tried.”
“So then… You’re going back tomorrow?”
“I have to. There’s more I need to find out.”
“B-But will you be ok? Your powers—”
“Fuckin’ quit it!” She flinched away from him and his outburst, and he harshly snipped off the final suture. “I’ve survived this damn long, haven’t I? I’m not weak!” Her voice audibly shrank, lowering the rag and mirror in her hands.
“I didn’t… say that…”
Heisenberg slowed at her somber tone. A deep inhale, then an aggravated sigh. The way he sagged forward held some guilt. He pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I know, I shouldn’t have… Fuck. Been a shit day.” He made an awkward gesture towards her, trying to salvage the conversation. “And… you? Saw you stop before the elevator…” He left the topic open for her to continue or drop. In that moment, she spotted the camera on the Duke, who flipped through a journal seemingly without a care in the world. She frowned.
“…He was being a know-it-all prick.” A beat of silence, and then an amused snort escaped his nose. She blinked at how his mood lightened by the slightest margin.
“Guess we both had shit days.” His temper seemed to sober up. And thankfully, he appeared less defensive. It was a window of opportunity for her to repeat:
“…Why did she hurt you?” He considered this, for a time… Eventually, he reached for some papers face-down on his desk and held them up to her. The girl carefully traded the mirror and rag for them. She read the subject name…
Subject Name: Stela Balauru
She was stunned. It took several moments for her to speak.
“Y-You… Are these…?”
“Your files,” he completed, avoiding her gaze as he reached for another square paper. His hand dragged almost hesitantly, but he offered it to her nonetheless. “And…” She took it, slowly flipped it over…
Her breath left her.
A family photo. Her family photo.
The flashbacks returned clearer.
Her mother’s tired but kind eyes, twinkling at her brighter than the stars they adored.
Her parents' smiling faces as they swung her into the air, hands linked tightly.
And her father… so achingly, lovingly human in his embarrassed, yet sincere grin. The same sheepish smile he used when he’d pull her from her snow angels; apologetic from ending her fun, but promising more later.
Finally, an image to truly remember him by. To properly mourn his loss.
Her eyes grew wet, and when she looked up, she found Heisenberg staring at her.
“I…” She paused to blink back the tears. “…Thank you.”
And without his glasses to protect his eyes, she caught his subtle shock. A mildly surprised look that feathered into something… tender. Then he gruffly nodded before looking everywhere else. Busied himself with bandages and gauze.
“Wasn’t safe to read your files ‘til now, so… Have at it.” If she didn’t know any better, she’d say he was considerate for letting her see her own files first.
“…Can we read them together?” she asked, which slowed his actions. She didn’t know why she felt the need to over-explain with a flustered, “I’m s-still practicing. I just don’t want to read anything wrong.” A flimsy excuse to avoid explicitly asking him for comfort… If he noticed, he didn’t point it out. He flashed the smallest, briefest smile before answering simply.
“…Sure.” The girl gave him another grateful look.
But an aged speaker crackled to life.
“Ooooh Hei-sen-beeerrrg~”
They both whipped their heads to the videos, searching for the singing. The girl let out a small gasp, her fingers tightening at the edges of the papers.
Someone stood on the other side of the fence.
One that the lycans couldn’t threaten.
Black fabric gently waved with the mountain breeze. A figure as mysteriously beautiful and disturbing as a distant phantom. Her right elbow looped around a large basket’s handle, while a decrepit doll sat on her forearm… A doll that spoke.
“We know you’re in theeerrreee!”
“Lady Beneviento…!”
Heisenberg sharply shushed the girl, catching her attention. She saw his hand waiting above an intercom button. He put his opposite finger to his lips, to which she drew her mouth shut and nodded. He pressed, and his voice boomed outside the factory.
“Fuck do you want, doll?” At the sound of his reply, little Angie clapped her hands together and giggled.
“Ooohoohoohoo, SOMEONE’S in a mood! Did we call at a bad time~?” Her light tone implied she didn’t actually care if they were imposing.
“As a matter of fact, yeah. You did. So it better be important, or I’m gonna throw that tank at you.” Donna gave no reaction. Angie carried enough attitude for the both of them.
“Ugh, you’re no FUN. But fine, straight to the point!” She leaned forward in her mistress’s arm, cocking her head to the side. While incapable of facially emoting, her voice held all the mischief of a malicious smile.
“We want to meet her~”
The child’s posture tensed. He stiffened as well, but kept his voice steady.
“…You’re too late,” he said, “She’s dead.” They stared back at the camera feed to gauge their responses. But between the woman’s covered face and the doll’s porcelain features, it was difficult to tell if they were convinced. Until Angie’s childishness returned with flailing arms.
“Booooo! No lying, trash man!”
“You got a problem? Take it up with the lycans that ate her. Hate to ruin your precious play date. Now get the hell off my property.”
That lie worked fine enough on Vasile. Maybe they’re safe.
“Oh? The lycans that follow YOUR orders ATE her?”
Or maybe they’re fucked.
Heisenberg opened his mouth to come up with some cover—then, the ghostly woman reached under the basket’s lid. Silently, she held up two objects that made them freeze:
The child’s gloves.
They’d found them in the forest… where they were planting their damn flowers…!
“Pretty nice of them not to leave any blood on these! They’ve got more table manners than YOU, hahahahahahahaaaaa!” Angie looked directly into the camera. “Now I wonder, how many children in the village have metal in their gloves?”
He saw the kid’s eyes glued to the screen, wide and regretful. Her fingers trembled around her files; she could only shrivel under his unreadable stare. He tried staying even as he activated the intercom… But the pressure added a dangerous gravel to his words.
“…So, what? You gonna bring that garbage to Miranda? Tattle on me over someone you’ve never seen? It’s your word against mine.”
“We’ve heard your memories, Heisenberg,” Angie ominously reminded, “And Mother Miranda’s mad at yooouuu. I think she’d lend us her ear, hmmm~?” He drew his hand into a white-knuckled fist. His jaw visibly strained. In his pause, the doll’s voice suddenly brightened. “BUT! We’ve kept your little secret so far! We can keep it a while longer if you play nice~”
“Oh, don’t act so fucking charitable!” he shouted into the mic, “You’re just like the rest of them. You want to be Miranda’s new favorite! Or did Alcina send you to probe my brain? Huh? Is that it?!”
“Wh— HUH? We haven’t seen Alcina since the meeting! And if we WANTED to be mother’s favorite, we would’ve ratted you out earlier—”
“BULLSHIT!!” Despite his state, metal within the room and the outdoor scrap heaps began to respond to his ire. “You’re all just goddamn PESTS, looking for any weakness to use against me! All for mother’s attention. Why else would you be here?!”
“…Penance.”
All grew quiet.
Donna had spoken.
She held Angie closer, the only sign that she struggled past her anxieties to be heard.
“Penance for how I treated your visits. For my gardener, and…” She bowed her head. “…for Claudia.”
Claudia Beneviento.
A name he hadn’t heard in a long, long time. Donna didn’t dare utter it since her death, lest she break down on the spot. Heisenberg had only ever glanced at the girl’s gravestone on the way to the estate. He’d been numb to her mourning. He’d never received comfort in his hours of need, and so had none to give her.
Yet now was the time that his most distant sibling chose to show an ounce of humanity. All to meet the child he desperately kept away from his family’s clutches.
Miranda was distracted. Moreau was easy to trick. And Alcina could be threatened. But Donna? She’d always been an enigma. At first, he thought that that was what made her dangerous. Now…
She just seemed broken and lost, searching to make something—anything right in this awful existence.
Heisenberg turned to the child behind him. Her trembling had stopped; even though she carried an overall unease… he recognized that goddamn pity of hers. That stupid, longing look she gave when she empathized so quickly. Like she wanted to hear her story, if not for her guarded, fearful posture. After all, they were dealing with a Lady of Miranda’s village.
“…What do you think?” he asked her, “Let her in?” The child’s pity dissipated under a cynical acceptance.
“We don’t… have a choice…” Heisenberg grunted in a defeated agreement. Whatever they thought of Donna, the alternative was worse. Neither wanted Miranda’s attention.
He silently pressed the switch that opened the fence’s gates.
“Took you long enough!” yelled Angie.
Heisenberg led Donna and her doll through the factory as comfortably as anyone would in a hostage situation… Angie hummed like they hadn’t just blackmailed their way in here.
“What a gracious host,” she goaded, “Your home’s just barely cleaner than an outhouse, haha! At least you did away with that ratty old coat. About time!” His eyes narrowed behind his sunglasses. All he did was switch out into another somewhat clean buttoned shirt, and left his trademark coat for mending later. He already didn’t like them snooping around. Didn’t need them asking about the blood.
“This doesn’t make us chums,” he growled low, ignoring her teasing, “I don’t buy your whole ‘penance’ angle.”
“Think what you want. A deal’s a deal.”
“Oh, here’s what I think.” He wheeled on them, shoving Donna by her collarbone until she hit the nearest brick wall. He glared through the lacy window through which she viewed the world. “I think you’re just a nosy psycho looking for a new way to fuck with my head. Even if it means using someone else.”
“Now now, Heisenberg,” Angie began, “Listen—”
“No. You listen. I know mind games are your schtick, and you’ve broken any human that enters your house. So if ‘penance’ is really what you’re after… You. Won’t. Hurt her.” He tightened his grip and pressed, earning the slightest wheeze from past her veil. “Got it?”
Donna made no move, like she was scrutinizing him as much as he did her. He half-expected her to disappear from his palm. Use some trick up her sleeve.
Instead, she gave one slow nod.
He released her, unused to her responding normally, for once. He turned his lenses to the doll, knowing that it always had something to say. Angie rolled her glass eyes and waved her decrepit hands.
“No, Heisenberg, we won’t ‘hurt her.’” She’d deepened her voice to mock him. He snarled at her dismissiveness, as if his distrust was unearned. “What? We’re just curious~”
“Tch. Bet that curiosity’s what killed your test subjects.”
“Maaayyy-be!”
“That’s not helping.”
“I already said we won’t hurt her! Just take us to her already! The anticipation is killing me!”
“If only.”
As he walked off, he heard some taunting blegh sound from Angie. God, they were giving him such a headache. For all her childish persona, he knew for a fact they were still dangerous. Heisenberg scorned himself for not preparing for this scenario. Donna’s reclusive nature kept her strictly to her territory and her occasional strolls through the village. She never visited him herself.
His crueler side would, again, chalk this up to everyone seeing his injured state. That could be the only explanation for any of his siblings to challenge him. Personal experience warned him that she could use her mirages on the kid, despite his threats. Miranda groomed her to use people’s memories and fears against them, didn’t she? Yet, as they approached the door to the kitchen—for all the red flags and forced hands—a question remained:
“Why now?” He heard the click of Angie’s jointed head turning to him. “…You once told me none of this mattered. So why check in now?”
“Because mother’s away, dummy!” Heisenberg glared back for a real answer. The doll crossed her arms. “Maybe we’ll tell you later… So stop stalling before we change our minds!” He shook his head, disappointed. Unable to do anything else, he turned the knob, and opened the door…
The girl sat tensely at the table. Her hands held her elbows, which she leaned on top of her files laying flat on the surface. Her gaze lingered on the drying snowdrop in the center… then blinked to their presence. She slowly sat straighter upon seeing Lady Beneviento in the flesh.
“Hello there, little giiirrrl. So nice to finally meet you~” Angie’s unnerving stare and unfiltered voice sent goosebumps through her skin. Heisenberg couldn’t predict whatever ideas the doll had. While walking the child over here, he’d suggested she should try to go safe. Play up the obedient villager act—
“Oh, your doll’s uglier in person,” she instantly blurted.
Angie’s jaw dropped.
Donna’s head tilted.
Heisenberg dragged his hand down his face.
He truly, truly had no idea how this would go.
“Why’d you make her so RUDE?!”
“She’s not wrong.”
“BOTH of you! RUDE!! UGH!!!” The child held her ears shut and still heard the doll’s screeching through her hands. If she’d known that thing could scream so loudly, maybe she would’ve pretended to be a brainwashed villager after all. She just frowned through the ranting.
“I’ll have you know I was crafted by Donna’s father, who was the BEST dollmaker around before he died! That makes me SPECIAL!!” That history made her falter. With lost fatherhood hitting too close to home, she couldn’t shrug off the onsetting guilt. Maybe she shouldn’t have called her ugly… But she forced herself to remain stubborn, if only to show her distrust. Seeing this, Angie groaned with disgust. “I shouldn’t be surprised. You’re living with this grease monkey, after all.”
“Watch it,” Heisenberg growled.
“What’s a grease monkey…?” the kid mumbled.
“Do you have a name, you little brat?” This got her to refocus. Not only from hearing someone else call her a brat—which felt more odd than insulting—but the question of her identity still tore her apart. A turmoil that she chose to hide under an impudent, brooding mask. The silence dragged to near uncomfortable until…
“Sparky,” Heisenberg answered for her, completely deadpan. Everyone slowly turned to him.
“…I’d like to think that you’re lying…” Angie started.
“But?”
“But you’re also a stupid oaf.” He flipped her off. What a strange thing to witness. A grown man bickering with a living doll. The girl might’ve laughed at such a ludicrous situation… if it weren’t for their underlying threat of outing her to Miranda. Reminded of the danger, she let Heisenberg do all the talking.
“So. You’ve met the kid. Now what?”
Angie hummed while gradually making eye contact with her. It creeped her the hell out.
“She didn’t kneel to worship us at all. How peculiar~” Lady Beneviento silently glided to the furthest seat from her, gesturing for her brother to join them at the table. Angie kept her unnerving stare on the child. “Start the story from the beginning, Heisenberg. We wanna hear eeeeeverything.”
“…I need a smoke.”
Heisenberg told them enough to keep them invested, but nothing revealing his ultimate plans. Donna knew about his resurrection methods. She didn’t need to know about the revolution brewing in his basement.
He regaled Miranda’s orders to burn the bodies from her lab. He reasoned that he experimented on her leftovers, “just to see what would happen;” they bought it, fully aware of his callous, malicious imagination. He told them about her Cadou, how it needs electricity to live, and the reactor that kept it that way—Angie excitedly asked to see it, only to immediately gag when the child granted her wish. They obviously didn’t have an appreciation for expert mechanical craftsmanship.
He continued on about teaching her how to control her powers and handle her nightmares. He didn’t miss the pointed side-eyes when he glossed over his crueler moments. Oh, he knew the kid wanted to interject multiple times… But she kept quiet. Better late than never to play it safe, he supposed.
When asked about the girl’s life before, he sorely wished he could toss them out right then and there. Foggy memories would surely attract Angie’s sick playfulness… But she would never believe the girl was an outsider, otherwise they would’ve met at the cave church. All outsiders were to be interrogated before being sent off for an experiment, per Miranda’s eternal decree. And so it was with much difficulty that he admitted to her amnesia, as well as the memories that didn’t seem to fit. Whether it was from her experiments or her resurrection, he couldn’t say for certain.
He didn’t like the way the doll leered at that information.
Heisenberg finished off with her sneaking to the village to search for her own answers… And when she found them, she threw her belongings out in the forest while running away, hence Donna’s discovery. Fighting the varcolac, discovering its identity, striking Miranda to hide her… Now they knew the truth behind his current fall from grace.
“Hooow touchiiing~” Angie sighed by the end. She stood onto the tabletop and dove halfway into Donna’s basket, leisurely kicking her feet. “Since you’ve both made up, maybe you’ll want these back!” Donna carefully removed the child’s discarded boots and placed them onto the floor, then reached over to hand Heisenberg a neatly folded scarf. He took one look at it before tossing it over his shoulder to some corner of the room; his sister stared.
Meanwhile, Angie fished out the gloves with a triumphant, “Aha!” then skipped across the table to eagerly offer them to the child. She took them back with a stiff nod… but the doll wasn’t leaving. After some awkward silence and expectant eye darts, she slipped her hands through them. She flexed and relaxed her fingers with an expression Heisenberg couldn’t decipher. Blissfully unaware, Angie clapped her little hands upon seeing that perfect fit. Heisenberg narrowed his eyes.
“Why do I get the feeling you’re not done with us yet?”
“Look at you, you’re getting the hang of this whole blackmail scheme, haha!” She innocently put her hands behind her back, swaying left and right. “I’m still curious for curiosity’s sake! We don’t spend any time together, you know?”
“I wonder why.”
“Moreau’s so sad and ugly, he’ll tell us anything if he can have some company,” Angie began, waving away his sarcasm, “Alcina loves talking about herself over a glass of wine. And then there’s lonely Heisenberg, always holed up in this crummy factory…” She stepped up to him, as unwavering as David facing Goliath. “…I wanna know what makes the tin man tick. So, first question…”
Heisenberg loomed over the doll, a dangerous tension building. Penance or not, he assumed they’d look for anything else to use against him. He built up his guard, prepared to deflect any questions that could unravel his rebellion—
“What the heck would you do if her reactor got wet?!”
…Both he and the kid sat there, dumbfounded.
“Uh… What?”
“Geez, she’s probably never taken a full bath, the poor girl!” Not expecting this turn of events, Heisenberg answered matter-of-factly.
“…Turn the reactor off and dry it up?” The kid and the doll took turns suddenly harping at him.
“What the HELL?!”
“Wouldn’t that kill her all over again?!”
“It’s not as bad as it sounds!”
“That sounds pretty damn bad, Heisenberg!!”
“You’ve had that kind of power over her this entire time?!”
“It’s just a last resort— And I HAVEN’T done it yet— Get off my ass, all of you!!” Angie and the girl exchanged varying degrees of indignant huffs, while Donna—who hadn’t participated—simply tilted her head again. After everyone cooled off, the doll continued.
“Why keep the child?”
“…Why do you care?”
“Oh, because I like this. The most dangerous man in the village, secretly a caretaker? It’s just too… precious.” A dark undertone laced itself into that word. She slowly ticked her head to the side, ever the haunted puppet. “What’s your goal here? What does the great Lord Heisenberg get out of playing house?”
He exhaled heavily through his nose, crushing his half-finished cigar directly into the table while glaring her down. That horrid title he could never be rid of… So efficient was it in riling him up that he was left totally unprepared for what he heard next:
“Papa…”
His heart stopped.
Before he could fully turn to the girl—he was caught in her sudden embrace, her arms wrapped tightly around him and pressing her face onto his left shoulder.
“Papa! I thought y-you were dead,” she cried.
Heisenberg couldn’t move. She held him like he’d disappear at any moment. Like everything up until now had been a terrible dream that finally broke. She was desperate. Needing. She shakily sighed with a deep, overwhelming relief, and…
And a fondness that wasn’t meant for him.
“Is this what you want?” asked Angie.
Heisenberg was overtaken by disgust over this manipulation. His breathing sped up, and he forced himself to begin pulling the child away from him.
“Let her go,” he snarled. Her arms were firmly locked around him, their words unheard by her. It further stoked his rage. “You said you wouldn’t—!”
“—Hurt her? She’s not in pain! She looks reeeaaally happy to me, hahaha! It’s so sweet~ In fact— Oh?”
Just as Angie paused, the girl’s own breathing hitched. She suddenly drew back, as if Heisenberg himself had burned her. All were stunned by this development. Her shocked eyes flitted between him and everywhere else in the room, suspicion trying to cut through the haze in her mind.
“Wait, w-why do you… What…?” She shook her head and rapidly blinked; she squinted at them all, posture defensive, “What’s going on…?”
“Interesting~” Angie sang. With a wave of her decrepit fingers, she dispelled the vision. The child wiped her eyes, her mind cleared… And when she saw Heisenberg in place of who she wished to see, her confusion hardened to steel. She wheeled on their visitors.
“What did you do to me?!”
“Oh! Heisenberg didn’t tell you? We bring memories to reality~” The revelation sent chills through her, despite her ill temper. “But our playmates normally don’t know something’s wrong until it’s far too late, heehee! So tell me, what gave it away?” The child growled at having been used. But the question made her shift her stance, a shyness hidden beneath the anger in her glances.
“…My papa… didn’t smoke…”
Angie’s jaw dropped at the discovery, “How unexpected! I guess even our powers can’t hide your stench, hahahahahahahaaa!”
Ever the more volatile of the two, Heisenberg bolted upwards, knocking his chair down and leveling the veiled woman with fury.
“This is crossing a line, Donna!” He stormed over to grab her shoulder—the woman’s form appeared to warp into nothing. He ground his teeth; of course the belongings she returned had pollen on them! “God DAMN it!” he roared, turning his ire to Angie, “I should’ve known better than to—!!”
“Now, now,” Angie reprimanded, floating out of his reach, “No need to get violent. Why don’t you calm down?”
“I’ll calm down when you quit your fucked up games!!”
“You can’t tell us about a girl with missing memories and expect us to resist~”
“I expected you to do right by Claudia.”
The statement halted Angie’s taunting. It apparently struck a nerve, for it took some time to form a retort.
“…And is keeping the child here doing right by her?”
“You and I both know that it is. As long as Miranda doesn’t find her.”
And know it, they did. The Beneviento family, almost all wiped out by either tragedy or Miranda herself. Those given the “gift” were met with painful ends, and the one who survived… twisted to her bidding. Claudia’s name reminded them that turning the child over to Miranda would either lead to death, or a fate worse than that. Angie leaned to look at her, who kept close behind Heisenberg.
“And what about you, Sparky?” she asked with some malice, her playful mood effectively soured, “You had your chance to run off when Miranda flew away. Even Heisenberg must’ve been injured enough for you to escape. Why stay?”
Even without looking behind him, he could sense her anxiety growing the longer these two lingered. Fear of their consequences made her answer.
“He… saved my life. He keeps me safe.”
A part of him wished he could’ve savored that validation. The doll was quick to make the moment pass.
“For how long? He’ll always be under Miranda’s watch…” The girl went quiet. “Do you feel obligated to stay with him? Do you really have no one else?” A glance in his peripherals showed her eyeing the files on the table. She was taking too long to answer again. Angie was clearly getting impatient…
…Which was why the tape recorder hanging from her neck suddenly spoke on its own.
“Oh, Stela…” -BZRRRT- “My little starlight.”
It could only have been her mother.
Heisenberg turned and saw bewilderment written plainly on her face.
“How…?” she asked, taken aback from hearing her voice so clearly. A mix of fear, wonder… and thinking. An awful lot of thinking that he dreaded; he knew what Angie would suggest next.
“Would you like to remember more~?”
“Fuck no,” Heisenberg interrupted, “And don’t even think of pulling that ‘telling Miranda’ bullshit!”
Angie huffed from his eye level, “Well, how else am I supposed to get what I want?” If she could physically pout, she probably would’ve.
“I don’t trust you, Donna.” He practically growled her name through his teeth to the room, wherever she was hiding. The fact that she wouldn’t show herself drove his paranoia up the goddamn wall. But his thoughts were cut short when he felt a tug on his shirt sleeve, where it was rolled up beneath his elbow.
He looked down, his lenses meeting the child’s eyes.
Hers, pleading. His, disbelieving.
“You can’t be serious…”
“But what if it helps…?”
“You don’t know what she’s really capable of,” he warned slowly, “You won’t know what’s real.”
Her gaze became insecure, and she lowered her voice so only he could hear, “…I already don’t know what’s real.” Her words shook as she remembered her worst flashbacks. He, too, took a moment to recall her mismatched memories, her fearful confusion over her identity, and lack of closure for the unknown horrors Miranda had inflicted upon her. But he also remembered a piece of Angie’s report:
Their powers enhance what’s already there. The child hoped they could draw out her true memories. Still… There were too many variables. Too many unknowns. And they couldn’t go through with this if Donna couldn’t rein in her curiosity. He addressed the doll.
“You want penance? Then show yourself so we can set some ground rules.” When Angie gave a skeptical side-eye, he added, “I won’t maim you where you stand, at least.” As annoying and drawn out as summoning an actual ghost, Donna took her time reappearing into their vision. She stood behind the floating Angie, as if she could be a barrier between her and her irate brother. He began his list of demands, lifting a finger with each point:
“One, you don’t get to go through my head. I want to be aware of everything you do. Two, don’t take her visions too far. She’s been through enough. And three… Everything you’ve learned today stays here. None of this gets to Miranda or our siblings. Swear it.”
“Fine, fine,” Angie boredly drawled out, but he ignored the toy. He took a few steps past her to look directly at Donna, who inched away from his intense stare. He needed to hear from her.
“Swear it on Claudia’s grave.”
More silence. But the way she raised her head to him showed that his words held some impact. Truth be told, he hated that he didn’t have a concrete way of threatening her. His hands twitched without the weight of his deadly maul, his instincts feeling too vulnerable with his injured Cadou. All he could do was use her own values against her; if she gave a damn about Claudia, she’ll give a damn about taking this seriously. After a few heavy seconds…
“…I swear on Claudia’s grave…” she whispered slowly, solemnly, “…no harm will come to you… or the child. Mother Miranda and the others will never learn anything from me.”
“…”
He’d caught the barest wavering in her voice. Her intertwined fingers subtly but firmly pressed into her skin… She was trying to keep herself together, the memory of Claudia weighing so heavily even after all this time… He wanted to believe she was being genuine. With no other leverage… he could only take her at her word.
She would never fully understand the complicated history between Heisenberg and any of his siblings. Even he didn’t seem entirely sure of where he stood with Lady Beneviento, now more than ever. This appeared to be new territory for him. But as they seated themselves back in their original positions at the dining table, she mentally repeated the words she truly meant:
Heisenberg kept her safe. He’d keep her safe from Lady Beneviento, too.
His presence quelled some of her reluctance with this insane request. She told herself that giving into the Lady’s powers could help her, and get her to leave faster… Those justifications didn’t make the anticipation any less frightening. But she did her best to pay attention to the doll’s instructions.
Heisenberg was to remain close to her. In fact, he was encouraged to smoke when he felt like it. If the visions became too much, that smell could keep her grounded. She couldn’t ever look him in the eye when this was explained. How embarrassing, that this gross habit of his brought her comfort.
After some debate, they’d even agreed to let Lady Beneviento read her files alongside Heisenberg. All to paint a clearer picture, and to hopefully, finally piece together the puzzle.
She wanted to face her fears. She had to put all this to rest.
“Now, we need an image for you to latch onto,” said the doll. It was then that Lady Beneviento reached an open palm to the child.
“Give up your memories,” she whispered.
The girl swallowed. Careful, but determined, she handed the Lady her family photo. Oh, how she hoped she wouldn’t regret this…
Lady Beneviento held it as delicately as a freshly plucked flower… Then, she shifted her veil to reveal one dark eye, hooded beneath thick, graceful lashes. She scanned the picture with a somber respect, her soft lips resting in a neutral line. The girl was almost entranced by her quiet, mysterious beauty. But she, too, appeared to have some scars of her own. Peeking just barely under the veil were thin wisps of raised flesh; they belied shadowy secrets and haunted grief… A quick glimpse that was cut short with another smooth sweep of fabric. Just like that, her veil shielded her from the world once more.
They were ready to begin.
“Take a deep breath,” Angie instructed, “Think of your family before aaaaall of this. Think of life as Stela.”
The name swept through her like an early morning fog. She focused on her breathing, trying not to lose herself in the strange sensation. Her lungs almost seemed to relax for her. With the haze settling in, so did the fear of the unknown.
Under the table, she mindlessly reached for Heisenberg’s arm. Instead, she accidentally hit his gloved fingers. Shyly, she began to draw back… until he took her hand in his, pressing his thumb over her knuckles.
It was a subtle gesture. Above the table, his gruff exterior and hardened glares towards the doll didn’t change one bit. His free hand busily laid out her files in chronological order. All while keeping up the image of a pissed off sibling… his touch was reassuring.
She lingered on that feeling of safety as she let her mind go further back.
Back to Stela Balauru.
The girl was distant, thoughts elsewhere until now. She blinked, oddly unable to recall what had been happening before this moment.
“Stela, pay attention!” Before she could react, cold water suddenly splashed her face and her torso. She yelped, wiping her face and… and her chest. It felt bare. She patted it again… Nothing amiss. Why was she so worried?
She heard someone clear her throat, and finally saw her mother’s disconcerted face.
“These aren’t going to wash themselves,” she reprimanded, trying to keep a stern expression despite the mirth dancing in her eyes.
“Mama…” Stela whispered to herself, quietly feeling smaller and younger… Then, she mischievously smiled before returning the favor. She reached into the wooden basin and splashed her mother right back! The woman gasped in false offense.
They shared a short bout, exchanging water and laughter until they chased each other around the great outdoors. Eventually, Stela’s movements were held back by a hug from behind, devolving into giggles from an onslaught of pecks to the cheek. But the voice of reason had to return.
“Alright, little starlight, let’s hurry with these before you catch a cold,” her mother instructed. They returned to their wooden seats, where she tapped on a bottle with a handwritten label. Stela couldn’t pronounce it correctly for the life of her, but her mother still wanted to teach her.
She poured it onto the bloodstains that littered her father’s shirt.
…He was attacked…?
Stela shook her head. No… No, he’d cut his hand while out in the fields. That’s right. She had to be more diligent, which spurred her to scrub the red against the washboard.
Once they’d wrung out the clothes and hung them to dry, her mother shooed her back inside. They lived in a decrepit, old building, but it was enough to keep the harsher weather at bay. There, her father poured a pot of heated water from the fireplace and into the nearly full bathtub. A time-consuming task he chose to take on himself, even with his bandaged hand. At least he wore oven mitts.
“Petre!” her mother called out, “You’re not supposed to strain your—” He silenced her with a quick kiss.
“I’m fine, darling, I’m not made of glass,” he chuckled. And when he looked at Stela… She saw the warm tones of his irises. His matted hair colored like fresh soil on a bright summer day. He smiled as he pinched her cheek. “Besides, this one needs a bath. A reward for helping mama with chores, hm?”
Stela’s eyes twinkled with excitement. Warm baths were a luxury that they insisted she enjoy first—she didn’t need to be told twice.
All at once, she swept through the sensations and motions of life at home.
Sinking into soothing water after a long day. Stela could’ve easily fallen asleep inside.
Kissing her mother farewell as she walked into the sunset. Off to whatever work it was she said she wouldn’t understand yet. Which was fine, as long as she returned.
Nuzzling up to her father for a good night’s rest, his body heat making up for their meager blankets. The weather seemed frigid no matter the season, but hugging him made it bearable.
Bit by bit, the nostalgia returned. Memories that brought her warmth, safety, and love. Relief that his scar healed well enough for him to plow the fields again. Joy during their snowy adventures. Peace while stargazing at night.
Not all of it was rosy.
There were the tougher seasons that threatened their food storage. The snarls of hungry beasts lurking in the dark, gunfire from the night’s watch… And the scared, hushed whispers between her parents when they thought she was asleep. Those happened sometimes after her mother returned home from her work. Once, she’d caught her mother despondently holding her head in her hands, as if… regretful. Meanwhile, her father turned away in utter disbelief… Why were they fighting…?
And then the prayers. The Masses, the offerings, the livestock bred for sacrifice… She never questioned the goat heads that hung from roofs and branches. This was just life in the village.
To give thanks to their great prophet, and the four Lords.
As Stela grew older, she understood that it was a villager’s duty to give everything in the name of the Black God. Their service, their devotion…
Yet her mother fell ill anyway.
A faint bitterness sought to corrode her faith. Stela sat beside the bed with a sad grip on her mother’s hand. Tears came and went as they pleased. The woman laid unconscious, weak breaths barely making it past chapped lips. The child stewed in her chaotic quiet, upset that life could be so unfair as to hurt her mother so. Did their god look poorly upon their family…? They didn’t deserve this…
Suddenly, her father burst through their door.
“Stela!” he heaved with relief, “…She’s here!”
Stela gasped and quickly joined him by the entrance, where he bowed and made room.
The iconic golden halo and mask glowed under the late summer’s sun. Her decorative stoles swayed gracefully as she entered, the fabric unmarred by nature.
The Black God heard their prayers and sent its prophet.
All doubt left Stela, replaced only by profound gratitude.
They kneeled before her.
“Mother Miranda…” Stela whispered reverently with a lowered head.
“We are honored to welcome you into our humble home,” her father greeted, “I-I wish it were under… better circumstances.” He worriedly glanced over to his ailing wife. Their holy Mother smiled.
“It is quite alright, Petre,” she politely replied, “What matters is our dear Relia’s health…” Her shoes tapped evenly as she approached the bedside. Stela’s father rose, wringing his hands together.
“I don’t understand what caused it… No one else around her has gotten this kind of sickness.”
“A respiratory illness,” she clarified, “A side effect from performing her duties. Truly, her devotion must be rewarded.” Stela stood beside her father, hope blooming in her heart. Ah, of course Mother Miranda knew the cause of it. She knew all things. And she always looked after her most loyal followers. Everything would be alright.
Mother Miranda lightly touched her mother’s forehead with one finger, dragging it down ever so slightly… And within seconds, her mother drew steadier, stronger breaths. A few more, and color returned to her once deathly pale skin. Stela and her father let out relieved sighs…
She quickly withdrew her hand.
But her mother didn’t wake.
“She is stable, but will need to rest for… quite some time,” Mother Miranda announced. Her father shifted with unease.
“H-How long will it take for her to recover?”
“It is difficult to say.” Stela bristled, fearful of how long she could remain unconscious. That, and… their prophet… Did she sound detached? No, that couldn’t be right. Mother Miranda turned to fully address her father. “Relia will live, but it is unfortunate she cannot return to her duties right away. She was a valuable assistant.”
“Thank you, you’re—”
“I require an offering in return.”
He paused, completely thrown for a loop before shaking his head and reaffirming his faith. “Of course, Mother Miranda. What do you need?”
…She slowly looked down, until she made eye contact with the child.
“How old is little Stela?”
“She’s… ten years old. Eleven this winter.”
Stela wasn’t sure why, but… something about the way she looked at her—
“Give me the girl.”
Her heart dropped to her stomach. Countless emotions flew through her at once; a part of her felt ecstatic at being chosen by their great prophet for anything, but… Her father voiced her anxiety.
“What… What do you mean?”
“Give me the girl,” Miranda repeated more sternly this time, “A fair exchange for your spouse’s life.” He opened, then closed his mouth several times, unsure what to make of their prophet’s order. Several questions were written plainly on his face… all of which were silenced by Miranda’s unwavering stare. Eventually, Stela held his hand.
“I’ll go,” she decided, bowing her head to Miranda, “It would be an honor to serve you.” Stela looked back to him, aglow with the wish to repay her parents for all that they’ve done for her. To repay Miranda for saving her mother, and to show her father that she was ready to step up to what was expected of her as a villager.
His uncertainty eventually faded, replaced by the smallest smile.
She knew this was what he’d always dreamed for her. He’d always said it’d be an honor to serve the Lords. The only greater honor was serving Mother Miranda herself. Stela could finally contribute to her greatness.
When he faced their priestess… He nodded.
“Of course,” he conceded, “We give glory… Mother Miranda.”
She finally tilted her head upwards, pleased by his submission.
“Good.” Without sparing her another glance, she walked to the door. “Come along, Stela. We leave now.”
“N-Now?” she repeated. She received no response other than her standing by the door. There were neither details of what this service entailed, nor information on when she’d return. Before she could ask, her father kneeled to pull her into a tight embrace.
“I’m proud of you, little starlight,” he whispered, “Remember to have faith.” Stela returned his hug.
“Take care of mama.” She released him to go to her sleeping mother, who now looked healthier than she had in months… She couldn’t understand why she wasn’t fully recovered, but surely Mother Miranda would find another way to heal her. Then they could serve her together.
Stela carefully wrapped her arms around her sleeping form, and breathed deep the scent of snow and mountain flowers.
Ready to prove her worth, Stela joined Mother Miranda.
If only she’d known that a cell and a twisted plan awaited her.
In the factory, she appeared caught in a trance. Face blank, eyes glazed over… The child’s hold loosened as she fell deeper into her own mind, but Heisenberg discreetly kept his hand on hers. He, Donna, and Angie listened to them speak through the tape recorder. His grip tightened when Miranda said that the mother had been an assistant; to what extent, he wasn’t sure. At minimum, it explained her access to hydrogen peroxide, compared to other lowly villagers. His fingers especially tensed when the child had willingly gone with Miranda in the first place. Just like the obedient villager they were all groomed to be…
“Oooh, she’s not going to like knowing that when she wakes up, is she?” Angie commented, noticing his heavy mood. He only glared at her lax tone. Like she was simply reacting to a scripted show meant for her entertainment. But a glance towards Donna’s hands gave away a stiff, nervous energy. She knew all too well the consequences of volunteering for Miranda’s plans.
When the tape recorder spoke again—with the creak of an old metal cell bar swinging open, and Stela’s perplexed questions—Donna’s fingers fidgeted.
It was time for Miranda’s experiment to begin.
Subject Name: Stela Balauru
Entry 1
The youngest candidate for memory alteration trials. The subject is currently Eva’s age, perhaps older by a few months. Age and growth may factor into how well the Mold’s data affects her mind. I suspect that youths will be more impressionable.
There it was again. Eva.
“Does this name mean anything to you?” Heisenberg asked. Donna leaned over while Angie stood above the entry.
“Eva, Eva~” Angie hummed, tapping her finger to her chin, “…Hm. Could be… but maybe not…”
“Get to the damn point.”
“Hmmm…” The doll and her mistress silently deliberated. “Our playmates would always take us to the village graveyard. To bring back visions of a loved one, or to bless their passing.” He frowned, following but unsure where this was leading. “…Only one tombstone is marked, ‘Eva.’ Buuut~”
“…She died in 1919,” Donna completed.
“No next of kin? Any visitors?”
Angie shrugged, and Donna said nothing. A dead end. Heisenberg sat quietly with that information; another hint of the bigger picture, he was sure. But it wasn’t enough. He shelved the thought, and returned to the journal entry.
I have communed with the Megamycete’s records and withdrawn a suitable consciousness via the Mold. Like the other subjects, she will be given memories from a victim of the Spanish flu. Hers will be Katarina. A girl similar in age, but the background is unique enough to better track the alteration.
Heisenberg loathed that his suspicions had been correct: Miranda was replacing her identity entirely. But how did this link to Eva? What did she hope to achieve by torturing this family? Miranda even knew her mother personally, yet still she targeted her daughter for experimentation… Then again, he couldn’t even act surprised. No one was safe from her madness. Donna’s power brought forth their voices.
“Mother Miranda…?” -BZZZT- “What’s all this?”
“Hush, child,” they heard. It was followed by her finger tapping glass. She was preparing a syringe. “I need you to sleep. Be a good girl and give me your arm. It’s only a pinch.”
“…Yes, Mother.”
They heard Miranda hum at that. It almost sounded like… longing.
“Relia has raised you well.”
“…Will mama be ok? When can I…” Her words began to slur. “…When can I… see her…?”
“In due time.”
The tape recorder went silent, which was their cue to return to the files.
Entry 2
First injection complete. Administered below the skull and into the hippocampus. Time will tell how the implanted memories take. Social reinforcement may be required.
Heisenberg immediately thought back to how the child protected her head and neck after her nightmares. A dark foreboding brewed the longer they read and listened.
“M-My head hurts…”
“Worry not. It will pass.”
“…Did… Is this how mama served you?” Doubt clouded her words. She wanted confirmation that any of this was normal. The whole debacle sickened him.
“No, child. You have been called upon for a new purpose.”
“It hurts so much…! I-I don’t—”
“Don’t fight it. Have faith in the Black God’s designs.”
“…” A long, hesitant pause. “…W-We give… glory…”
Entry 3
One week has passed. Subject has begun dreaming about Katarina’s memories. When questioned, they correlate with the visions the Megamycete showed me. However, the subject retains her current identity.
-BZZZT- “When can I see my parents?” Stela’s voice was pleading, shaking. Just barely on the cusp of bursting into tears.
“My dear girl, don’t you remember?” Miranda spoke with faux pity, “Your father perished from the Spanish flu. And you ran away from your mother.”
“I… W-What? That was just a dream. They’re alive, I know they are! Why are you lying?”
“…Hm.” A pen scratched into the very paper they were reading.
“M-Mother Miranda, please—”
“Do not speak of your family again.”
“I-I…” A tense pause, for Miranda’s cold, sharp glare that Heisenberg remembered too clearly. “Yes, Mother Miranda… I-I’m sorry…”
Subject is one of several whose mind is stable. Injection to the neocortex is next.
Entry 4
One month has passed. Subject has begun speaking Romanian, though sparsely. As suspected, the Mold adheres to younger minds more easily. Her memories have grown clearer and more specific, but she has no emotional attachment to them.
Among the few who show promise. Injection to the amygdala is next.
-BZZZT- “The Mold has caught on quicker with her than the rest, despite no change in the sample dosage,” Miranda thought aloud, “An excellent sign. The third attempt will be the true test.”
“N-No… please…” she begged, words drawling. They heard Mother Miranda’s soft shush.
“Sleep, child.”
Entry 5
Three months have passed. Supplementary injections were necessary, but the results have finally come to fruition. Subject responds to the name Katarina and converses in fluent Romanian. She now recalls specific events, such as her mother turning to alcohol abuse, and running away from home. Surprisingly, she even remembers the moments before she succumbed to the Spanish flu. Now she believes she woke up under my care. As if she’d never perished…
This is the only potential success.
My Eva…
Would you remember me?
Heisenberg and Donna glanced at each other. Angie looked between the two confusedly, but they understood that this was different. Miranda’s once clinical notes became personal.
How I long to have you back, completely and wholly. In body and mind. These trials aren’t perfect, but they show that you can return to me one day. Exactly in the way I remember. With your consciousness intact, free of any pain…
This is one step closer to our reunion.
Once more, the tape recorder spoke.
“Mama e moartă?” came Stela’s voice. But she sounded sullen. Resentful, even. A far cry from the empathetic, obedient child they’d heard before. A pen was placed down.
“Da, Katarina. Ea e moartă. Ea nu te mai poate răni,” Miranda answered. The child exhaled heavy breaths through her nose. “Ți-e dor de ea?”
“…Nu. Eu nu.”
“Oh… I understand, child,” Miranda cooed, “She failed you as a mother. But it’s alright now. You’re safe here, for you have given hope for me and my own daughter…”
Heisenberg finally released the girl’s hand from underneath the table, processing the revelations that ricocheted in his head.
In body and mind.
A vessel. Her consciousness.
A reunion between Miranda and a child who’d died almost a century ago.
Her child.
Eva was Miranda’s daughter.
The innumerable failures that roamed these woods, the meticulous brainwashing of this village, the tragedies he’d suffered at her hands…
All of it, for one kid.
He couldn’t fucking believe it.
“Heisenberg!” Angie called, bringing him back from his spiral. His eyes could’ve burned through her porcelain head by its ferocity alone, his hands drawn in fists so tightly he was surely cracking the leather every second. But the doll held up the next entry with an ominous aura. “…You may want to read on.”
…He swallowed his rage and snatched the paper for him and Donna to see. Unfortunately, the next words brought shock, then foreboding:
Entry 6
The subject’s mother returned for her.
Katarina stirred to the sound of clinking metal, clumsy in its attempt to keep quiet. She mumbled and wiped her eyes as she sat up in her dirty cot… only to go rigid with terror.
A stranger just unlocked her cell door.
The child panicked, backing away from her. No, no, no, Miranda said she’d be safe here! She couldn’t stop whimpering. The woman held her hands up, frantically shushing her.
“Sh-sh-ssshhh, Stela…! Stela, it’s me! It’s mama. I’m here.”
The torchlight from the hallway illuminated her… Dark hair tied into a ponytail, a slender face, and eyes glassy with relief.
“C-Cine eşti tu?” Katarina pleaded, “Pleacă d-de aici! Voi țipa!” The woman drew back, stunned.
“Stela…? No… No, what has she done to you?”
“…M-Miranda! MIRANDA!!” she shrieked, calling for the only protector she knew. This made the stranger shoot forward and wrap her arms around her, pressing her face into her shoulder to keep her quiet. Katarina kept screaming and twisting, trying to get away. She HAD to escape! The woman continued to desperately shush her, whispering into her hair.
“Please, starlight…!”
She slowed to a stop, panting as the word echoed in her ears.
Why did it sound so… comforting? Why did the smell of snow and flowers shake her to her core?
The woman sensed this shift, and stroked her dirty, matted hair. She gently eased the tension from her scared body. The seconds felt like a lifetime of being held so kindly. The world seemed to narrow in on them; it was just her, and this woman. No one else. Only this embrace that she didn’t know she’d yearned for, for so long… When the stranger was sure she’d calmed down enough, she reached into her skirt’s pocket to pull out a photo.
“Stela, it’s mama…” she repeated, her voice shaking while pointing between her and the image, “You know me. And look, it’s papa. My little starlight, please… Please come back to us…” The girl carefully took the photo in her hands, and stared deeply… It… It didn’t make sense, but it seemed… right. She knew them. She couldn’t understand why she stopped fighting, but when she looked up with mixed emotions… The woman brushed her hair away from her face, and tenderly held her cheeks between her palms. A warm touch she inexplicably leaned into.
“We don’t have much time, we have to go,” the woman whispered. She hastily stood to her feet and held out her hand… The girl wiped her face with a sniff, kept the photo close… and shakily held onto her fingers. As she stood and followed, she couldn’t help feeling a bit crazy. There was fear, to be sure, towards why she was allowing this to happen. Yet the longer she held her hand, confusion feathered into relief… then somehow, into trust.
That had to be the strangest part of this. That she trusted her so completely.
She tried to emulate the woman’s quiet footsteps, but it was difficult to keep up. Her strides were determined, purposeful. Even as they passed neighboring cells—each with its own resident of varying ages, looking at them with either shock, madness, or too lost in their own minds to care—her guide didn’t falter.
The girl had no time to wonder why she was the sole person being taken. She could only focus on ascending stone steps, then emerging into a brand new, well-lit room that nearly blinded her. This, too, had little time to take in aside from the most immediate: notes, books, diagrams of twisted anatomy… and jars full of quivering, malformed creatures she couldn’t begin to identify. The two quickly exited.
They were greeted by the darkness of a vast cave. Gnarled roots hung from their peripherals, and the walls shone with some sort of unnatural, moldy slick. The air was humid with a thick musk that made the woman struggle to breathe. An effect that strangely didn’t wear down on the child. Despite the apparent difficulty, she was held closer.
“Don’t look up…” the stranger warned, hushed. The child listened, for her instincts told her that something massive and foreboding lurked above them. An intangible pressure weighed down upon them both…
Whatever the presence was somehow felt… alive. And it terrified her.
But her guide remained steadfast. It wasn’t long before they left the chamber for another tunnel network, thankfully lit by torchlight.
How did this woman know where to go? As if she’d been here before… The only one who ever came and went so freely was—
The girl was suddenly pushed behind a wall, barely stumbling to a stop and looking up with bewilderment. But the stranger was frozen in place, throat tense and eyes set in stone. The torchlight revealed a sheen of sweat on her skin as the click of heels reached their ears.
“Relia.” The severity made the child’s stomach drop. A voice that she once thought brought her safety, now sounded menacing. The woman didn’t budge.
“Mother Miranda.”
“…You’re awake. I’m pleased to see that you’ve recovered.” Contrary to the statement, there was no warmth in her tone.
“…My health was only granted by your generosity…”
“Indeed.” Miranda took another step, scrutinizing her from head to toe. “However… I don’t recall asking you to return.” The woman shifted into a professional posture and placed her hands in front of her waist.
“I’m eager to continue learning from you. I am at your service.”
“Really…” Miranda stalked to her side. “That’s not what your husband confessed when he arrived at my church.”
Both mortals stiffened in place. The child grew anxious, but the woman hardened herself.
“…What did he say?”
The prophet slowly circled behind her… Instead of Miranda emerging from the other side… there was a man. He loomed by her ear.
“That you mean to steal something of mine,” he snarled. Brown irises and hair like summer soil… The child covered her mouth tightly to keep her shock from being heard. With her other hand, she held up the photo. Miranda was…! She transformed into the man from the picture! The stranger’s husband. Her father.
He was the reason Miranda caught on?
In complete contrast to the child’s fear, the woman—her mother finally dropped the act. She whirled on the impostor, fueled by defiance and betrayal.
“Liar!! Petre wouldn’t—”
“—Reveal your treachery? We’re discovering different sides of each other, it would seem,” he taunted, “I never thought you’d be a thief.” She sneered at the blatant hypocrisy before her.
“Stela is MY daughter! My assistance in your experiments was supposed to exempt my family!!”
In a flurry of feathers, the woman was suddenly pinned against the stone walls. Golden claws clamped tightly around her thin throat. Miranda had returned to her unholy visage.
“The terms of our deal changed when you were on the brink of death,” she coldly stated, “And I’m not one to waste an opportune candidate. You should be grateful I even chose to save you after your pitiful reaction to the Mold. If I’d known how frail or disloyal you are, I never would’ve mentored you.” The woman wheezed and coughed in her grasp, attempting to get any shred of breath. The jeweled fingers had dug deep enough to draw blood. Miranda loosened her grip just to keep her conscious. “After all I’ve done for you, you dare think you can talk back to me?”
It was all clicking into place.
The work her mother went to every night, her apparent knowledge of the underground tunnels, and Mother Miranda’s control over the Mold… This entire place was why she’d fallen ill over time… And what gave Miranda the opportunity to take her from her home. Her mother had come to rescue her at the risk of her own life.
Stela couldn’t hide herself any longer.
“Mother Miranda!” she cried out, running into the light. She desperately embraced and pulled the prophet’s waist with a sob. “V-Vă rog—” She squeezed her eyes shut, and shook her head against the fabric of her divine garb. “Please, stop hurting her…! Mother Miranda, PLEASE!”
The priestess immediately turned her attention to the girl clinging to her, while her mother repeatedly whispered, “No, no, no…!” and struggled against her wrist. Unbothered, she responded.
“Katarina, o cunoști pe această femeie?” Miranda’s gaze was unbelievably intense. So much so that the child wanted nothing more than to shrink away and beg forgiveness. But she kept her arms locked as fresh, hot tears slipped down her face.
“Sh-She’s… She’s my mama. Please…” Miranda stared deeply, her gaze an unreadable abyss. She reached up with her free hand…
Gilded fingers caressed the side of Stela’s face.
“Relia…” she sighed, “How blessed you are to have a daughter who loves you so wholeheartedly… Unconditionally… A bond strong enough to remember you.” She turned, her demeanor darkening. “…A bond that you would deny me.”
Recognizing the growing danger, her mother pleaded frantically.
“M-Mother Miranda…! I can st-still… be of service… Just let her go. Let Stela go. Experiment on me instead! I’ll do anything…!”
“I understand the lengths a mother will go to for her child. That, we share… But you’ve undermined my work enough.”
Before Stela could speak, before she could even register that her hand had left her cheek…
Miranda impaled her claws through her mother’s chest.
“You are not worthy of the Cadou.”
Her mother could only gape in anguish. Unwilling to grant her any final words, Miranda mercilessly tore her heart from her body, and let her crumple to the ground. Stela SCREAMED.
“No!! NOOOOO!!!” She fell to her knees, dropping the photo to push her hands against the gaping, bleeding hole in her mother’s body. Red gushed through her hands in unrelenting waves, blurred through endless tears as she struggled to breathe. “Mama!! MAMA, NO!! PLEASE!! PLEASE!!!” All her efforts were futile; her mother stared off with lifeless eyes. No chance for any closure, no final comforts… All time with her mother was ripped away as easily as her heart.
Miranda carelessly dropped the organ to pick up the discarded photo, staining the corner in crimson. She glared deeply at the very picture of happiness she so envied.
“…The brainwashing is a failure. But you and your father may still be of use.” Stela continued to cry and clutch the fading warmth of her mother’s corpse. Until Miranda dragged her off by the back of her dress.
Stela wailed uncontrollably. She fought her. God, she fought her with everything she had. She scratched, kicked, flailed, and screamed! All against this liar, this false protector, her captor!
“No! NO!! Murderer!! How could you? How COULD YOU?!”
“Quiet.”
With a single strike to the head, Stela fell into darkness.
Her vision faded in and out of consciousness.
One moment, she was barely awake, and lethargic. She had no energy to distinguish the blurred shapes. A pinprick to the arm sent a jolt of fear through her, knowing it could only mean another horrid experiment. Her body tingled with a numbing sensation before she was forced asleep.
The next, her chest felt heavier. She could neither move nor open her eyes. There was only a vague pressure that wouldn’t go away.
The final time… was filled with pain.
Absolute, indescribable PAIN.
Stela seized and screamed herself awake, restrained and screeching towards an indifferent Miranda. Something foreign was bonding itself into her chest, changing her from the inside out…! It set her whole body on fire, threw her into such AGONY that her shrieks could never fully capture the torture spearing through her. Her hands pulled urgently— She had to—! She couldn’t…! Tight belts kept her from tearing out this invader herself. Piece by harrowing piece, her flesh forcibly merged with it. The sensation was horrifically sickening.
The few electric lights within the room blinked wildly with her horrified cries, earning the slightest hint of interest from her captor. She locked eyes with Miranda—all she could picture was her mother’s lifeless form. And what she uttered next overflowed with total, unadulterated hatred.
“K-Kill…!” she eked out, then louder, “I’ll kill you…!”
The room flickered between the laboratory and somewhere else.
“Doubtful,” was all Miranda said. Stela gnashed her teeth, trying again to break free.
There was the faint smell of smoke.
“I’ll kill you…! I’ll KILL YOU!!”
Her vision burned white.
“I’LL KILL YOU!!!” The child blindly lunged for the woman across from her—
Someone from behind stopped her with solid arms circling her torso, roughly pulling her back. With a furious shriek, she tried to headbutt behind her, only for the two to tumble to the ground. She thrashed, yelling as her arms were pinned to her sides—she clawed relentlessly against the forearms wrapped tightly around her—
“Kid! KID, it’s me!!” The more she heaved, the more she recognized the acrid smoke… Her movements slowed, but her nails still dug into a body that refused to let go. “It’s just me…” she heard above her.
Heisenberg locked her in a tight embrace, her back firmly against his chest, his legs on either side of her. The two sat on linoleum floors; a knocked out cigar rolled to a stop further away from them, leaving a trail of ash in its wake. Adrenaline gradually seeped out of her body.
“That’s it…” he encouraged, “You’re ok. You’re safe…” They took several breaths for her to anchor herself in the present world. Her gaze fluttered between pieces of the room she could identify, while Lady Beneviento and Angie looked on in stunned silence. Then, remembering all that was revealed… the child’s eyes welled up.
“She killed her…” she exhaled. Her face crumbled further. “She killed mama…” Her clawing flattened into a desperate clutch for support. She leaned her head back against him… and cried.
She cried with all her heart.
And he let her. Heisenberg silently held her closer, adjusting his forearms to cover her chest.
Not a single tear made it to her reactor.
Entry 6
The subject’s mother returned for her. Her presence interfered with the brainwashing. She has been disposed of, but the damage is done. Months of progress, gone in a day.
All memory alteration trials have failed.
May need a much younger candidate for a separate consciousness to fully take hold.
Subject will undergo Cadou implantation surgery. She may yet be a suitable vessel.
Entry 7
Cadou implantation was successful. Part of the experimental Cadou batch spliced from offshoot samples of previous hosts.
Upon awakening, subject showed signs of regenerative properties. Likely derived from Alcina’s Cadou. Surgical and needle wounds reformed slowly.
Electrical lights responded to her emotional state. Likely derived from Heisenberg’s Cadou.
Subject fell unconscious before further observations could be made.
Entry 8
Subject deceased. Latest in a string of deaths from this batch.
Spliced Cadou results are too varied and unstable. All failures. This generation will be discontinued.
Subjects with the spliced Cadou neither crystallize nor disintegrate upon death. The Megamycete seems to reject their cells, therefore cannot absorb their corpses.
Must be manually disposed of.
They finished reading her reports aloud long after she’d calmed down… Well… Perhaps “calm” wasn’t the term Heisenberg would use. The child forced herself to be numb, repressing her anguish in order to endure the last files. She didn’t look at any of them. Her energy was spent…
It was a long time before anyone broke the silence.
“I’m sorry…” Donna offered softly, mournfully. None could tell if it was to console, or if she regretted using her powers. But the child didn’t stir… So the Lady collected Angie in her arms and stood. She’d done enough. Heisenberg put the papers down to see her out.
“Don’t forget about our deal,” he reminded them. Angie returned to speaking for them both.
“Right, right. Not a word to Miranda. Alcina will drum something up, but we’ll hide what we can.” Heisenberg nodded in a rare show of appreciation. The three were making their way to the kitchen door, until they heard smaller footsteps following.
The girl silently held up their forgotten basket, still keeping her head low. Donna calmly took it by its handle.
“Why thank you, Stela,” Angie chimed.
“Lucia.” They all turned to her—Heisenberg especially so. His sunglasses hid the way his lids widened. She now looked at the Lady and her doll with a vague semblance of herself. Hard set eyes and quiet self-assurance. “My name is Lucia.”
She glanced at Heisenberg, lingering for a few moments… before walking back into the safety of the factory.
The Lord and Lady were quiet as they stepped out into the night. Only the garage lights illuminated the outdoors.
“…You never answered my question.” The two turned to him. “Why’d you wanna meet her now?” They considered this briefly…
“After your last visit to our home, we often wondered if the child survived you after all,” Angie began, “Then when Miranda punished you, we were curious what could’ve possibly been worth angering her for, after so many years of being such a dutiful son. So after finding her belongings, we had to come see for ourselves…” Heisenberg bobbed his head to the side, skeptical.
“What else?” he pressed. They’d only stated the obvious. Angie mirrored his motion.
“Honestly? We thought you’d have broken her… And if you did, we would’ve taken her from you.” He straightened, completely taken aback by the admission. At first, it was defensive; after all, it was ironic to hear that from the doll that spoke so candidly about “breaking” their playmates. Then again… He couldn’t argue against his ruthless reputation either. “But! It looks like she actually cares about a grub like you. How lucky~”
He didn’t comment, instead putting his guard up against her teasing sentimentality. But he was surprised that these recluses were even driven to action. Out of everyone’s guesses as to why he’d stepped out of line, Donna and Angie were the only ones with the right hunch. They apparently didn’t share any of that information with the rest of the family, and they never intended to. Claudia’s memory kept them quiet this whole time… And from failing to protect her, they sought to help this child. In their own fucked up way. He stuffed his hands in his pockets with a tired grumble.
“So much trouble for your damn curiosity.”
“You’re one to talk. Raising a stray is an awful lot of trouble. And for what? To prove you’re a better caretaker than Miranda?” He ground his jaw from side to side… He wasn’t sure how to answer. His motives had started off purely selfish, and now…
“Someone’s gotta clean around the factory,” he decidedly deflected. His sister wouldn’t let him.
“…You’re trying to break the cycle,” Donna murmured. A seemingly passive observation, but as uncomfortable as shining a spotlight on him for all to see. He prickled under such a vulnerable lens. She wasn’t entirely wrong. It was just… different. His version was always imagined in fiery glory. He’d raze everything Miranda had built into the ground. He’d finally repay her decades of pain. Blood for blood. But with Donna’s context…
Caring for Lucia is breaking the cycle.
In a life where he had so little control, the least he could do was improve from Miranda’s broken ways. For himself, and for the child.
It was what Donna would’ve wished for Claudia, and now… wished for Lucia.
Knowing who exactly weighed on his mind, his sister gently placed her hand on his arm. A reassuring gesture paired with a warning, “Be careful, Heisenberg. Her grief will not go quietly…”
“…I know.”
The two exchanged lingering stares, truly acknowledging each other for what felt like the first time. Both had been in the girl’s place before: they lost their families, their dignity, and suffered their own earth-shattering realizations of how deeply Miranda’s deceit rooted itself in their lives.
Neither came out of their despair whole again. Neither had helped the other.
Now, they could try to do better.
“We’ll send some old clothes,” Angie piped in. Heisenberg’s brow creased at the sudden offer for hand-me-downs.
“You don’t need to—”
“They’re just sitting around. Consider it an apology for letting ourselves in.” He was mildly stunned at them making amends. He might even consider it thoughtful… “Besides, we can tell she needs it! You have GARBAGE taste!”
“Get the fuck out.”
“You’re welcome~”
They finally disappeared into the night. As he closed off the factory from the outside world, Heisenberg was left alone to brood after what felt like the longest day of his life… He walked on autopilot, his own footsteps sounding incredibly distant as he reviewed everything he learned.
The Megamycete storing the deceased, the memory alteration trials, the spliced Cadou, Miranda’s daughter—
Heisenberg punched the nearest brick wall. “Fuck… FUCK…!” he spat vehemently. He let the anger boil through him. It was too much… It was too fucking much. All the time and effort put into the village, the lives she toyed with and threw away as she pleased… All of it, for Eva.
You haven’t the faintest clue what a parent can do when they have nothing left to lose.
Alcina’s words now rang like a vicious taunt; was she privy to Miranda’s true intentions? Was Moreau? Were any of them ever meant to know the extent of her past, or was Miranda above explaining to them, knowing just how insane it all was? Nothing made sense… None of it made any goddamn SENSE! How in the hell could one brat be worth it all?!
Without meaning to, he thought of the way he cradled Lucia in his arms. If he’d lost her…
…No. No, he wasn’t going to go there. It was one thing to see Alcina protecting her children, and understanding. Looking at Miranda as a grieving mother? Justifying any of the atrocities she committed, all in the name of getting her girl back?
No fucking way. She’d get none of his sympathy.
…That, he’d rather give to Lucia.
He took a deep, deep breath to calm his rage, redirecting his thoughts to her… And what all of this meant for the both of them going forward.
Not long ago, he’d resolved to give the kid all the answers she wanted. And he could quietly admit to himself that he’d been… conflicted with letting her go if her mother had survived. Now, not only did they know for certain she had no living family, but other awful implications had also come to light. Ones that surely ruined her picture perfect idea of her parents’ innocence.
Enough for her to choose the name he gave her.
…He couldn’t celebrate that. Not when she was at a new low, despite the assurance she’d projected. He couldn’t predict if tonight’s closure would ultimately do more harm than good. All he knew was that if her grief was anything like his in his youth…
He had to be ready to weather the storm.
Under an early dawn, Heisenberg tentatively approached the village graveyard. A gloomy place that stirred nothing within him… Not until he shone a flashlight upon the tombstone he sought.
Eva
June, 1909 - August, 1919
May you slumber only for a short while.
…What an unassuming display. Seated beneath a dead tree, surrounded by nobodies. For all of Miranda’s extreme lengths, he’d expected her resting place to be built up like a shrine to behold. Not unlike Donna’s dedication to Claudia. Perhaps secluded for her eyes only.
Instead, her daughter’s grave lay hidden in plain sight. Among the very people Miranda tortured and killed in her name.
Died when she was only ten, he morbidly confirmed. Likely from the Spanish flu that the journal entries mentioned. No wonder Miranda projected onto Lucia, or built up this false family. All grievous attempts to regain that which she had lost… If Mother Miranda’s identity was born from the aftermath of Eva’s death, she would’ve been at this for…
…Ninety-eight years.
Ninety-eight years of her twisted reign.
Still, she was no closer to her goal.
This engulfed him in a quiet hatred. He couldn’t fathom mourning someone so wholly as to fall into such madness. He had to ask himself how much was true, and how much was delusional.
These questions swum in his skull while descending Castle Dimitrescu, whose mistresses left him alone at last. No haughty resistance, no buzzing flies. Heisenberg briefly scoffed at the thought of Alcina tending to her daughters. She’d surely follow in Miranda’s footsteps if any of them died… The thought of parenthood didn’t stop there. Wandering the underground caves now echoed Miranda, Relia, and Lucia’s voices. Shadows cast by torchlight morphed into bloodstains in his peripherals; which tunnel did her mother die in, he wondered?
And the mysterious mass up above—the god confined to this hidden cavern—slumbered still. Ignorant to their suffering. No, it thrived off it. Fed off the corpses of Miranda’s torment, trapped their collective consciousness for her use…
Even death wasn’t an escape.
He frowned hatefully at the entity.
Was Eva somewhere in there? Could she see everything that her mother built and destroyed? Would she ever truly know Miranda’s insanity if she were brought back from the dead?
It was… nauseating.
So much so that Moreau’s stench seemed nearly nonexistent by comparison. His loyalty kept him in the lab the whole night, the poor fool. Still, Heisenberg would not be deterred. Whenever Moreau wanted to raise enzyme walls or relieve himself, Heisenberg searched for anything useful. He couldn’t be picky.
Eva was never mentioned in any failed projects. Only those with near successes like in the Lords’ medical reports. He found no records of Miranda keeping track of her own abilities—at least, nothing that he didn’t already know. Perhaps her paranoia ran deeper than he thought. This dead end was a particularly sore spot for him… However, he did gather various notes on the Mold’s effects on the populace. He quickly removed his own journal and penned it down.
The Mold granted from the Megamycete had differing levels of mind control. It was how Miranda influenced the villagers so easily… It stood to reason that the most loyal could be the most infected. There was Alcina, whose castle stood directly above the Megamycete. There was Moreau, whose territory was in constant decay; a prime ground for Mold growth.
But it wasn’t a perfect brainwash for everyone. Relia’s inherent aversion to the Mold might’ve been a rare variable. The most solid theory he could think of was that a drastic paradigm shift could shake off the control. Like the women who discovered the truth behind the Dimitrescu wine cellars, or those who suffered under Miranda and lived to tell the tale…
Lucia was just another product of her misery. Like him and Donna before her.
Knowing Moreau was more than happy to prove himself a better guard for the lab, Heisenberg returned to the factory in the evenings. He’d never wanted to shed the “obedient son” act so quickly; he hated leaving her alone every morning. All he could do was leave her quickly written notes, some lei for food, and more boxes of spare parts to keep her busy.
But she was always curled up in her bed waiting for his return. Seemingly alright each day, with little to no emotion.
Unfortunately, Lucia was often starving by the time he got back. It didn’t seem so bad at first; if anything, they were able to distract themselves when they prepared dinners together. She obviously favored it over organizing scrap. But then she’d tear into her meals with barely any breathing room. By the third evening, Heisenberg leveled her with a suspicious squint.
“You’ve been avoiding the Duke, haven’t you?” he stated more than asked. She avoided him while chewing through her overcooked chicken.
“So?”
“So you haven’t been buying food or eating while I’m away.” Lucia gulped, still stubbornly focused on her meal. But she didn’t deny it. Heisenberg sighed, “…Kid, he’s only gonna be around for another week, give or take. You can’t be—”
“I wanna help with your experiments,” she interrupted. The change of topic successfully distracted him.
“Uh… What, y’mean building Soldats?”
“Yeah. I’ve seen how you make them. I don’t wanna be stuck with scrap.” Heisenberg sneered at her underestimating his work.
“Ok, first off, you don’t really know how to make ‘em. You’re no Einstein.”
“…Is that a… new Soldat model, or…?”
“Second, you’re not running around my workshop unsupervised. You’d probably fuck something up.” She’d probably hurt herself was what he really thought.
“Well, I—! You… You can’t build an army while you’re in her lab! I need to help!” He mutely observed the child’s desperation. All the times he let her tag along with him to work were just to keep an eye on her. She neither enjoyed nor appreciated his experiments. Honestly, he was… somewhat pleased by this development. It reminded him of when he first took to tinkering, driven by the goal to find an upper hand against Miranda…
But he could only look between Lucia and her plate.
“…You can help by getting food from the Duke.” Her frown deepened until he pointed a stern fork at her. “I mean it. It’s more work than you’re ready for, and you can’t do it while starving yourself.”
“That’s it?”
“Until I’m off guard duty? Yeah. That’s it.” She dropped her utensils and slumped back. He wasn’t lying. His days were stuck pretending to be a loyal Lord, while the nights were spent reviewing his findings and the camera feeds for anything suspicious. She wouldn’t learn anything while he was so preoccupied. Lucia was clearly dissatisfied by this… but stopped debating. With some uncertainty, Heisenberg redirected the conversation. He wanted to know where her head was after Donna’s visit…
“I learned more about the Mold today,” he started, playing this off as thinking out loud, “And how it controls the villagers’ wills. Messes with their logic.” She crossed her arms and looked away.
“…I remember.” He winced a little, now realizing how tactless that was. But he kept trying.
“I meant to say it makes them more open to Miranda’s manipulation. So they may not be… entirely complicit…” It was a concept that even he was still coming to grips with, after blaming them for letting him suffer for so long. Not that he was ready to forgive.
“We don’t need to talk about it,” Lucia insisted, “Miranda needs to pay. That’s all that matters.” She caught on that he had an underlying motive. Might as well get to it.
“Sure. We knew that from the start. But… Your parents—”
The kitchen lights blinked wildly for a few seconds. Lucia’s frown harbored resentment.
“…I don’t care.”
Message received. He dropped the subject.
The next night, a mysterious trunk sat outside his fence. No doubt delivered by some villagers. A metal lock with the House Beneviento crest kept its contents secured. A solid break and a quick peek revealed it to be filled with clothes of all sorts: shirts, skirts, dresses, even some overalls for their gardening, all ranging from child to teen fits. Donna had followed through…
But he shouldn’t have been surprised that the child reacted numbly to the gift. Lucia didn’t trust it or House Beneviento. Hell, he couldn’t blame her. He’d practically estranged his sister the first time he experienced her hallucinogenic powers. But even after he’d admitted that she had good intentions, the trunk remained shut outside Lucia’s room. As closed off as she was herself.
Between checking on Lucia and tiptoeing around Moreau, Heisenberg didn’t learn much else about Miranda herself. He instead took to carefully thumbnailing then redrawing stored maps of each Lord’s territory, and noting anything of interest that he could snag at an opportune moment. But his time in her lab inevitably ran out.
Mother Miranda returned no more than a week later, as promised.
The following family meeting was met with varying responses, but she kept it short with two main takeaways: she deemed the project from The Connections a failure, and their village remained hidden for the time being. Whatever chaos their experiment unleashed would be covered up by the public media. Other than that, she divulged no information on what and where it happened.
Moreau praised her for keeping them “safe.” Alcina was pleased, though she clearly had her own thoughts on Miranda’s secrecy. Angie clapped and begged for more playmates, while Heisenberg simply tilted his hat. But from behind his shades and Donna’s veil, he and his sister exchanged the briefest glances. Their shared revelations provided them a new lens: for the first time in years, Miranda appeared… tired.
Not even modern science could grant her greatest wish. Her gamble in working with The Connections hadn’t paid off.
The meeting left him dragging his feet back to the factory. A part of him considered hiding the news from the kid, but… he vowed to remain honest with her. It was what she deserved, and the courtesy he would’ve wanted in her place.
Lucia took the update quietly. But not peacefully. Behind her shrunk pupils simmered something she’d actively held back until now. And he didn’t know their full depths until she renewed a cold request:
Resume her combat trials.
It’d be good for her, he tried telling himself, Get it all out of her system.
Investing in her training seemed sound since Miranda returned. He had to prepare her for the danger.
Then he saw the way she threw herself into her fights.
Overeager. She’d dart across the floor and straight at the lycan before Heisenberg finished saying, “Ready.”
Single-minded. She’d tackle, kick, and claw at her opponent with little regard for her own safety. She took as many injuries as she gave.
Feral. No more was she the girl who hesitated. Lightning came to her call not just to stun, but to destroy. She’d gone so far as to gouge her fingers into the lycan’s eyeballs, then singed its skull from the inside out. She didn’t let up until it fell in a lifeless heap.
This was… new.
Between the adrenaline, the gory visual, and the sick stench of burning flesh, Lucia couldn’t resist puking in some corner of the arena. But she held her hand up to stop him from checking on her. She turned back towards the corpse.
She’d succeeded.
She killed the lycan and watched it decay into dust.
“Again,” she’d demand.
Trial after trial went like this. One brutal success after another. Each ending with her breathless, bloodied, staring unblinkingly at the disintegrating corpses… Before her own wounds had a chance to fully heal—fire in her eyes, inner doubts at bay—she’d repeat:
“Again!”
Heisenberg could’ve been proud. By all accounts, he should’ve.
This was progress.
This was an asset to his army.
She was getting stronger.
…But there was only a sinking pit in his stomach. Her logic was cast aside by unthinking rage, to the point of complete and utter self-sabotage. Lucia took wounds faster than she could recover. Solely focused on having something to hurt.
Until, at last, she failed to get up on her feet. She couldn’t ignore her injuries anymore.
One of her legs and a clawed side bled out. She snarled, frustrated at herself. And as the lycan charged at her, she defiantly yelled back. But thinly veiled behind the supposed bravado in her voice was… despair.
He unsheathed a knife from his coat, then deftly threw it into the lycan’s throat. The blade easily sank through its flesh. It drowned in its own blood. Before its body even stopped convulsing, he went straight to Lucia. Rather than be grateful, she glared at him with an aghast expression. She sat herself up with a painful groan through her teeth.
“I…! Grrrgh!” He watched her grip her wounds, noting that they regenerated far slower than usual, despite the full battery. Her physical exhaustion took its toll. Still, she continued, “I had that! Call another one!”
“No.”
…A tense silence fell upon them.
“…No?”
“You heard me.”
“…Then tomorrow.”
“No,” he said sharper, “You’re benched.”
“What does that mean?”
“It MEANS no more combat trials ‘til you get your shit together!” Lucia could only drop her jaw at him, demanding further explanation. She watched him pace and gesture with his feedback. “Look at you. Anybody else would’ve died of blood loss by now. But I guess healing’s made you complacent, huh? Think you can just walk it off all the time?”
“I’m alive, aren’t I?”
“Not for much longer at the rate you’re going!” Scrap metal began to shake around them; a familiar accompaniment to his anger that was, frankly, beginning to annoy her. “You’re not stupid, kid! You could’ve dodged a lot more than that. What, gonna let every lycan take a bite outta ya on the way to Miranda? I didn’t teach ya to be this reckless!”
Her glare turned cold. Once her bleeding stopped, Lucia forced herself up on shaking legs. Yet her gaze never left him.
“…You wanted me to get stronger.” The flood lights stuttered. “You wanted me to be a weapon.” Lightning sparked between her fingers. He was on alert. Even so, he remained immovable when she took a weak step towards him. She was breathless, but rage demanded her to be loud. Demanded that he wouldn’t have her tears, even as they threatened to form. “I can’t… I can’t be normal ever again. So why won’t you let me be what you MADE ME?!” His lips twitched, some unreadable expression crossing his face for a second.
“You won’t get stronger by acting like a suicidal idiot! Now fucking DROP IT!!” Their yelling left them both panting. Knowing he wouldn’t let this go, she lowered her eyes to the floor. He warily relaxed. Until…
“…Why did you bring me back to life?” More silence, and a charge in the air. He hadn’t expected this question. “You… control metal, make your own soldiers… and kill so, so easily… You don’t need me. You never needed me. So why…?” Her vision blurred. Damn it, he won’t have her tears! Her breath quivered while she ignored a growing heat in her chest.
Her chest…
The harsh reminder shrouded her in sickened understanding.
“…You just wanted the Cadou’s powers. That’s why you stuck this…” She reached for her reactor. “This AWFUL thing in me. To keep it alive. And now I…” She pulled uselessly at the machinery, her other hand wiping at her eyes. “I can’t even CRY without worrying about damaging it! Some genius YOU are!!” Heisenberg growled.
“Without that reactor, you wouldn’t even BE here to give me so much SHIT!!”
“Well then MAYBE you should’ve left me DEAD!” His aggression turned into shock.
“Don’t say that. Don’t you ever say that—”
“WHY NOT?! What, w-were you just so lonely here that you had to bring people back to life with your FUCKED UP machines?!” Sparks flew from her hands. She couldn’t stop shouting, manic in her spiral, “The reactor’s always been a way to control me, huh? Keep me from leaving you? I can’t survive without you maintaining it, right? Made of metal so you can find me anywhere, RIGHT?!”
Each accusation made his fists curl tighter and tighter. He visibly struggled to keep himself level-headed. “…Kid. You’re getting… on my damn nerves.”
“So what? You gonna crush my reactor if I keep telling the truth?!”
“You don’t know a GODDAMN THING about the truth if that’s what you REALLY think I’d do!”
“I know ONE THING! That you are and always will be JUST LIKE MIRANDA!!”
The height of her yell rang through the belly of the factory.
It was met with an ugly pause.
Quiet enough that her own heart thrummed through her ears. Hateful pride kept her mouth shut; she was justified. Her body was forever changed. Experimented on. Used by both of them for their own selfish ends.
She was justified.
She was…
…
She’d never seen Heisenberg become so impossibly still before… The way his face had fallen, it…
Shame struck her immediately.
She didn’t… mean to say that. The girl began to sweat trying to think of what to say.
Then he breathed a low laugh.
A hollow, pained laugh.
It hurt her heart. Heisenberg slowly clapped his gloved hands. Clapped, and looked around to some unseen audience.
“There it is! The observation of the century!” She retracted from his tone turning so… bitter. He whirled back to her, doubling down on his mocking showmanship. “Of course! Big, bad, BROKEN Lord Heisenberg could never be better than Miranda! I’m just another villain in your sob story, right? Well, that’s the shitty hand life dealt you. To be surrounded by villains. Like your mother, experimenting on villagers… And your father, selling you out to Miranda. TWICE, by the sounds of it.”
She shook. Every pointed remark stabbed her with guilt and betrayal… He barked a quick condescending laugh, ignorant.
“No, wait, I remember… You went with her. To serve her, hm? Like a lamb to the slaughter. So you can’t say SHIT about the way your life turned out when you WANTED THIS!!”
…Lucia SHRIEKED with the roiling, burning anger of the sun itself. An uncontrolled surge encompassed her entire being. Lightbulbs burst, the electricity around them drawn to her before the room sputtered into darkness. She barely heard the shift in Heisenberg’s voice over her own screaming.
“I didn’t want this!! I NEVER WANTED ANY OF THIS!!” Suddenly, her spine took on a life of its own. She jerked back, then fell forward with a cry, one hand clutching her reactor while the other clawed at the ground. Through hot tears, she saw her body sporadically glowing, as if chaos brewed beneath her very skin.
She’d become the only source of light in the room.
“No…” she heard him say, “No, no, no…!” She heard him panicking. As her hair flailed, eyes burning unbelievably bright, she gaped in horror at seeing her own skeleton through her flickering flesh.
“What’s…? What’s happening—”
CRACK!
Her body bent her backwards again; bones along her spine began to grow against her skin, her limbs stretching themselves. Awful screams ripped through her throat while she gradually floated off the floor. Her possessed body stuttered and twisted as erratically as static. It fought itself in keeping together or splitting in two. Deep within her chest, she felt it.
The Cadou throbbed.
It wanted to change.
She didn’t recognize her own voice, layered and shaking with an electric charge.
“S-Stop…!” she cried, “PLEASE! AAAAAAAAAHHH—!!!”
And then, it was gone.
The once roaring flame within her snuffed out like a candle. Her body fell and seized. She gasped for air, confused, scared. She couldn’t breathe…! In her thrashing, she saw a fearful Heisenberg flick his outstretched hand.
Warmth returned to her chest, and so did control of her body. She desperately gulped in as much oxygen as possible, coughing just as quickly. Lucia struggled to stay awake, unable to fully grasp what just happened. The backup generator kicked in and relit what few bulbs survived.
Now she wished it hadn’t. Sprawled on the floor, her heavy eyes glimpsed horrible, demonic arms, with unrecognizable claws burnt at the tips. A terrifying prelude to something worse.
With a weak, pitiful whine, her body stitched itself back together. Bones and limbs shrank. Torn skin regrew. Like muscle memory, she gradually returned to herself. Exhaustion wouldn’t let her keep her eyes open any longer.
Then, she was enveloped in his arms, with his face pressed against the top of her head. She could only take small, hoarse gasps while she tried to understand with what few senses she had.
“I’m sorry,” she heard him whisper. Heisenberg. He held her closer against his chest and slowly rocked back and forth. There was a grit to his voice. Regretful. Broken. “Fuck! I-I never meant to…! I’m sorry. You hear me? I’m sorry. Just…” His breath shuddered against the crown of her hair, finally at a loss for words.
When had she ever heard his voice sound so small?
How could he hold her so tenderly, after all the things she’d said?
How could she weakly grip his hand in response, after all that he’d said?
They were both hurting, and only had each other to hurt. She quietly mourned as she questioned if this was what they deserved.
“Get her out of here.”
Heisenberg felt detached as he uttered those words into the night sky. He refused to even glance at the Duke.
“Is that truly what you wish?”
“How much clearer can I get?” Heisenberg’s steeled glare set firmly on the wares he tossed into the caravan. “She’s a liability. A goddamn distraction. I’ll pay you whatever you want.” The Duke made a thoughtful sound.
“The cost would be much more than monetary loss. And the risk is great.”
“There’s NO risk!” He loudly shut the wagon door, then stomped over to him at the driver’s seat. “Her situation’s different. Miranda doesn’t even know she’s alive! She won’t go after her like she’d go after me.” Heisenberg and the Duke held each other’s gazes, both ominously reminded of how futile it was to ever help one of her exalted children escape.
But Lucia was no one.
She had a chance.
So why the fuck was the Duke stalling?
“…I’m talking about the risk of leaving her on her own,” the merchant finally clarified, calm… sincere. It shot unwelcome guilt into Heisenberg’s heart, which he desperately tried to separate from himself.
“See, that’s the problem.” He walked around the darkened scrapyard to avoid facing the Duke. To keep his armor on. “Always what she needs. Always babysitting her. What about what I need, huh?!” As even as he willed his tone, the metal garage door creaked away from the turmoil. “I have to be focused. You’re heading off the mountain on a supply run, right? I can get her in this wagon right fucking now and be done with her. I never needed her. I never…” His next exhale was forced, followed by a defeated slump in his shoulders.
The Duke hummed with soft sympathy. As if he saw right through the aggression and into the insecurities hidden beneath.
Lucia’s accusations from the previous night reverberated in Heisenberg’s head. They weighed him down more than he’d ever say. He was the reason why she was like this… How many times had he seen her plugged into batteries, unconscious? How much pain could she have been spared from if he hadn’t resurrected her? Why did he ever learn to care? Maybe Donna had it all along. Maybe keeping Lucia here wasn’t doing right by her. If he could get the kid far away, he’ll return to his routine uninterrupted. No more added work on top of creating an army. No worrying about someone other than himself, no going soft. Loneliness was an old, old friend…
“And if she were to transform again…” the Duke slowly asked, “…and you aren’t there to stop her… What then?”
All of his justifications shattered from one question.
Deactivating her reactor was a final failsafe, initially for his own selfish benefit if she ever got close to killing him. Surviving damage by water had been the secondary concern… But he never thought she’d mutate. She’s too young. Younger than he was when he finally embodied the monster he’d become.
He weakly glanced at the Duke over his shoulder.
“…I’m why she started mutating in the first place. She doesn’t need me ruining the rest of her life.” The larger man considered his somber words…
“Well… If you insist. The customer is always right, after all. And coin would be made from this endeavor.” Heisenberg fully turned to him, but the Duke raised his hand to continue speaking. “But not tonight. I shall repeat: the cost is more than monetary. If she is to leave this mountain on her own, she must be independent from you.” The Duke tapped on his own chest. Right where a reactor would go. The engineer sneered at this, then searched for something within his trenchcoat.
“Way ahead of ya.”
The two men heard a door open in the distance, followed by a coarse, broken voice.
“H… Heisenberg?” the child called from the darkness. His head turned to the sound immediately, body frozen on the spot while he fought himself on what to do. How could he forget to lock her floor? How was she awake so soon after her first transformation? Was she alright?
The Duke grinned at his involuntary reaction.
“…And you must be independent from her.”
Costs more than monetary loss.
He pressed his lips into a thin line. The Duke lowered his voice for privacy.
“Ensure that she’ll agree to this deal, and I’ll honor your request.”
He held out his bejeweled hand to shake on their terms. The sound of her timid, searching footsteps brought Heisenberg back to the present. He growled, then pushed a crumpled list into the open palm.
“Just get me these supplies.” He left him without another word.
Two weeks had never dragged so torturously long.
Heisenberg distanced himself from her, while Lucia struggled to say what she wished. Physically, she had recovered from her violent mutation. But it left her too scared to use any of her powers, and him too wary to trigger it. Their argument loomed awfully over them both.
He’d locked the staircases and kept the elevator from stopping at her floor, except to drop off food outside her room. He did eventually toss in a spare Soldat reactor, and some basic tools. Gruffly told her to take it apart if she was so bored by separating scrap. He gave no opportunity for questions as he left her for his workshop below.
Each time he announced her meal, the reactor was in a different state: a few bolts unscrewed, perhaps a few discs removed… It took her two days or so before it was fully disassembled. Its pieces lay scattered and disorganized on the floor. The image unnerved her as she thumbed the one installed in her chest.
“…Is this a punishment?” she meekly asked. Heisenberg only grimaced at her naiveté.
“If I wanted to punish you, you’d know,” he bluntly stated. Lucia sank in on herself, unsure of how to take that. He then dropped a new roll that unfurled at her feet: a blueprint for the reactor. “Now put it back together.”
Disassembly—as she’d come to find out—was the easy part. Several days had passed and the puzzle made less sense. The circuitry absolutely perplexed her. At one point, she tried putting the outer shell together, only to realize she’d skipped several steps and had to undo all her work. The few times she mustered up the courage to ask him for help, he’d just point to the blueprint. And anytime she’d ask to talk… he left.
Heisenberg convinced himself he had to keep his distance. Avoid her. Avoid causing another mutation. Avoid staying attached.
To that end, he feverishly buried himself in his own work. The Duke’s words haunted him as he did so, each experiment reflecting his distracted, souring mood. Sometimes he’d raise the voltage too high, causing extra scorch marks before letting up on the poor zombie. Others, he’d install a drill arm tight enough that they’d suffer tissue necrosis. And now that his Cadou was mostly recovered, intrusive thoughts would rip the metal control units off of skulls.
Heisenberg berated himself for each rookie mistake. He used to be efficient without her to think about. Independent from her, he hissed at the Duke’s terms in his head. He’ll become independent from her as soon as she’s gone and out of his life. Hell, he was independent before Miranda handed him her corpse—
Miranda’s name sent him into a tantrum. The poor Soldat being prepped for a combat trial was suddenly and mercilessly tossed around the arena like a ragdoll, until it was nothing but a red smear on the furthest wall. As he huffed and puffed out his frustrations, the factory around him grew as daunting as when Miranda “gifted” it to him. It was here—away from her, and in the solitude of his imagination—where he learned to be independent. He toiled away at the machinery, made it all his own, built the tools of his overdue revenge from these abandoned halls.
Surely, Lucia would also learn to be independent, while away from him…
…But… She was right. It had been an incredibly lonely existence. One full of guilt, as the sole survivor of his family. Full of rage, if only to feel strong on his own. Hopeless, when he fell too deeply into his forced identity as Lord Heisenberg. All reminders had him questioning what that same loneliness could do to her…
Nothing good ever came from repeating his history.
His breathing calmed then.
Break the cycle.
That resolve sent him walking to Lucia’s room.
He wasn’t even within knocking distance when he heard loud clattering and a frustrated shout past her door. Heisenberg immediately let himself in.
The Soldat reactor lay shattered around her room. Some of its pieces were still spinning from the impact. The blueprint lay wrinkled and ripped a third of the way, as if she’d begun shredding it before deciding on crushing it. Lucia huffed and trembled above the chaos. Heisenberg mentally listed all the ways he could announce his presence.
“…Reactor giving you trouble?” he settled.
“Oh, now you care?” she sarcastically shot back without looking up. He leaned against the doorframe.
“…I’m here, right?” He heard her scoff to herself… But she didn’t dismiss him. For a long time, neither spoke, unsure of how to broach the subject of… Well, any subject. He eventually sighed. Maybe they weren’t ready to talk yet. He should go.
“Fine. I can give you some space—”
“I don’t think you’re like Miranda!” she blurted. So quickly that he stopped closing the door, and had to repeat the phrase in his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t m-mean it, I was just…” Her voice began to warble. “I was just so mad at everything, and everyone, and I…” He gently opened the door wider to look at her.
Lucia kept her head lowered, her oily hair hiding most of her face, save for the brows creased with frustration and guilt. Her fists quivered by her sides, her shoulders shook… As sad as a shivering pup.
“I know…” he reassured, wishing nothing more than for her to be at ease. She sniffed, and wiped her face with her sleeve.
“A-And you were right…” she muttered. He reared his head back.
“About…?”
“I… wanted… to serve M-Miranda. I kept denying it, b-but…” Her posture slumped further in on herself; one arm held the other, and her free hand reached up to her own reactor. “If I h-hadn’t gone with her, I wouldn’t be like this…” Her misplaced blame had Heisenberg striding towards her, kneeling down, then holding her shoulders with incredulity. Still, even while facing him, she avoided looking into his shades.
“No, no, kid— Don’t think like— What the hell are you talking about?” he asked, disbelieving.
“My parents would still be alive if I didn’t go with Miranda… But papa would’ve kept praying to her… Would m-mama have kept… e-experimenting on other people? For us…? What could I have done…?”
Heisenberg blanched at her explanation. In the time he’d left her alone, she must’ve mentally replayed the scenario thousands of times. Suffocated herself in wishful thinking. Told herself that she could’ve fixed any of it had she just done something different. All to arrive at the sad conclusion that she’d ruined her own life.
He would know. He’d done the very same wishful thinking before, when he thought he could’ve saved his own parents somehow.
Worse still, she believed she was responsible because of what he’d shouted at her.
No more.
“That’s not on you,” he firmly stated. She curled her lips inward, and tucked her chin lower. He carefully removed his sunglasses, and followed her closed eyes. “Hey… Lucia, look at me.” It took a couple breaths… but she hesitantly obeyed. And he could see all too clearly how bottling this up killed her inside. “…It’s not your fault. You couldn’t have known anything. You’re blaming yourself for things that are beyond you.” He internally winced upon remembering their argument. “…And I’m sorry for making you feel that way. You didn’t want any of this.”
“…But I…”
“It’s not your fault,” he repeated. She shook. Her expression crumbled.
“I-I could’ve…”
“It’s not your fault.” Her tears finally spilled. His hands moved to gently wipe them away, clearing her hair from her view so she could see his sincerity. “It’s not your fault,” he kept repeating until it got through her guilt-ridden skull.
Finally, Lucia leaned forward to cry onto his shoulder. Her fingers awkwardly latched onto his lapels at first, unsure. But when Heisenberg pressed one arm against her back, and his other hand stroked her hair… She melted into his embrace, looping her arms around his neck as if her life depended on it.
Each muffled sob chipped away at him. Independence could damn well wait another day.
She needed him now.
That was all that mattered.
Autumn brought them overdue peace.
Lucia now rejoined Heisenberg in the workshops below, with the Soldat reactor in hand. He finally committed to properly teaching her. As a visual learner, it helped immensely for her to mirror the way he handled the model. It all came more naturally to him, of course. Every bolt, screw, pipe, grate, and so on was easily disassembled and reassembled. By
hand.
He didn’t even need to use his powers. Lucia was sure that blindfolding him wouldn’t make a difference; he’d been doing this for a long,
long
time.
But if he could do it, so could she.
Daytimes were spent in the lower floors of the factory. Her own progress was slow over the weeks. But her desire to contribute to Soldat production spurred her on. She’d even asked for a new microcassette tape specifically for recording her reactor notes. Heisenberg was rather agreeable; he’d keep quiet when she spoke, or corrected her afterwards if she said something wrong. After everything they’d been through, their collaboration was a welcome change of pace.
The evenings were for the kitchen, where they could—for a precious few hours—cook, eat, and pretend that nothing else existed outside that room. They could instead try different ingredients in their meals because they
really
needed to experiment on something other than corpses. Had to have hobbies. They could practice writing, especially when she wanted to learn how to properly spell slurs—she refused to repeat the “ashoal” nonsense. They could even debate about their Cadou’s possibilities in a somewhat non-revenge capacity. Their most divisive debate thus far had been whether or not Heisenberg’s Cadou had regenerative abilities, too.
She’d theorize, “You do. But just your lungs.” There was no way he could smoke so many cigars without
some
permanent lung damage.
He’d blow a smoke ring, unimpressed, “I have scars, dumbass. Healing factor would make that impossible.”
She’d repeat, “That’s why it’s JUST your lungs!”
Ad infinitum.
It was these stupid activities that she looked forward to the most. These small, mundane moments when they could simply… be.
But he had to leave when called upon for construction updates, or the rare family meeting; needed to keep up appearances, after all. On the more routine days, he’d return tired, perhaps a bit annoyed. Nothing a meal couldn’t fix. Anytime he met with Miranda, however… Well. It wasn’t easy. Especially not when he was actively working his way back into her good graces. Needing to go above and beyond for
her
twisted goals. It was understandably maddening. Of course, Lucia had long discovered the tells of his temper tantrums: the tense shoulders, the grit jaw, the metal that shivered away from his wrath… There were days that removing the ruthless mask of “Lord Heisenberg” proved difficult. Days when she wouldn’t know if he’d lose himself to the rage. When she didn’t want to see him that way…
But he never snapped at her. When he’d see her hiding
in fear
of him, in spite of her usual stubborn front…
That
always brought him back. They never explicitly spoke about these moments, no. It was too close to him. Talking their feelings out quickly regressed back into an uncomfortable practice; perhaps it’d been a temporary phase shaken out of him from their near-death experiences. She didn’t mind so much that he’d shut a part of himself again.
What mattered was that he
always
came back. Whether with a muttered apology, or a silent, deep breath, he’d eventually return to being that endearingly smug bastard she knew. And that was enough.
One night, a grumbling Heisenberg returned from retrieving packages outside the fence. She couldn’t ask what they were when her more immediate observation was… that the top of his hat and shoulders were… glistening? It wasn’t long before rhythmic pitter-patters sounded off from the rooftop, louder with each passing second.
“What is that?” she asked, eyes to the ceiling. He annoyedly flicked some droplets off his shades.
“What, don’t remember rain?” She shrugged at his question. “…Water that falls from the sky, so…”
“…Oh…”
“…” Her silence had him gripping the wrapped packages tighter.
Any reminder of her limitations always made him a little shifty. Any reminder of the outside world always made her quiet. The child had long resigned herself to staying hidden within the factory. Between the varcolac attack, the awful memories, and Miranda’s presence… She wasn’t keen on exploring. She was safer here.
…But the soft, soothing rainfall reawakened some longing.
Day by day, Lucia remembered which pieces fit into place. Which clasps were needed to output voltage into the Cadou, where the grates had to point for proper ventilation, what tubes allowed for the artificial blood to flow… She’d learned how to reassemble a premade reactor. Now, Heisenberg gave her a new challenge:
Making one from scratch without looking at the blueprint—from the box of scraps he’d always have her organizing, no less. She’d rolled her eyes at his habit of underlying motives.
“You made all this by
yourself?”
she asked after an hour, brow furrowed in concentration, hands busy with pliers and circuits.
“Yup,” he replied, watching her carefully for any mistakes, “Amazing what I can do with enough time and spite, huh?”
“It…
is
amazing, actually.” Heisenberg did a double take at her compliment, while she remained focused. She looked at the reactor with a quiet awe, if a little sad. He knew she was still empathetic. Still, to hear her respect for his innovation was refreshing— “In its own messed up way,” she added. Ah. He also knew she was still a sassy shit.
“Pffft, here I thought you were buttering me up for a hint.” Lucia leveled him with a fiery squint.
“Don’t need it.” She returned to her challenge with competitive resolve.
Once she combined it with a Cadou—with no small amount of nauseous complaining—Heisenberg cut straight to the ultimate test: he stuck it in a corpse’s chest cavity, then fried it. Lucia waited with bated breath until…
It gasped and hissed to life. The Soldat stood to attention, its control unit keeping it to a neutral function.
“Oh my GOD!” she squealed.
“Well, well!”
“I-It…! Worked?! It WORKED!!”
Heisenberg chuckled, and rubbed her hair at her enthusiasm. She giggled and shoved his hand off, though not forcefully so. It was certainly odd, being proud of something so dark as raising an undead soldier. But neither could wipe the smiles off from the success she’d been tirelessly working towards for over a month.
“Now to learn how to troubleshoot!” he announced.
That
cut her celebratory mood short.
“…Trouble what now?”
“You can
make
a reactor,” he clarified, his tone mischievously chipper, “So next up is to learn aaaaall the ways it can go wrong, then fix it.”
“Are you
serious?”
“Got anything better to do?”
Lucia whined at the ceiling; he snickered.
Another week or so of his own tinkering left Heisenberg exhausted; he’d barely slept, since he wanted to keep this little side project discreet. And maybe it was too soon to show her… But the satisfaction of finishing it energized him. When he abruptly woke Lucia for breakfast, he ordered her to bring her gloves; she didn’t bother questioning him while she was so disoriented.
“So, kid…” he started once she reached her last bite of near-burnt toast. She hummed sleepily in response. “I, uh, have something for you.” That woke her up a bit more. Lucia gulped down her food, quickly suspicious of the wrapped object he removed from his coat pocket. But her wariness ebbed when he removed the rags.
“A… reactor?” she observed, uncertain. After all, it looked different. New. Dare she say,
sleeker
than any models she’d seen. He turned it on; immediately, it lit up with the soft, warm gold of a flashlight, unlike the eerie red that she and the rest of his army emitted. But then she eyed him skeptically. “…You’re just gonna make me take it apart, aren’t you?” For a beat, Heisenberg stared. He then put it down on the table, and shrugged nonchalantly.
“Sure, let’s take it apart the fast way.” Before she could ask what he meant, he took his full cup of water… and dumped the liquid
directly
onto it. After a week of seeing reactors explode in numerous ways, her response was all shock and fear.
“Hey, WAIT—!!” Lucia threw her arms over her face.
…The explosion never came.
Heisenberg let her figure that out on her own as she slowly peeked at the intact—and
functional—
reactor.
“Huh…?” She poked the glowing contraption with a cautious finger. Any water droplets leftover just… slipped off without a trail. The nooks and crevices of the device absorbed nothing. Its light remained uninterrupted. The girl looked to him, wide-eyed, for an explanation to this magic.
“It’s covered in a hydrophobic substance. In other words… it’s waterproof.” Her bewilderment grew tenfold.
“But… How? When?
What?”
“Stuff like this is available outside the village. Tough to get my hands on, though. I owe the Duke big time.” Lucia blinked with understanding, as if remembering the delivered packages he’d received a while ago. She also realized she hadn’t thought about the merchant in some time. But he knew her anger towards the Duke had calmed since then; her expression settled on cautiously grateful. “But that’s not all.” He pointed his chin towards her gloves. “Try pulling the reactor towards you. Without touching it.”
He saw her curiosity waver, her eyes growing distant. And he knew exactly where she’d gone: she hadn’t used her powers since her mutation.
“Lucia.” His voice brought her back. “It’s
your
power. You control it. Not the other way around.” Her lids flickered at his reminder. And her expression softened… Insecure, but trustful. She slowly lifted her hand towards the reactor, took a deep breath… And focused on what charge the metal would respond to.
Heisenberg didn’t expect his own quiet exhilaration. That after months of fear, here she was,
trying.
It had him leaning forward with anticipation.
It took plenty of concentration… Their forks eventually shook, and nudged a few centimeters towards her. But then she was
too
focused, her face contorting from overthinking and self-doubt. Her overly forced effort had her giving up after a few more seconds.
“I-I’m, uh… out of practice,” she mumbled sheepishly. He couldn’t help chuckling at her.
“It was a good try, kiddo.” Heisenberg lifted his hand to take over the demonstration. Their utensils easily levitated into the air. So did the unwashed pans and other various tools strewn about the kitchen. Even gave a little tug on her reactor to prove his point. A gasp signalled that she caught onto what he wanted her to see:
The new reactor had barely moved.
“It’s… You’re not…?”
“Nope. It’s made from metal/polymer composite… which I can’t control.”
It dawned on her all at once.
That awful fight they’d had, and everything she’d accused him of being: selfish, controlling, sticking her with a reactor so she’d rely solely on him…
This was his response.
“It’s not a perfect model,” he began to explain, “Some circuitry inside still needs conductive metal, for now. We’ll work on that if the Duke can pull through. But… Consider this an early upgrade.” She continued to stare, processing all that this meant for her. A tangible promise of returning her autonomy. He awkwardly cleared his throat after some extended silence. “…If you want—and
only
if you want—I can replace your current model—”
“Yeah. T-Today?” Her quick answer caught him off guard.
“…It
can
be today.”
“I… Good. Good! Yeah, let’s try it!” She wasn’t exactly smiling as she was still reeling from this. But her eyes
shone.
It stunned him, how earnest she was… He couldn’t really explain what he felt. He just knew this was a step in the right direction. The man nodded as he rose to find his medical kit with the sedative pills.
Removing the old reactor proved somewhat tough, as her body had adjusted to it for nearly a year. He worked quickly to clean and sterilize any open wounds from separating it. Once he did so… he couldn’t help lingering on her Cadou scars.
Still a seamless implantation, but proof of Miranda’s cruelty nonetheless. A fate that none of them should’ve ever experienced.
As he carefully attached her new reactor, he found it somewhat…
poetic.
To be covering up Miranda’s work with his own. Not only because he’d earned Lucia’s trust to do this procedure once more, but that this was all done with the intent to improve her life. That this was in service to
her
best interests, not his. It wasn’t often that he used his skills for something other than plotting revenge. But this…
This was fulfilling.
Once he activated the reactor, steady electricity flowed through her Cadou. With it, her surgery wounds gradually closed up on her own, and her body regenerated perfectly around the new machinery. He sighed in relief upon hearing Lucia’s stable, healthy breathing. The surgery went smoothly.
By the time he’d finished cleaning the area and sterilizing his tools, he heard her waking. Another good sign.
“Hey kid. How’re ya feeling?” She rubbed the sleepiness out of her eyes, slowly feeling her chest. Already, she breathed with disbelief at how much lighter it felt.
“…Fine?” After a brief patdown and a few seconds to collect herself, she responded with more certainty. “Fine. Yeah.”
“Good. Any aches? Pains? Discomfort?” He sat by her gurney all business, but her description delighted him. Lucia was already sitting up and stretching her tired limbs.
“No, I… I feel like I could go right into a combat trial!” To illustrate her point, a few wisps of lightning curled between her fingers. He raised his brows. Her renewed confidence was damn near contagious. But for all their excitement, someone had to be the voice of reason here.
“No need for that,” he chuckled. Well, at least she wouldn’t need any physical therapy. She poked at her new reactor again.
“…Why isn’t it glowing, though?”
“Oh, it’s off by default. You press a hidden button on the side when you need to check the charge. More discreet and energy-efficient this way.” He motioned for her to find it; true to his design, she found the noiseless button as if she were simply fiddling with a large trinket. The light burned brightly for a few seconds until she pressed it again to turn it off. “The dimmer it is, the lower the battery. But we can go over the details later. You should rest until we can test it properly.” Before he was even done speaking, he knew he’d lost her attention. Lucia had lifted her head upwards, listening…
It was raining.
With a hopeful look he hadn’t seen in ages, he knew he wouldn’t be able to refuse her when she asked:
“Can we go outside?”
Her pestering didn’t even give him the chance to throw a poncho over her as they approached the back of the factory. If he hadn’t been showing her this route for the first time, he knew she’d be
zooming
past him. Heisenberg and Lucia agreed to be cautious, as the scrapyard was in view from a distant cliffside. At least they could remain unseen behind the building. He would’ve preferred to test the waterproof aspect indoors… but seeing her yearn to go outside after being afraid for so long? He could give her this.
Opening the door let in a soft gust of wind, and pronounced, heavy rainfall. By the light outside, the sun must be on its way down. Thankfully, the storm also brought enough fog and clouds to blanket the factory. They’d be hidden from prying eyes—not that Lucia was even thinking about that.
She reached out a tentative hand to feel the rain hit her skin. It sent a shiver through her, but not just from the cool temperature; the smell of wet soil and freshwater breathed a new life into her, temporarily freed from the musty factory. But she didn’t move forward. Lucia looked back to him with some anxiety.
“If anything goes wrong, I’m here,” he reassured. She gave him a grateful nod.
Slowly, Lucia exited to the outside world.
Hunched with shut eyes at first, in an instinctive posture to shield her reactor. But the longer she soaked, the more she opened up… And gradually removed her hand from her chest.
Nothing happened.
No sizzling, no malfunctioning. Every drop that fell upon the machinery slid down harmlessly.
She turned to show him. Normally, her excitement was loud, unabashed. But all she could muster in this moment was a shaky exhale. As if she hadn’t the words.
Seeing her eyes brimming with joy left him breathless.
The moment was interrupted by a flash, then a resounding boom from the sky. She flinched with a squeaky yelp, suddenly ran towards him—she hugged his waist, almost a tackle. His heart just about jumped in his ribcage.
“W-What was that?” she shakily asked, looking back at the open door.
“…Never heard thunder before?” he quipped once he recovered from the impact.
“I don’t… I don’t remember.”
“Course not.”
…She wasn’t budging. Lucia continued to hold onto him while searching for the cause outside. A fact that made him weak.
“…You can let go of me now,” he teased, masking himself in sarcasm.
“Shut up. I-I’m just cold.” He could practically
hear
the petulant pouting. He barked a laugh at her defensiveness.
“Sure ya are.” He grinned, and rubbed her hair by habit.
But she didn’t remove his hand.
Lucia pressed her face against his body, and relaxed into his touch. His heart fluttered at this. That she sought comfort from him was… something he wasn’t sure he’d get used to.
“…Hey,” he eventually called. She responded with trusting eyes. “Take a closer look at the clouds.” He could see her hesitating… He stroked her wet hair. “You’re brave, Lucia. Go on.”
She took a few moments to look at the storm again… then pulled away.
As Lucia reentered the rain’s embrace, he simply watched her take in the sights with a new appreciation. And not for the first time, he thought back on Alcina’s words.
I helped bring them to life.
Lucia slowly turned while walking backwards, surveying the storm. Her new reactor was visible just above the undone buttons. It continued to defy the water that would’ve destroyed its predecessor.
They are the way they are because of me.
She searched the weeping skies, encouraged by his words. Uncertainty gave way to silent determination. And then she saw it: a bright lightning bolt arced across the gray clouds, a force of nature much larger and more powerful than she could ever conjure. A deep crackle of thunder followed it, rumbling through her bones. The girl flinched on instinct… But her tone was nothing short of
amazed.
“Wow…! Did…? Did you see that?!”
And when they look upon me like I am
everything
to them…
Lucia turned…
smiling
with every bit of childish wonder. Smiling wider than he’d seen in… he wasn’t sure how long.
Smiling… with a fondness meant for
him.
…How can I not want to give them the world?
…He had to get her freedom.
She whirled to search for more lightning bolts, no longer afraid. She was the picture of young innocence that she should’ve always been. Returning this small normalcy to her gave him a contentment he’d never experienced with any of his creations.
For now, there was no revenge. No village cult, no Miranda. They’d inevitably have to return to reality…
But this moment was theirs to share.
The season flew by without them noticing.
Lucia was kept on her toes as Heisenberg taught her more about Soldat reactors, as well as her own. He threw challenge after challenge, each with its own demonstrated lesson that she’d memorize before testing her with a random situation:
The ventilation system was clogged. A reactor short-circuited out of nowhere. Even
water
got involved.
All required quick thinking and immediate responses. Each scenario was met by Lucia’s resolve.
She’d open up the grate, check the cooling system, and remove any obstacle until it whirred clearly. She’d disassemble the reactor on the spot, careful to reattach wires without rupturing any blood vessels. And the most difficult by far, she’d honed her electromagnetic control to trigger the internal emergency shutdown, after which she had a scant few minutes to take apart, dry, and reassemble the reactor.
It’d been stressful, but highly rewarding for the both of them, she thought.
Lucia felt useful. She learned to like training under Heisenberg’s efficient, if a little crude tutelage. All his self-taught knowledge was being passed onto her; despite the situation and the end goal, she somehow grew to respect his craft. She imagined that not a lot of people could figure out how to raise the dead.
She liked seeing him smile, too. Not the mad scientist one, when a Soldat killed more lycans in one go, or when he felt one step closer to destroying Miranda. It was when she solved one of his challenges, or even failed one but chose to learn from her mistakes. His smile encouraged her to keep learning.
Eventually, troubleshooting and repairing became second nature to her. Several Soldats stood functional after every issue Heisenberg could throw at her. He let out an impressed scoff.
“Look at you go, kiddo,” he chuckled, “You’re officially a mini-grease monkey.” He rubbed her hair and got a giggle out of her.
“Yup, don’t need you anymore,” she joked lightly. There were no more complaints, huffed pleas for hints, or attempted swiping of any blueprints. No, she could do all of this on her own now!
She felt his hand slow to a stop.
“…Guess you don’t.” Lucia looked up at him, somewhat confused by his quiet repetition. She’d expected some egotistical joke from him.
…This smile was different. Small. Proud. Perhaps a bit… sad? Before she could decipher further, he patted her back twice and went right back to his showman persona, boasting about how they should have a feast to celebrate.
But he seemed… happy.
She liked seeing him happy.
Neither said any of these sentimental things out loud. They preferred to let their actions speak for them. Heisenberg especially so.
It was in the way he’d let her start on a bath while he went ahead with cooking. Of course, he never said so nicely. He’d say she smelled like shit, flicking a wrist to distantly plug the tub drain and run the water. Lucia knew to find the kindness under all his prickly pines. Sinking into warm water without fear of being hurt brought her a deeper appreciation for this simple joy. She’d hold her breath and linger in it for as long as she could. Even being able to wash her hair herself was somehow empowering.
It was in the way he’d repaired a proper washer and dryer months ago—for his own convenience, he’d claimed. But the clothes from Lady Beneviento had made their way through those machines several times in a row. All to ensure no pollen remained. For tonight, Lucia decided on a long sleeved white top and a flowing skirt with embroidered flowers, and some stockings for the night’s chill. The wide neckline stopped just above her reactor, which appeared nonexistent beneath the fabric. She waved the poofy sleeves around; they were cinched at the wrists, but she couldn’t help feeling a bit playful. None of Heisenberg’s clothes were this nice! Still, she at least wore the steel toed boots the most often.
And it was in the way he made a greater effort in cooking. The kitchen’s smells were mouthwatering. So much so that she nearly missed the way he clumsily stuffed a letter into his pocket when she arrived. Lucia knew he’d been corresponding with the Duke; from the way the kitchen looked, maybe he’d asked for a new recipe.
“Ciorba de Porc,” he told her once they were seated, “Poured you an extra serving, so you better not waste any of it.” She made a show of skeptically scrutinizing the tempting stew.
“Can I waste it if it tastes bad?”
“Hey, I’m an
excellent
cook when I wanna be.” She couldn’t help laughing at his defense. The two cheers’d their bowls with an audible clink before digging in.
…But she hated that he wasn’t kidding. Lucia
downed
her portion. She tasted tomato and lemon in the broth, bit into tender pork—even the
vegetables
had soaked up all the flavors and melded together deliciously. She couldn’t even find it in her to tell him to stop smirking so goddamn much over this.
“This is so
unfair!”
she cried, “You could’ve cooked something this good the
entire time?”
Heisenberg chortled through his meal.
“Been saving the recipe for a special occasion, what can I say?” Lucia whipped out her tape recorder from her skirt pocket and spoke into it, absolutely incredulous.
“Let it be known that
Karl Heisenberg—
that garbage science man—can cook Ciorba de Porc, which is WAY better than burnt chicken.” He nearly choked at her using his full name
and
from her recording something so trivial.
“What—” He half-coughed, half-laughed, “Hell was that for?”
“So I remember that you have no excuse to cook food that’s just, ‘edible enough.’” She stopped the recording once she said her piece. Just in time for her to yawn. That was a
lot
of food.
The sound seemed to sober him right up.
“Gonna give you… so much
shit
if we go back to just…” Lucia couldn’t finish her thought as she grew sleepier. She laid her chin on her arms. The day’s events must be catching up to her.
“Language, missy,” he teased.
“Oh, shut it. You don’t care about that…” Her lids were unbelievably heavy, but she caught his eyebrows raising in mild delight.
Took you long enough to get that,
his look said. “You don’t caaarrreee… m’bout…” Why was she repeating herself? She needed a nap. Lucia finally closed her eyes while settling into the crooks of her elbows. She registered his chair pulling away, barely hearing him.
“…Care about some things…”
That was probably the start of a dream.
Faint, muddled voices reached her ears.
“…much… owe…?”
“…if you recall…”
Lucia tugged her blanket tighter; it felt more like wool than cotton. She didn’t mind. She just wanted to go back to sleep.
“…Fuck do you mean…?!”
“…terms were clear…”
Huh. She knew those voices. Again, she squirmed, trying to get comfortable on her bed. But her pillow was too bulky. And the mattress felt… thinner?
“—can’t
seriously
be pulling this bullshit now—!”
“This wagon will not move until I hear her agreement myself.”
Lucia’s eyes flew open.
A wagon.
She was in a
wagon.
She shot up, the world spinning as her senses returned. Her hands flew to feel her face, her chest, the objects around her. She’d been dressed in her outdoor gear for the weather, her supposed “pillow” no more than a dirty backpack. Opening it revealed some quickly stuffed clothes and basic mechanic’s tools… For her reactor.
Everything she touched proved too solid.
This wasn’t a dream. Hearing frustrated growling from outside made her pick up the bag and drag herself through the side door.
Tumbling outside, a crisp, icy wind bit at her exposed face, her boots crunching into snow. Thick clouds hid them from the night’s blue-gray sky, which stretched unobstructed by any foliage. The traveling emporium appeared to be parked on a rocky mountain clearing. Its few lanterns lit just enough to see who she needed to see. Two men looked back at her with differing demeanors:
The Duke, who waved his heavy fingers in a warm greeting.
And Heisenberg, who looked ready to dropkick him off a cliff.
“…What the
hell…”
she slowly seethed, “…is going on?” She watched the merchant look down at his client with a knowing grin. Heisenberg was frozen, his mind clearly scrambling to say anything.
“…Happy Birthday,” he said dumbly, “Your gift is freedom?”
“Neither of us know when my birthday is,
dipshit.”
“It’s winter, ain’t it?” Lucia’s eyes bore through him with burning impatience. He eventually relented with a pinch of his nose and mumbled curses. “…I made a deal with the Duke to get you out,” he began, “If I paid him and taught you how to maintain your own reactor, he’d… drop you at an orphanage or something. Far away from the village.”
Lucia stared. Her face set in a neutral, processing expression.
“…Did you drug my dinner?” she asked, deadpan.
“Maybe.”
“…”
She slipped the backpack on and started walking past them.
“Hey, wh—! Lucia! I only did it because I knew you’d be stubborn—” She wasn’t listening. Heisenberg jogged after her. “Lucia!! This is
exactly
what I meant, y’know! Where do you think you’re going?!”
“Back to the factory. Where else?”
He stammered, disbelieving. “Are you serious?”
“Were you gonna leave with me?”
“No, it’s not safe for me to—”
“Then I’m staying.”
“Why the
hell
would you wanna stay?!”
“Because fuck you,
Karl!!”
“‘Karl—?!’ Fuck
YOU!!
You don’t even know where the factory’s at from here, dumbass—” He was right, of course. She was simply walking wherever caravan wheels hadn’t disturbed dirt, but there were no landmarks for her to spot. And no trees in sight—likely so they’d be able to see crows coming from a mile away. Smart. Very smart—
“I’m
talking to you!!”
Heisenberg boomed, quickly standing in her way and stopping her with a shove. Lucia glowered up at him. “I won’t be ignored by some eleven-year-old brat—”
“I thought I’m twelve now, isn’t it my birthday—”
“Don’t be fucking smart with me! You need to go with the Duke. It’s what’s best for you.”
“Why are
you
the one deciding
for me?”
“Because you’re
my
responsibility, damn it! And I know that when I was your age, I’d do
anything
to get a free ride away from Miranda! I’d have taken this deal in an
instant!!
So you’re gonna get in that wagon, tell that fat, loopholing sack of
horse shit
to drive, and you won’t. Look.
Back!”
Lucia angrily pushed his stomach with all her might, sending him a few steps away as she shouted, “I WOULD look back!!” Aggravation crossed his face, but she wouldn’t let him get a word in. “I’d look back EVERY DAY if I knew you’re alone here! I’d fucking fight my way BACK here until I see that Miranda’s dead and gone and not
hurting you
anymore!”
Heisenberg’s resolve faltered.
“…You’re just…! You’re too young and too weak to do anything against her anyway! I’ll kill her myself! This is MY fight to end, on MY terms!!” Lucia’s once enraged huffing slowly petered down to shaky, fearful breaths.
All she could picture was a burning forest, and the father perishing in his fight against the witch.
“Don’t die…” she suddenly whispered. Heisenberg’s temper dampened at her change. “E-Everyone else I knew… either gave me up, or died…” She started welling up, her lips quivering at the thought of losing him. “I can’t go… I-I’d be more scared without you… I’m
not
leaving…!”
…He stood in stunned silence. Lucia knew him well enough to understand how far he planned things in advance. How deeply he wished for everything to go his way. But nothing prepared him for these admissions.
“Well,” the Duke called from his distant seat, “It appears that the deal’s off.” They could hear the merchant’s smile in that announcement. It returned some of Heisenberg’s ire.
“‘Customer’s always right,’ my ass…” he grumbled. Heisenberg dragged his palm down his face, heavily deliberating. “…Last chance. What do you really want, Lucia?”
…She took two steps towards him, and quietly hugged his waist. She leaned her forehead against him before answering, self-assured… Heartfelt…
“…I want to go home.”
She heard his breath silence above her. Lucia understood the complicated relationship he had with the factory. A broken “gift” meant to serve Miranda’s ends, all under the sham of maintaining a family legacy. Only now did they realize that it could be more than Miranda’s spoils, and more than Heisenberg’s vengeance.
“Home…” he repeated quietly, as if hearing the value of the word for the first time in decades. He clenched his teeth. “…You deserve a better home than that cage.” Lucia shut her eyes and pulled herself closer, staining his shirt with her tears.
“You do, too.”
Heisenberg said nothing for a long time… until he sighed, and slowly returned her embrace.
For better or for worse… neither of them could let each other go.
Since he’d made the long trek to meet out in the middle of nowhere—all while carrying a sleeping child and a backpack—the Duke kindly transported them to the factory. Lucia had leaned on Heisenberg’s shoulder the entire ride back, nodding off every now and then to the steady rhythm of the wagon. All the while, her words floated through his head like a rediscovered lullaby. It’d been many, many years since another cared for him so earnestly. As they exited into the scrapyard, he didn’t know if he’d made the wrong decision tonight; only that he couldn’t deny her.
“I’ve something for you both before we part ways,” the Duke announced, ever cheery. He leaned down to hand Lucia a wrapped book. “I do hope you’ll practice reading, Miss Lucia. This discusses the outside world—or one aspect of it that you may appreciate now.” She took it without saying a word, but they seemed to exchange some strange, knowing stares. Probably some deal that Heisenberg wasn’t aware of. He’d have to ask later.
“And for you, good sir,” the merchant continued, “Took me some time to acquire, but I imagined you’d be interested in this.” What he ended up giving Heisenberg surprised him:
An American newspaper.
He flipped through it immediately.
Local newspaper: The Dulvey Daily, July 30, 2017
Sheriff's Office Say Baker Family Killed by Natural Gas
In a follow up on the deaths of the Baker family on July 21, the Dulvey County Sheriff's Office stated: "It is highly likely that their deaths were caused by a hydrogen sulfide leak."
The local area is surrounded by wetlands, which combined with a concentration of pollution, could have led to the buildup of toxic gas that claimed the lives of the Baker family.
The leak has been blocked, however the authorities have sealed off the area in order to prevent any further accidents.
The victims included were:
Deceased:
- Jack Baker
- Marguerite Baker
- Lucas Baker
- Zoe Baker
- Dave Anderson
- Clancy Jarvis
- Andre Stickland
- Peter Walken
Injured:
- Ethan Winters
- Mia Winters
“…Miranda’s cover-up,” Heisenberg guessed.
“Perhaps.” He scoffed at the merchant’s usual vagueness. But he had a feeling that was more confirmation, rather than just being coy.
“Why give me this? You taking sides now, Duke?”
“Am I not allowed to simply share stories with a colleague?” That was definitely more coy than confirmation. But the merchant grew contemplative, carefully considering his words. “…Miranda’s made powerful enemies. Her actions may very well bring the winds of change. And when they arrive… Well. I hope you two will make it.”
With that, the Duke urged his horse forward, and departed.
They watched the wagon disappear into the dark, each weighing his prediction with solemn foreboding. In their silence, he felt a small hand gently gripping his palm. And he returned her hold with a reassuring squeeze.
Heisenberg led Lucia inside. Just before the doors to his factory closed, he caught the softest beginning of snowfall.
So ended their first year. Uncertain of the future, but prepared to face it together.
Hi all,
First off, I’d like to wish everyone a belated happy holidays and a happy new year! I hope you’re all doing well.
To any and everyone who’s supported me thus far, I apologize for the radio silence. Life got unbelievably busy for me the past half year. The move took a lot out of me, as did some drama with workplace management. Work in general had its ups and downs, the latter of which deeply ruined my motivation and confidence in my own writing. I’d meant to give this update much sooner, but honestly, too many life obligations kept me from this hobby. I’m truly sorry for leaving everyone hanging.
But believe me when I say that a day hasn’t gone by where I didn’t think about this story. I have such fun memories of writing and reading everyone’s comments—some of which were sent after my hiatus! (Thanks for all the kudos as well!) Perhaps it’s that new year’s resolution spirit that’s gotten me to pick up the keyboard again. Although I must admit, I need a refresher on my own fanfic. So I have a proposal that I’d like some opinions on:
I want to go back chapter by chapter from the beginning, to remember and edit pieces of the story that need to flow better, could expand on some characterization, and so on. I think that’d help me get back into the swing of writing. What I’m unsure about is how to do it. Should I edit each chapter and leave updated notes in the summary when they’re ready? Should I start a new copy of this story and update that weekly with the revised chapters? Am I overthinking?? Quite likely!
All this to say, I’d very much like to return to this story at a kinder pace for myself. I don’t think EVERYTHING needs a rewrite. But over the next month or so, I want to edit certain parts for my own peace of mind/memory and to help myself ease back into this. No main plot points should change. And while the revisions are happening, I’ll try to stack up a few NEW chapters for future consistent updates. Hopefully I’ll get Heisenberg and Lucia’s stories to the dang ending y’all deserve. :’)
I’m gonna start back at Chapter 1 soon. In the meantime, feel free to let me know which revision option sounds better, say hi, or just sit back and stay tuned! Will update the story summary and delete this life update chapter eventually.
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She stood in the elevator alone as she went up to her penthouse. She was the richest woman in the town and one of the sexist. She stood there in her tight, low cut black dress showing her curves nicely. She had double D cups and a round ass that make any woman jealous. She was blonde and just oozed beauty. She was on her iPhone when the elevator jerked and ground to a halt, knocking her back against the wall.
She looked around as the light flickered and the button lights blinked. She went to the emergency phone panel under the buttons and opened it. She starred at the empty panel as wires stuck out of where the phone should've been. She looked at her new iPhone, top of the line, no signal. She tried to pull the doors apart, no luck.
Britney pounded on the door and screamed hoping someone would hear her. She heard her phone drop and looked down, it was shattered. Britney picked it up and backed away to the rear wall. She hoped that the security guards in the building had a way of knowing the elevator was stuck.
She took her high heels off and put them with her purse in the corner as she paced the little room. The light stopped flickering and was dim as she looked up at it shaking her head. Britney tried to calm herself down as it began to grow warm inside the elevator cabin. She didn't know what to do as she awaited help.
Britney had been in the elevator for half an hour and was sweaty as the elevator car heated up to around one hundred degrees. She sat on the floor and leaned against the wall as she wiped sweat off her face. She heard a loud bang above the elevator in the shaft that made her jump. She looked up and listened as she waited for someone to talk, thinking it was help.
Nothing made a noise after that loud bang. Britney sat on the floor as the light flickered again and sparked as something fell onto the top of the elevator car. She jumped and stood up as she heard something moving on top of the elevator.
"Hello?" She asked hoping it was a person.
The sound stopped and the light dimmed even more. She stood still as she heard noises around the walls. She crept to the wall and put her ear to it as she heard slithering sounds. She looked confused as she heard the noises, Britney wasn't sure what the noise was.
She kept her ear to the wall as it burst through the thin sheet metal. She screamed as the tentacle wrapped around her neck holding her to the wall and tightened its grip to keep her quiet. Britney's wrists were grabbed as she was pulled against the wall and held by the strong tentacles. She struggled as more burst through the wall and wrapped around her legs. The beautiful thirty year old brunette was stuck for sure now.
She felt her legs being pulled open as her tight dress rode up her thighs. She struggled as hard as she could as her dress was up around her waist, her pink, lace thong was now exposed. Tears ran down her face as a tentacle came through the wall and began rubbing her bet ween her legs. She realized what they wanted as it rubbed her crotch vigorously.
Britney tried to fight the feeling as the rubbing grew intense and was making her wet. She closed her eyes and bit her lip as they rubbing made her get off. She began to feel her body betray her as her juices flowed. She moaned as another gush of cum dripped to the floor as the tentacle rubbed. It stopped and slid under the thin cloth and into her wet hole.
Her eyes closed as she felt it enter her body. It began fucking her tight pussy as Britney moaned and enjoyed the thick tentacle going in and out of her slit. A tentacle slid down between her cleavage and pulled her dress down, exposing her double D cups and hard nipples. Tentacles went around each breast and squeezed as smaller tendrils wrapped around her hard nipples, pulling and squeezing them. Britney felt herself get off again as her breasts got teased and her tight hole got invaded.
The rich brunette was getting the best sex she ever experienced. She felt something slide down between her ass cheeks and her eyes opened wide as it forced its way up her tight asshole. Britney never had that hole penetrated, ever, but she felt the tentacle ramming in and out of her ass fast as it felt good. Her moans filled the elevator as her cum steadily dripped to the floor.
Britney was loving the attack upon her sexy body from the tentacles. Her ass bounced off the wall from the tentacle fucking it as the tentacles continued to squeeze her tits and pull her nipples. Britney was moaning and begging for more as they went faster and deeper into her holes.
The elevator car shook as they had their way with the rich woman. Her moans grew louder and echoed up the elevator shaft. A second tentacle slid into her pussy and began fucking her, stretching her pussy. She felt it and it felt great as the two tentacles pounded deep into her pussy. Britney was starring up to the ceiling with a big smile as she got off once again. She was in a state of sexual bliss as the tentacles had their way with her.
All of the sudden a rush of warmth entered her pussy. She smiled as she felt the tentacles spew their seed into her. Then her ass was filled up. Britney was exhausted as she hung on the wall by the tentacles. They retreated from her holes and laid her on the floor as they retreated from the elevator.
The elevator began moving up to her penthouse. She lay on the floor exposed, in a puddle of cum and unconscious, with a smile. She woke up and exited the elevator with her stuff as she went to the shower. She smiled thinking of the tentacles as she washed herself off. Britney was hoping it would happen again soon.
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Maggie lay on her stomach, each breath sounding like a rushing wind in the silence of her bedroom. Would it happen again tonight? Had she concocted last nights adventure from a glass of wine, a wish, and a videotape?
For some reason she had pulled on the mall-store copy of a Victorian dressing gown a former lover had presented her for Valentine's day. It was too hot to wear anything, but for some reason, she did not want to be completely naked and vulnerable if he came again.
Last night she had been nude, sweltering in the late August heat wave that had Denver baking for the last week. The upper floor apartment in the converted Washington Park Victorian had no air conditioning, so a Wal-Mart fan had been rotating back and forth lending an illusion of cool. She had just watched Dracula. Not the old black and whites, but the newer one with Gary Oldman and Keanu Reeves trying to pretend he was English. She had just finished a cool glass of wine when the scene where Dracula takes Lucy in the garden in wolf form occurred. She had hit the pause button and watched it several times, feeling a tingle begin that she had not felt in months, not since the breakup.
When the movie finished and Annie Lennox was singing the final mournful tune while the credits rolled, Maggie had stepped out the windows onto the balcony. It was almost 12:30, and her two male neighbors had no interest in the female form. She felt a slight breeze caress her nude form, and felt her nipples crinkle, not so much with a chill, but with an aching desire.
"I wish I had a daemon lover," she said. "Someone dark, and mysterious, who would slip through these doors and make me feel inflamed, possessed, and just plain wicked! If you're out there, I am here, my window is open for you!"
She walked back inside to her bed, feeling giddy and foolish. She stood in front of the fan for a few seconds relishing the feel of it on her bare skin, then flopped down on the bed with a squeaking protest of the old metal four poster bed.
In a few moments, the wine helped her drift off to sleep. She awoke a short time later. She despised clocks with luminous dials, so she did not know how long she had been asleep, or whether she was even really awake. There was a scent in the air. Sandalwood, cinnamon, deep rich freshly turned earth and many other scents somehow familiar yet unidentifiable assailed her nose.
Her eyes focused on the rectangle of diffused light that was the balcony doors. Silhouetted there was the shape of a man. Fear gripped her and news reports of assaults began playing over one another in her head. Her logical mind interrupted the regular broadcast to remind her there was almost no way anyone could climb the back roof without a big ladder and a lot of noise that her very wary downstairs old maid land-lady would not have heard. She had called the police so many times in the past year they knew her number when it showed up ion the incoming ID!
It had to be a dream. She did not usually drink anything. The booze and the movie had combined to try and freak her out.
The shape moved. It did not walk or jump, or use any manner of locomotion known to Maggie. One second it was at the window, the next it was filling her entire vision and standing by the bed. The smell was stronger now, but not at all unpleasant. She felt a tingle of fear that was quickly transforming into some other sensation. Then he touched her. She knew the intruder was male, but she was not sure how she knew. It stoked her hair very gently. She felt waves of peace and contentment pass through her. If she had been a cat, she was sure she would have purred.
His hand ran down her back, then brushed lightly against the cheeks of her buttocks. Her muscles tightened then at the brash familiarity of that touch, but there was no urge to tell him to stop. Another hand joined the first, swirling on her skin, raising gooseflesh wherever they passed. The hands made circles on her back, then went down to the side of her ribcage. In almost a trance state, Maggie felt herself lift her body off the bed with her elbows, and the hands swirled down to cup her breasts. Her nipples were hard almost to the point of discomfort. She felt the blood throbbing through her whole breasts as they hung down and were then pushed back up by those strong, long fingered hands. She realized then her legs were clenched together and she could feel a puddle forming under her pubic hair, soaking into the sheets.
A gentle nudge from him and she turned over with a soft squeak from the bed. One hand was now replaced by a mouth engulfing her nipple and a tongue molding it to a molten point. Her left breast was being skillfully massaged and caressed. The next few minutes were lost in a fog of pleasure and she was startled to hear her own voice moaning in a low -pitched caterwaul.
That mouth began kissing its way down her sweat covered stomach, her pubic hair meshing with his stiff beard. A pair of thumbs pulled aside her lower lips, which were fused together with her own excited fluids. She felt his breath on her. Anticipation made her quiver like a plucked harp string. Then a tongue darted forth and touched the swollen button of flesh. That was all it took to send her over the edge. She grabbed his head, clutching at his hair and thrust her wetness into him. He devoured her, his tongue and lips sucking, pushing and doing so many different things Maggie lost count of her orgasms. She finally had one huge shuddering climax where she swore she had actually screamed as she clutched the headboard and bucked her hips against him grinding her pussy into his face. The he stopped. He had then crept up her body, and kissed her gently. She responded by licking her own fluids from his lips, smelling her musky juices in his beard and mustache. He moved his head down and began licking her neck. If she hadn't been so exhausted she would have been very turned on. As it was, she had just achieved more orgasms in the last hour than she had in the previous year of her relationship. It felt good to have him lick just there, and then she had fallen asleep. She swore heard him whisper two words before she drifted off. "Until tomorrow."
The next morning Maggie awoke with a start. Her subconscious realized she had slept through four or five songs blaring from the bathroom on her clock radio. She rolled out of bed, and noted a weakness in her thighs and a content soreness between her legs. She did not remember the visitation until she slapped the radios silencer and looked into the mirror. There were circles under her eyes, and her short hairs stuck out in all directions. Then, she raised trembling fingers to her neck, Right there where the collarbone gently rose; there was a bruise. She hadn't had a hickey since when? Her last lover had considered them childish and "non-professional" and had scolded her when she had left one. It looked like it should be sore, but it felt rather numb as she touched it.
"Crap!" she hissed as she looked at the clock. No time to gamble on the RTD's less than stellar record of keeping its schedule. She was almost 30 minutes behind. There would be enough time for a quick shower (thank Goddesses all for short haircuts), and a pop tart in the car. She could really use some morning thunder tea to wake up, but there would be no time for that!
Once in the shower, she noted her breasts felt very tender, yet still tingled. The memories came flooding back as she passed the soapy wash cloth over her pubic mound. Her clitoris was still somewhat swollen and she found herself catching her breath as a tingle of pleasure shuddered through her. Had it been a dream? What about the bruise on her neck? Hadn't she read somewhere about people who were hypnotized and told they w re being burned who developed blisters? Maybe she had believed in the dream so hard her body had produced the bruise. Maybe she had scratched herself in her sleep.
She definitely had several orgasms last night. It had been six months since the break up, and even the vibrator her crazy friend Terri had given her as a gag gift had really never seen any action. It was not the first time she had cum in her dreams. There was the time as a kid when she had the crush on the lead singer from the By City Rollers. She would dream about just making out with him and cream her panties. She had been a little drunk and that scene in the movie seemed to have turned her on quite a bit.
As she ran out the back door to her car, she waved to her landlady Mrs. Smitts. She was kneeling on a foam pad in her garden, wearing a ridiculously huge straw hat, a long sleeve shirt, and those weird sun glass goggles that seniors with cataracts always wore. Mrs. Smitts would go on for hours about the damaging effects of the sun. Here she was on the west side of the house on a cloudy morning dressed up like a ... vampire?
Mrs. Smitts stopped, and stared at her, even reaching a bright pink glove up to pulled the UV goggles away from her face. She wore a pinched, disapproving expression that Maggie could not understand, until she remembered her "dream" and the prolonged squeaking of her bed.
All day at the hospital she found it hard to concentrate. Every time she kneeled down. Her pussy would throb and ache with a strange sort of hunger feeling. When she reached up, her nipples would instantly harden, causing juices to flow. She had raided her locker at first break and scrounged for some panty liners. Terri saw her briefly at lunch and had made several crude jokes about her "hickey". Maggie had blamed it on an insect bite she must have been allergic to.
While Maggie was checking her inventory before she punched out, a thought occurred to her. What if it had been an intruder? He could have broken in, and been standing by the window when she woke up. Had she remembered if the doors were locked when she ran out this morning?
Why would an intruder take the time to be so soft, caring, and damn sexy? As far as she could remember, she had felt nothing but his hands, and his mouth. She had certainly not been raped, but the thought of being penetrated by this daemon lover soaked through another panty liner (The fourth so far today!)
After work, she went to King Soopers. Her freezer at home was full of Lean Cuisine and "Healthy Choice Vegetarian" meals. Tonight she needed meat, craved it. A fresh spinach salad joined the other things in her cart, and she also without thinking threw in a bottle of iron tablets.
She used her small hibachi to barely sear the steak. She savored the bloody taste, and it seemed to relieve a bit of the fatigue she had felt all day. She resisted the urge to play "Dracula" again, instead found herself flipping though inane comedies and finally settling on Animal Planet, staring transfixed as a tiger savaged its prey.
No wine tonight either. She needed to be clear headed. As the sun set behind the mountains, Maggie sat in her rocking chair, naked except for her panties, idly stroking her nipples. She felt empty inside, like her pussy was a starving animal, waiting to be filled. She did not turn on any lights. As the darkness (as it was in a light polluted city like Denver) filled her apartment she found herself walking to the bathroom to find out what time it was. She paced, she walked out onto the balcony. Nothing seemed to calm her. Soon she was digging through the archaeological trove that was her lingerie drawer to find something to wear. A small part of her brain wondered what she was doing, dressing for a possible serial rapist? Another part of her wanted to be found alluring, desirable, worthy of the attention she had last evening.
When she found the dressing gown, sheerer than any Lucy or her Victorian lady friends would have worn, it slipped over her head immediately.
Now she waited, She resisted going to the bathroom to check on the time. A little while ago it had been 12:30. A slight breeze moved the curtains. Her eyes were getting heavy, she needed to close them for just a second.
Then she smelled it again, that wonderful blend of musky spices. She opened her eyes again and the pale rectangle of light had been replaced by the dark bulk of his body. Like a cat, he lay down on the bed beside her. The bed gave only the faintest protest. She could feel the heat radiating from every inch of him. She knew without seeing he was naked. She longed to run her hands down his body, to take what she hoped was a stiff long cock into her hands and coax it into her rapidly increasing wetness.
His hand ran down her back, then created an electric tingle as it found the skin of her leg. In one swift movement it slid back up, bunching the gown up over her buttocks. She clenched then. Her pussy felt like a velvet fist, clenched so tight it would be impossible to open. He had been here only seconds, and touched but a few inches of her, but she swore she was seconds away from a bombastic orgasm.
He blew warm air into her ear and across the nape of her neck sending gooseflesh marching up her spine. She moaned softly and tried to thrust her hips so that his fingers would rub against her wetness.
He complied by extending his middle finger, and while still pressing against her clenched cheeks, he slid it through the wet heat to her swollen clit.
His finger began to pulsate then; small movements that seemed to keep pace with her rapidly accelerating pulse. In 20 seconds she was biting her pillowcase and shuddering in a thunderous orgasm. His other hand snaked under her, caressing her nipple though the fabric of the dressing gown. He was lying so close to her that Maggie could feel his organ, so hard it felt like bone rather than flesh. At that instant she knew she had never wanted anything in her life as much as she wanted to feel that swollen cock inside her.
She reached a hand down and grasped it. His cock pulsed, seeming to enlarge by a few centimeters at her touch. She wanted to taste him then, but what he was doing to her kept her pressed to the bed and nearing another mind-numbing climax.
When she came this time, she clutched his cock and felt it quiver in time with her own spasms.
He relented then, and gave a her a few seconds to catch her breath. Her gown clung to her sweaty body and her breathing was ragged.
"Why... are you teasing me? Why don't...you do it?" She gasped.
"Do what" came his whisper.
Maggie had never been able to talk to partners during sex. Somehow she always had hoped they would know what she wanted. She had never had that hope fulfilled.
She sucked in a lung full of air and concentrated on her words. "Why don't you..." She wanted to say
, but she knew that would not be the right term for him. She had no illusions that this creature of the night loved her. She knew he desired her, longed for her, devoured her, somehow
her, but felt nothing akin to love.
She started again. "I want you, you know, inside of me."
The dark stranger replied, "My kind require an invitation before they can enter anywhere. You invited me into your home last night. Think carefully, Magdalene. Once invited, we can enter whenever we choose."
She started at the use of her full name. No one called her that.
His long fingers began to stroke up and down her wet slit. If she were not filled soon, she would no longer be able to draw breath.
"Well?" he asked.
"Do it!" she hissed.
"I am afraid that does not satisfy the rules. It must be an invitation." He replied, now using two fingers to twiddle her engorged clitoris.
For a brief moment Maggie imagined a small parchment card with lace edging bearing the calligraphy words, "You are cordially invited to have your way with Magdalene Carter. R.S.V.P"
Now one finger kept the pressure on her clit, while the other was pushing into her lips, pressing against the opening she so badly needed probed. Her hips were beginning to buck in the air, as he threw a leg over her and she could feel his cock on the back of her thigh.
"Please," she began, then whispered, "Fuck me."
"What did you say? He asked, "I could barely hear you."
"FUCK ME!" she screamed not caring what Mrs. Smitts or the neighbors thought.
The visitor let out a feral snarl. A shiver coursed through Maggie made up of equal parts terror and anticipation. She found her legs being spread by his knees. His strong hands grasped either side of her hips and pulled her up. She had only been in this position once or twice before. Her ex had only liked to be on top. This was the only way she could imagine feeling him for the first time. Him a stag and she the doe. He was a wold and she was a bitch in heat. She buried her face in her pillow and her fists clutched the sheets in anticipation. She could feel the head of it pulsing as it pushed against the tightness of her pussy. Then with another snarl, he thrust. She felt as if her body was being split open, like someone had driven a red hot poker into her aching loins. Maggie had never felt so wonderful. He stretched her and pushed in ways she had never felt before. Then he began slamming into her. Each thrust caused her engorged nipples to rub against the sheets sending electrical shocks through her and making her even wetter than before. Every thrust made her think his cock was growing, expanding, filling every part of her.
Maggie Carter had slept with men. She had experienced sex before. Once or twice she had made love. Maggie Carter had never been fucked.
She was not sure how much longer she could take it. Her calves and thighs were quivering. She could barely breathe, and her vision had exploded into neon blue lightning bursts. His nails were dug into her soft ass cheeks, and she was sure there was going to be no doubt tomorrow that this was real. Those ten bruised nail marks would not come from a dream. With each thrust he gave a guttural grunt. Soon Maggie heard a wail like a siren approaching. It kept getting louder and seemed to make quite a counter point tot he squeak of the bed and the thump as the head board hit the wall with each piston thrust. In a moment she realized the wail was coming from her. Now he thrust once more, so hard she felt she might be driven through the wall. She felt the girth of his cock expand and a spasm begin. At that moment Maggie experienced the most intense feeling of her life. Every spurt of his juices sent her into another eternity of pleasure. Then she blacked out.
When she awoke, it was in the gray predawn. She heard the thump of a newspaper hitting the front steps. Every muscle in her body was sore. Her mouth was dry and she was too languid to even think about moving. The whole bed was scented with her sweat and cum, and the aroma stirred a faint desire in her. A breeze blew across her body. At some point in time the dressing gown had become shredded. She vaguely remembered him on her Oriental rug on his back and her astride him riding like the hounds of hell were chasing her.
Her neck was still numb. She knew he would come back. Not every night; God, she couldn't take that! When her need arose, he would be there. He had needs too. She knew that somehow. She was not the only one, somehow she knew that too. This was not a man, to be possessed by one woman, This was a spirit, a thing that could not be owned or claimed. Like a wind it blew where it willed, and touched whomever exposed themselves. She rolled over and in the dim twilight saw a fresh chrysanthemum on her nightstand. Maggie smiled. It would have been too cliché had he left a rose.
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Regulus sits alone in the empty railway wagon. It’s not the Hogwarts Express, but a muggle one, parked for the night as the traffic becomes less frequent during the small hours. All trains aren’t needed.
Instead of compartments, there’s just seats in rows, a corse blue fabric covering them. It smells like dust and the blue is a little matted down with grey. Regulus from a couple of years ago wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about how dirty they were. Regulus now can’t find it in him to care.
Suddenly, the fluorescent lights in the wagon flickers and a young man stands in front of him, wand pointed at his chest. Regulus doesn’t even flinch, but sits still in his blue seat and looks up at Sirius, inspecting him.
His black hair is even longer, almost reaching his shoulders now. His outfit makes him pass for a muggle; a leather jacket, a pair of those denim sorts of trousers, a t-shirt with some band on it and that certain type of boot, that if Regulus remembers correctly, is called Dr Martens.
Regulus has always been good at paying attention to details, so he himself has successfully dressed as a muggle too to discreetly pass through London. This isn’t the case for most wizards who end up dressing quite oddly when trying to fit in. Sirius however, manages really well, even though he’s always been less attentive than Regulus. He’s probably indulged in muggle things since he left home, Regulus thinks. Maybe especially after Hogwarts, when magic and the magical lifestyle could be as present or non-present as you wanted it to.
Regulus can imagine Sirius listening to muggle music, dressing like this every day, watching that box thing — telly — for hours and drinking muggle alcohol.
Sirius’ jaw tenses as he adjusts the grip on wand. He lifts it a little, pointing it at Regulus head instead. His grey eyes are bright with anger and despise, but Regulus thinks he sees something else in them too, something conflicting.
***
Regulus stares at Sirius and Sirius stares back, gaze hard. He hasn’t seen his brother in three years, not since his Hogwarts days, when he was 17 and Regulus 15. Now he’s 20 and Regulus 18 and it shows.
Sirius knows he’s changed; mostly in the way he carries himself. He’s made an effort to change his way of dressing, a part of him knows that he subconsciously chooses whatever would infuriate his mother Walburga the most, although he’ll never admit that. He has also grown out his hair even more, which his mum would hate too. He also knows he’s less pale these days — not spending his time enclosed in either Hogwarts or Grimmauld Place 12 — and he’s also more fit since he spends less time sitting down trying to study or concentrate in class. These days he longs for sitting on his arse and having a beer, but Dumbledore keeps sending him out on missions for the Order.
Regulus, however, has grown up. He can already tell that his little brother is quite a lot taller, despite that fact that he’s sitting down. His shoulders has to be a good bit broader as well, because even though Sirius can’t exactly say how broad they were before, Regulus certainly didn’t look this much like a fully grown adult, albeit a young one at that. His face is also less round and more angular and terrifyingly alike his own, to Sirius’ dismay. (Sirius has always been praised for his good looks, and although he pretends not to care, it stings a little realising that he’s nothing special really, because there’s another person out there that looks the same.)
He also realises that Regulus is wearing muggle clothes too, and although they’re a lot less out there than Sirius’, it’s something he thought his brother wouldn’t be caught dead in.
There’s something special in Regulus’ grey eyes, and Sirius has always had trouble interpreting his brother’s expressions — sometimes Regulus truly seemed to have the emotional range of a brick — but this look in his eyes, Sirius has no idea how to read. He doesn’t know at all what it means, but he also knows that it’s different.
”I’m not here to hurt you,” is the first thing his little brother says and Sirius — already, within two minutes of appearing — feels a spark of annoyance in his chest.
Regulus is talking to him like he’s a kid and Sirius is actually the older one, the one with a back bone who actually dared to stand up to their parents, the one who joined the Order of the Phoenix, instead of the Death Eaters only because it was easier. The one who didn’t let himself be talked into something so horrid as that and followed his own moral compass, so Sirius thinks it’s a little uncalled for.
”Stand up,” Sirius speaks through gritted teeth, nodding to the aisle in front of him and next to the seats Regulus is sitting in. Because he can’t see past Regulus’ chest, so he doesn’t know what he’s doing with his hands, or if he has something in his lap.
His wand doesn’t waver, at all, and is still pointed at his brother’s head. His doesn’t want to believe that his brother could hex him — or even worse, kill him — but he’s a death eater and they haven’t talked for three years so Sirius would be dumb to make such assumptions.
Regulus holds up his hands in surrender, and while Sirius hadn’t ordered it, it calms him just a little, which he’s secretly grateful for. Then he stands up to his full height and while he is tall, Sirius notes with content that he isn’t taller than himself.
***
Regulus keeps his eyes trained on Sirius as he stands up and begins to shuffle out of the seat and into the aisle. He notices that Sirius is starting to look a little… contented?
”What are you smiling for?” Regulus asks, and although his brother hadn’t really been smiling per se, his face seemed to light up.
Although it drops once Regulus points it out.
”I wasn’t—,” Sirius begins to point out, tone annoyed. ”Nothing.”
Regulus scoffs softly, and then steps out in front of Sirius hands still in the air.
”You can take my wand, if you want. If you don’t believe me when I say I won’t use it,” Regulus states, letting his eyes dart down to where his wand is sticking out of the inner pocket of his jacket, so that Sirius will see, since he can’t point.
”Excuse me if I don’t,” Sirius says bitterly as he slowly takes a step towards him, and then another, before he’s close enough to reach out his arm and grab the wand. ”But you can’t blame me.”
Then he backs away again, but Regulus notes that he doesn’t go back to his original spot, but stays a little closer. He wonders briefly if it’s a conscious decision from Sirius, or not.
”So, spit it out,” Sirius presses then, tone hard.
He is really trying to keep up a cold, stern demeanour. Regulus knows he’s angry, no doubt, and he’s very sure that Sirius actually does hate him, but he can also tell that Sirius is enhancing all of this, almost to the point of exaggeration.
”I have some important information,” Regulus begins, making sure he’s got his brother’s attention.
It’s also because he needs a moment to brace himself, because when he says this out loud there’s no going back. Sure, he’s rehearsed this many times before — he’ll never let Sirius know that though — but he’s still worried that the words will get stuck in his throat.
”You coming to me with information? What does your death eater friends think of that?” Sirius asks, equal measure of sarcasm and confusion in his dry voice.
His hostility towards Regulus is even worse now than it was at Hogwarts, Regulus decides. Maybe it’s easier when you haven’t seen the person in so long. When you only hear second hand information of what the person has done now. When Sirius has had all the time in the world to make up the worst image of Regulus he can, convincing himself of how horrible the younger Black really is, and Regulus couldn’t make him hesitate just once with his presence.
”Nothing,” Regulus replies, managing to keep his voice clear, casual. He’s quite proud of that. ”They think nothing of it.”
Sirius only frowns, his eyebrows drawing together a little.
”They don’t know,” Regulus clarifies, as he so often has done for his brother throughout the years, when Sirius is either slower than Regulus to figure something out, or when Sirius can’t read his tone or expressions.
***
Sirius’ frown deepens, he knows without needing to see himself in the mirror. They don’t know?
Does that mean that Regulus isn’t associated with the death eaters anymore? In that case, how? He hasn’t heard of anyone successfully handing in their resignation to Voldemort.
A sudden worry tightens his chest, and Sirius feels annoyed at himself. Years, for two years he’s known that Regulus is a death eater. For two years he’s made peace with and accepted the fact that Regulus has signed his death sentence because no one leaves Voldemort’s party, alive. He’s known this was coming, and here he is, feeling worried for a brother who took their parents’ side instead of his and since then has been siding with a mass murderer.
Because Regulus is either hunted by the remaining death eaters, or the rest doesn't know and Regulus is playing a very dangerous game.
”Somehow, I find that hard to believe,” Sirius says instead, because somehow Regulus lying is a better option that the other alternative.
Regulus shrugs, taking Sirius’ insult way too easy for Sirius’ liking. Something is more wrong than usual, his mind supplies and he pushes the thought to the back of his head for now.
”Would you listen to what I have to say now?” Regulus asks then, voice calm but his eyes serious.
Sirius slowly lowers his wand, at last. ”I suppose I will,” he mutters as Regulus lowers his hands, too.
”Finally,” Regulus says dramatically and Sirius can’t help but to roll his eyes.
***
”Do you know what a horcrux is?” Regulus asks, and it’s not what Sirius expected.
He’s still for a moment before he shakes his head in defeat. ”I know the word from somewhere, but I don’t think I know its meaning.”
Regulus nods once, glad that Sirius is honest. ”It’s very dark magic. It’s when you split your soul and hide a fragment of it in an object of choice to through that way attain immortality. Even though your body dies, you’re not fully dead yet because your soul is still alive.”
The disgust on Sirius’ face is a good representation of both what he looked like when he figured it out, and what he’s feeling on the inside still.
”And Voldemort has made a horcrux,” Sirius catches on, and Regulus tries not to flinch at the mention of the horrible man’s name but he can tell that Sirius notices.
Regulus nods slowly. ”He is immortal. We need to destroy the horcrux before we can kill him.”
”You want him dead?” Sirius deadpans.
”Yes,” Regulus replies shortly.
”Why? What changed your mind?” Sirius questions, eyes wide.
Regulus feels fickle hope growing in his chest, that maybe, just maybe Sirius can look at him differently, just a little. That he would be just a little less cold — Regulus wants that more than he lets himself think about.
”A lot of things,” Regulus replies vaguely. ”I don’t think I ever was so sure.”
”You practically had fan posters of him growing up,” Sirius reminds him squinting his eyes at him.
Regulus feels himself squirming a little when he thinks about it. So naive he had been. He had no idea what horrible things he would see, later in his life.
”You’re right,” Regulus admits. ”But I wasn’t sure the older I got. I mean when I was a kid, yes, but that was mostly because mum and dad liked him, you know?”
Sirius nods but doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to, they both know that it isn’t an excuse because Sirius never believed them like Regulus did.
Regulus sighs, he can tell Sirius isn’t satisfied with that answer. ”The world isn’t so easy that some are born with the wrong blood and some are born with the right. I’m old and smart enough to see that now.”
”Finally,” Sirius says.
Regulus let his gaze drop to his feet as he poked at some candy wrapper on the floor with his boot. ”A few of your friends actually helped convince me,” he confesses because what has he to lose?
”Who?”
”The red-head, Lily?” Regulus tries. He’s quite sure that’s her name, but he hates being wrong so in case he is, he pretends to not know.
Sirius nods. ”Her parents are muggles.”
”Right,” Regulus says quietly. ”She was always nice to me, at Hogwarts. Well, she didn’t say that much but she didn’t tease me like you and your lot did.”
He’s thinking of a particular moment at school when he was in his third year and Sirius in his fifth. Sirius and his friends were giving Regulus a hard time, and Lily stepped in between. Maybe it was for Regulus’ sake, maybe to ruin the fun for Sirius’ lot, maybe to stop a larger fight to break out because more Slytherins were on their way over. Either way, Regulus would be lying if he denied going back to the dungeons and thought about if muggles really were that bad, as he had been taught.
”So Lily being nice to you changed your mind? There has to be more,” Sirius replies. He’s clearly very skeptic.
”Yes, of course there’s more,” Regulus retorts, a little annoyed. Sirius just has to belittle the reason when Regulus actually tries to give him one. ”A lot more reasons. They tortured innocent people, killed, and—”
”And?”
”And he left Kreacher for dead.”
***
”Kreacher?” Sirius questions incredulously, his voice going unnaturally high.
His brother can’t be serious, he changed his mind over the damned house elf, Sirius thinks — accidentally out loud.
”Stop it!” Regulus protests angrily. ”You always treat him like shit, which he doesn’t deserve!”
”He’s a rude house elf! You are betraying Voldemort over a house elf?”
Regulus flinches again at the name and Sirius thinks he’s going to have to stop doing that if he wants to seem the slightest intimidating.
”Yes,” Regulus hisses.
”Why?”
”Well, to you he’s a rude house elf, but to me he was my only friend at home!” Regulus raises his voice in a way that makes Sirius shut up.
Regulus never raises his voice. And now Sirius suddenly feels sad, imagining Regulus and Kreacher hiding in Regulus’ room when it used to be Regulus and Sirius.
Guilt flushes over him, but he quickly reminds himself that Regulus hadn’t wanted to leave home. Sirius had tried, but Regulus didn’t want to. Hadn’t taken his outstretched hand, what more could he do?
Try again.
Calm down, and try again.
”This is silly,” Regulus says, quieter now. ”It’s not what I came here for. Nor you.”
”But I like to hear it,” Sirius says, and he’s genuine and Regulus looks awfully surprised at his sincere tone.
Once again he feels a stab to his heart. This whole conversation is a painful reminder how wrong everything’s gone between them.
”Well, nice to hear, but I — we — don’t have time for this,” Regulus responds, his voice resolute now.
”You have somewhere to be?” Sirius asks, the softness in his voice gone now too.
”Yes?” Regulus glares at him.
Sirius instantly grows suspicious again. His mind is racing, made up images of what imagines Regulus at meetings with Voldemort looks like.
”Once again, not to meet any death eaters. I’ve left them. They just don’t know it yet,” Regulus tries to reassure him, but only reminds Sirius of the grave danger he must be in.
So he’s worried instead of angry. What is wrong with him?
He’s both surprised and annoyed over how easily Regulus can still stir up feelings in him. He thought he had gotten over his brother, but clearly not.
Regulus reaches behind himself and warning bells go off for Sirius — too many missions lately, always on edge — and he reminds himself that he has Regulus’ wand in his own back pocket. Instead he watches Regulus bring out a worn, small notebook. He holds it out to Sirius, as if he wants Sirius to take it.
Sirius just stares at it.
”This is everything I’ve found out about horcruxes,” Regulus says, reaching to book out further.
He even takes a step forward so that he can nudge Sirius’ hand with the book, desperately wanting Sirius to grasp it. He does and they almost touch. Sirius realises that the last time they hugged, shook hands, grabbed a hold of one’s arm in the corridors of Hogwarts — it must have been much more than three years ago.
”How did you even find out about this?” he asks, turning his mind away from the depressing thought.
”He has unknowingly been dropping hints. Well, not unknowingly, but he likes to brag. I just don’t think he expected anyone to figure it out,” Regulus explains, eyes still resting on the notebook, now in Sirius’ slightly larger hand.
Sirius slowly puts it into the pocket of his leather jacket.
”And you just figured it out, that it must be horcruxes?” Sirius wonders eyebrows drawing together again.
”Yeah,” Regulus shrugs.
”You’re bright aren’t you?” Sirius blurts before he can stop himself.
He’s told Regulus this before, of course — at one point he even hoped that Regulus might end up in Ravenclaw instead of Slytherin — but the last time was many years ago. And if Regulus is right, then he just might have figured out the key to win the war.
Regulus doesn’t answer. He just looks awfully content. Sirius can’t help but to grin a little.
”I didn’t want to bring more, in case you wouldn’t come. The rest is a Grimmauld Place, unfortunately. I’m sorry,” Regulus goes on then, shoving his hands into the pockets of his trousers.
At first Sirius is surprised that there’s even more than this, and then he shivers thinking about his childhood home. But then his mind focuses on something else, the most important information that he could gather from those sentences.
”You’re acting strange,” he states, eyeing Regulus suspiciously.
He may be out of touch with his Regulus-senses — if he ever was in touch with them — but his brother is behaving in a way that is starting to worry Sirius so much that he can’t deny it any longer.
”Am I?” Regulus asks innocently.
”Yes!”, Sirius exclaims, a little wildly. ”We haven’t talked for years and now suddenly you want to talk. And you keep handing me things that you seem to have spent an awful amount of time on, like you want me to take care of them or something? Inherit them? Like you won’t use them anymore.”
Regulus doesn’t reply. He avoids Sirius’ gaze.
”You’re going to do something very stupid,” Sirius thinks out loud.
Regulus is quiet for a moment, before he finally meets his eyes. There’s something deep, dark and haunting in Regulus’ grey ones, identical to his own.
”You’re probably right about that,” he replies, at last.
At that, Sirius finds himself desperate and closing the distance between them in a heartbeat. He grabs Regulus’ shoulders, broader now but skinnier than his own still. He slightly ducks to continue to hold Regulus’ gaze with his own, evening out the height difference.
”What are you going to do? Tell me!” he demands and he knows he probably looks a little mad but he can’t be bothered with trying to remain calm.
”Why do you care?” Regulus asks and Sirius can tell it’s meant to sound accusing and angry but he just sounds unsure and much younger than he is.
”Because you are my brother!” he deadpans.
”I thought I wasn’t, anymore,” Regulus says carefully.
He looks a little confused and Sirius’ heart flutters in his chest.
”You are a fool to think I could completely stop caring about you, Regulus. I’m not completely cold hearted,” he rants passionately, squeezing Regulus’ shoulders tightly. To hell with not having made any physical contact in years. ”And I am a fool too for thinking that I hated you!”
Regulus looks moved. He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down. Then he lets his head drop down for a moment, black fringe falling into his eyes and hiding his face. Sirius brushes it away, and holds it back so that he can see his brother’s face. Regulus looks up at him through dark lashes.
”What are you going to do?” Sirius says slowly, almost growling.
Regulus’ behaviour is of someone who doesn’t think they’ll ever come back.
”I know where one horcrux is,” Regulus says quietly, measuredly. ”And I’m going to get it, but I think there’s more. So that’s why I came here, told you about it and gave you that.” Regulus nods at the pocket of Sirius’ jacket.
”Where is it?” Sirius pushes and Regulus shakes his head.
”I won’t tell you.”
”I’m coming with,” Sirius say determinedly then, as if he hadn't heard what Regulus said. He chooses to ignore it.
”No. It’s dangerous!” Regulus protests reaching up to grab one of Sirius' forearms.
Sirius gapes, staring at him with wide eyes. That is precisely the problem, you moron.
”Yes obviously!” Sirius blurts. ”You’re acting like you’re going to die,” he adds then, ignoring the painful twist his stomach makes when he finally says what he’s been thinking out loud.
”Kreacher will be with me,” Regulus tries and it might be assuring in Regulus’ mind but not to Sirius.
”Kreacher!?”
”Kreacher knows where it is,” his little brother explains and there’s this trust in his eyes reserved for the creature and Sirius thinks he’s royally fucked up because Regulus trusts the house elf more than his big brother.
”That’s where Voldemort left Kreacher for dead?” Sirius asks slowly instead, the pieces clicking together.
Regulus nods, and for once he doesn’t flinch as much at Voldemort’s name. He seems too tired. Sirius swallows thickly.
”Regulus, is this what you’re doing tonight?” Dread is lacing his words as he realises that this is how Regulus is spending what he thinks are the last hours of his life.
”Yes.” Too blunt, too honest. Sirius shivers.
”Regulus please, let me come with!” Sirius loses it; there’s an all-consuming desperation, a worry and love towards his brother that’s caught him off guard since he thought he had successfully cut ties with his family. ”Please! I don’t want you to die. Let me help and you can help us find the rest.”
”The Order would kill me,” Regulus says lowly and it’s supposed to be matter-of-factly, but Sirius can see the glimmer of fear in his eyes.
He can only imagine what stories of the Order of Phoenix the death eaters must’ve spread throughout their own organisation. Probably horrible (and untrue) things. Torture, what not. Something bad enough to make Regulus shiver at the thought of meeting the Order.
”I wouldn’t let them!” Sirius objects without thinking for as much as a heartbeat, feeling at a loss. ”You think I would let them?”
”You don’t rule over the Order, do you?” Regulus points out and there’s a sadness lacing his words, less energetic and passionate than Sirius' tone, but they both share the sudden hopelessness.
”No, but they are my friends,” Sirius replies and wonders if Regulus ever had friends that he trusted enough to understand the weight in that. ”And you just might have given us the most important key to taking him down! You’re betraying the most powerful and evil wizard of all time! Of course they wouldn’t kill you. Merlin, Regulus, do you know how fucking brave you are?”
Regulus shakes his head, eyes suddenly so miserable that Sirius thinks he’s going to cry. And if Regulus doesn’t, then maybe Sirius will.
”I’ve been a coward all my life up until now.”
Sirius shakes his own head. ”No—”
”Yes,” Regulus interrupts fiercely. ”Sirius I need to do this. It’s the least I can do to make up for—”
”Please, Reggie,” Sirius pleads. He’s pleading. Sirius doesn’t ever plead, he can’t remember when he did that last.
Regulus winced at the nickname. ”No, I can’t. I’ll promise that I’ll try my best to make it out, but it’s dark, dark magic, Sirius. You aren’t meant to survive that,” he tries to explain to Sirius, and it’s obvious that he really wants Sirius to just understand but how can someone just understand and accept why their little brother needs to sacrifice himself.
Sirius just shakes his head to himself. There’s a lump in his throat now. He doesn’t know what more to say. Regulus takes the opportunity to go on.
”I’ve ordered Kreacher—”
”Reg,” Sirius chokes out. He feels numb, he can’t quite comprehend what’s actually happening.
”Siri,” Regulus says back, and Sirius closes his eyes at Regulus’ version of a childhood nickname. ”I’ve ordered Kreacher to destroy the locket. But it’ll be hard, so Sirius!” he speaks louder when Sirius then opens his mouth to try to interrupt, and keeps going. ”Sirius, promise me you’ll help him? I can order him to come to you if he can’t do it himself.”
”No, wait,” Sirius growls because it’s all going way too fast and he just wishes he could drag this on forever and keep Regulus in this stupid train wagon forever, and maybe they could be brothers for real again — and not just start to break the ice that’s been left to grow for years before Regulus goes away for forever instead.
”Sirius! Please!” Regulus is the one that’s desperate now.
His eyes are bright again, glimmering and conveying so much emotion that Sirius wonders how he ever found it hard to read Regulus. Maybe he didn’t quite let Regulus show his real feelings. Maybe Sirius doesn’t show his real feelings all that often either.
”Okay! Okay, I promise,” Sirius finds himself agreeing because Regulus is desperate and Sirius doesn’t like to see or hear Regulus being so desperate. He slowly lets his arms drop from Regulus’ shoulders, and he doesn’t know why because he instantly regrets it.
Regulus visibly relaxes and Sirius doesn’t quite like that either. ”Thank you.”
***
There’s a heavy silence that falls between them. Sirius realises what Regulus is about to do, and Regulus has to watch. It’s not fun. He hadn’t meant for this to become so emotional. He hadn’t wanted to cause Sirius this pain — maybe even more so since causing Sirius pain causes him pain, he realises — and he doesn’t know what he thought with when he thought this would go smoothly but it seems like Sirius hadn’t expecting this to be so tragic either.
Regulus realises that it is actually happening at last. He can’t chicken out, not after coming here and causing this dramatic scene. He’s promised himself that he would do this. Make his existence worth something. To make sure that he doesn’t leave a solely bad legacy behind, to make sure that there is something good to remember him by and if it’s only Sirius who knows, then so be it. But at least someone knows.
Both of them realising how much they actually care about each other. All they needed was a safe space, away from all other distractions and people elevating the tension between them. Regulus feels very dumb.
But such is life, right? You make stupid mistakes and regret them later but it’s part of it and you can’t have everything. It would be far too easy.
Regulus then looks at his wrist watch. It’s a lot more than he anticipated. ”I should go.”
Sirius reaches out and grabs his arm. ”Please.”
”You can’t change my mind,” Regulus begins trying to keep his voice levelled as he speaks to his brother that looks absolutely crushed, like a sad puppy. ”Sirius, this is war. People die. I know you’ve lost friends. I might go too, but what does that matter in the long run? If this might help stop this bloody war, then I must do it.”
Sirius stares at him for a long while. Regulus’ heart hammers in his chest, as he’s unsure of what he’s about to do. He might hex him, he minds supplies. Regulus had actually mentally prepared for the fact that Sirius might hex him when they first met, out of anger and hatred. But now he more scared that Sirius’ll hex him out of pure despair and wanting for him to stay put.
But then Sirius reaches out and grabs his shoulders again, forcefully pulling him into a hug, a tight one. Regulus rests the side of his face on Sirius’ shoulder and Sirius rests his chin on the back of Regulus’ neck.
”I’m sorry Reggie. I know I fucked up and that I’ve been unsympathetic and not understanding and distanced, but please just wait a day. I’m sure I can help you, I’ve learnt quite a lot since joining the Order, you know? You’ll probably still be smarter, I’m sure, but I can help in some way,” Sirius monologues, trying to convince him. ”We can do this together, instead.”
Regulus feels like absolute shite because he pretends to listen, as he slips his wand out of Sirius’ back pocket when Sirius is distracted.
The hug goes on for long. Sirius doesn’t want to let go, and while Regulus knows he should go, he doesn’t want Sirius to let him go either. Like this, he can almost imagine that all the things that went wrong between them, didn’t happen.
Eventually Sirius does let him go though, and steps back and they look at each other a little awkwardly. Two Black boys, both dressed in dark clothes from head to toe, matching their raven black hair. Both of them had kept so much anger inside of them, raised in a household where feelings was a weakness. Both of them had tried to convinced themselves that they hated the other because it was easier that way and they’d been fighting on opposite sides of a war up until tonight and now… now, this is the end.
Regulus is happy that he decided that he was going to see Sirius one last time, and happy that Sirius came.
And now he’s about to betray him one last time, because that’s what he does, right?
”I’m sorry,” he says and he has time to see fear flicker through Sirius’ eyes before he raises his wand and apparates away.
***
And Sirius is standing alone in an empty train wagon a late summer night and it’s quiet except for his heartbeat that seems to be pulsating in his ears.
Upon realising what’s happened Sirius wants to scream but quickly does a tracking spell before apparating after his little brother.
He ends up at Grimmauld Place, in the small — quite dead — garden outside of the tall, black front door. The busy traffic of London can be heard in the distance.
Sirius lies in his bed, muscles sore from his mother’s hexes. The door to his room creaks and a streak of light stretches into the room, hitting his bed. Sirius doesn’t move but squeezes his eyes together. But it isn’t mother nor father, he can tell by the soft footsteps over the floorboards, and suddenly Regulus is climbing onto his bed, wrapping his arms tightly around Sirius as he lies down next to him, snivelling. In his chest, Sirius’ heart lurches and he hugs his little brother back, tightly.
There’s no sign of Regulus. But as they already concluded; Regulus is not dumb and he’s probably already apparated away to another place, so Sirius tracks him again and while the trace isn’t as strong, he tries, because he has to.
He ends up on the lawn of their large summer house. Well, mansion — they are the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black after all. In front of him is a familiar lake lying so still that the traces of the sunset are mirrored in the surface. A lone crow flies over the sky, croaking.
They’re sitting by the lake at night and Regulus is laughing so hard his pale face turns rosy and his grey eyes are tearing up. Sirius grins proudly as he watches his brother, a warmth spreading in his chest knowing that it was he that made Regulus crack up in this way — without knowing that he’ll never see his brother laugh like this again.
Memories hit him like a punch in the gut, but he looks for Regulus’ magic again he takes his shot and pray to anything that will listen that he catches up to his brother, because he’s starting to feel really dizzy and there’s less and less traces of Reggie left.
Then he’s in Hogsmeade, and trying not to throw up.
It’s quiet and still here too, except for Sirius’ memories.
Sirius is with James, Peter and Remus in Honeydukes when he spots Regulus over the shelves. It takes a second before Regulus feels that someone is watching him, and their eyes meet and they stare at each other for a moment. Regulus’ eyes then darts to Sirius’ friends and a split second later he whirls around, and exits the shop. Sirius finds himself following, but when he exits himself, Regulus has disappeared into the crowd of Hogwarts students. There’s an uncomfortable lump lingering in his stomach after the encounter and Sirius wonders if he’s taken it too far, because Regulus is running from him these days. He probably has, but Regulus is at fault too.
He apparates again, wanting to leave the almost eerie village now that it’s empty and dark.
Then he’s in some field somewhere and he doesn’t have any memories here. It’s probably an important place for Regulus, since the rest were, but here Sirius probably already had stopped talking to Regulus.
He throws up, heaving until his body shivers, knees weak. It’s not just all motion sickness.
He knows his brother is going to sacrifice himself tonight and he just lost track of him.
And he can’t stop himself, but screams until his throat is raw.
Stupid, bloody war. Stupid, bloody Voldemort.
Idiot brother.
And Sirius is an idiot too.
Slowly, he stands up — when did he drop to his knees? — his jeans and Dr Martens all muddy. He apparates home, back to his flat.
Remus is there, and he must look mad because within a second he knows something is wrong.
”What’s happened?” he asks softly and Sirius wants to throw his arms around him, but he can’t move.
”I met Regulus,” he begins and when he sees the looks of fear and worry that crosses Remus’ face he feels a sting of guilt for speaking so badly of his brother. But he is a death eater. Was.
”Are you okay?” Remus worries and steps closer.
”I’m not injured,” Sirius replies because to say that he was okay would be a lie. That Regulus hadn’t hurt him would also be a lie, because Sirius is sure his heart isn’t in one piece anymore.
Instead he brings out the notebook from the pocket of his leather jacket. Remus’ hazel eyes follow his movements.
”Reggie, he’s found out that Voldemort has created horcruxes, to split his soul. He’s immortal,” Sirius explains with a wavering voice, which wasn’t like him at all as he’s usually quite loud.
”Bloody hell,” Remus breathes, horror painting his features.
”And he’s found one. He’s going to fetch it tonight Remus, and I wanted to come with and he wouldn’t let me and then he left and I tried to follow but I lost him. He didn’t think he would come out alive and he thinks he needs to redeem himself and that his life isn’t worth much more and I bloody lost him.” Sirius doesn’t know if he’s about to explode with anger or break out sobbing but it feels like the whole of him is trembling.
”Alright, fuck…” Remus mutters and closes the distance between them, walking up to Sirius where he miserably stands on the doormat. ”All right, okay, Sirius… we’re going to look for him. I’ll call for James and Lily and Wormtail and we’ll find him, okay?” He places one hand on Sirius’ shoulder and the other on the back of his neck and Sirius appreciates the comfort even more than he thought.
He nods, his eyes stinging now but he tries to blink it away.
***
Two weeks later, Kreacher appears in Sirius’ flat, tears on his troll-like face and Sirius knows what it means, because part of him already knew.
He still darts out of his own living room, fleeing from the new reality that awaits him.
Both Remus and James are in the flat too, and fall into a suffocating silence when they see the house elf, knowing too what it means even though the two of them never met Kreacher, per se.
When he returns, fifteen minutes later — after he’s screamed, thrown up again and then stared into the wall for a few moments, tears rolling down his cheeks — he goes to meet Kreacher, properly.
He has a locket in one hand and in the other, a note. He understands that the locket is the horcrux and although it is a hard choice because he dreads the note too, he doesn’t want to touch the bloody thing, and takes the letter instead. Meanwhile James reaches out for the locket and brings it over to Remus. No one has still said a word, and Sirius feels all eyes on him as he unfolds the damned piece of parchment.
His own eyes burns and has to blink every second to actually be able to read through the tears.
I’m sorry, Sirius. I had to do this myself.
Thank you for listening to me.
I’m sorry I was a bad brother. I’m sorry I didn’t do more for you. Maybe I can make up for it if we meet in some sort of an afterlife, if there is one.
If you read this, then Kreacher must’ve given you the locket. I know it’s unfair to put this on you and I should’ve thought it through better — but please, you have to destroy it. I gave my life for that bloody thing.
I really hope it was worth it. But if one less person dies because of me, then it was, wasn’t it?
Thank you for helping me with this. Thank you for everything, Sirius.
Your brother, Regulus.
***
Hours later, Sirius stands in front of the window, looking down at the street beneath him and the silhouettes of London. There's a hand on his shoulder, and he looks over to meet Remus' warm hazel eyes.
"I'm so sorry, Sirius," he says gently. He sounds a little emotional too.
Sirius turns his grey eyes back to the view outside of the glass. He shrugs.
"He was a death eater."
Because Sirius feels dumb for feeling so empty. He knows he shouldn't. Regulus had been working with Voldemort. Who knows if he killed someone, tortured people? Surely, he has to have done that, if he was a death eater?
But he also grieves the small boy in the large 12 Grimmauld Place with fear in his grey eyes as he hid in Sirius' room. The boy who tried to look brave and proud as he walked over to the Slytherin table, too scared to meet Sirius' eyes. The one only Sirius could make laugh like a maniac. The one that was too soft, soft enough to believe their parents. The one who tried to please everyone and live up to impossible expectations.
"Sure he was," James speaks up from behind, his voice getting louder as he walks closer to come and stand by Sirius' other side. His tone is solemn, like he's about to hold a speech, a certain passion behind his words. "But he also might have won us the bloody war! We know he did bad stuff, but certainly the amount of lives he might have saved will make up for it."
Sirius looks over at the closest thing he has to a brother now, unsure if James is just saying this to try and make Sirius feel better. At school they hated Slytherins. After school they hate death eaters. Regulus had been both of those things.
But there's a certain brightness in James' eyes that makes Sirius believe that James actually means what he says.
James reaches up and squeezes Sirius' free shoulder tightly, before giving him a pat on the back.
"Padfoot, your brother is a hero," James says and whether or not that is excessive (they don't yet know if Regulus had been right), there's an excitement, almost, in his voice. Like he's proud in Sirius' place until Sirius realises it himself, and Sirius does appreciate that. "Slytherin's unsung hero."
Remus rubs his back. Sirius can't help but to smile, but when he does a sob also slips out. Tears escape is eyes and roll heavily down his cheeks as he grins.
"Yeah, you're right," he says quietly and James nods. "I can't believe he actually did it."
|
Luke had never seen anything quite like it.
Sure, Tatooine's environment was harsh enough that he'd helped digging through his first collapsed building at twelve, and life with the rebels had quickly showed him how the aftermath of bombardment looked like, too. Even if as a pilot – and a rather good one, if he said so himself! – he was usually not sifting through the rubble himself but out chasing whatever had brought the ceiling down on people's head (or the one bringing down said ceilings, a tiny voice at the back of his mind remarked).
But either setting had everyone who could help already helping to the best of their abilities, and no one asked for special supplies because everything that was on hand was everything there was. The young Jedi had never before seen a disaster area where there were so many potential helpers that they had to be organized and resources so limitless that the most beneficial ones had to be specified.
His father and his sister on the other hand, obviously had. The Sithlord wasn't doing much in terms of physical deeds, but he acted as a rallying point, a steady point of focus that everyone around could orient themselves on.
Contrastingly, Leia was sweeping up and down the ravaged hallways like a furious – if ultimately benevolent – dust devil, drawing in whoever stood too close to her and leaving things arranged to her liking in her wake.
The first time she'd snapped, "You! Check through the bodies there – even the unlikely ones! Start aiding the wounded. Then find out who they are. And start on identifying the dead, their families must be notified before the press starts hounding them!" the soldiers she'd been addressing had looked at their commander instead, but then Lord Vader had growled, from over a dozen meters away, "Do as she says!" and from there on, she'd taken charge wherever she went.
No matter how much the Sithlord might play at being a landmark, presently, Father is watching her very closely! Luke concluded – and was promptly reminded that he wasn't the only one.
"Girl does know her disaster relief," Gen Ashen murmured under his breath, eyes fixed to the screen where Leia was currently berating someone who was wearing what was probably a livery – as opposed to a military uniform – that even if there was very little rubble to clear up, someone would have to check for structural damage as a safety precaution. "Clearly, she did a little more than just look pretty on all those mercy missions.
If we need specialist support, make sure they get vetted to pass through the lockdown."
"I guess," the young rebel agreed vaguely, glad for the aside addressed at some other Imperial to hide his irritation with himself. To have put the fact out of his mind that his sister had reached a certain publicity on this planet before she'd ended up on a wanted poster was really a rookie mistake.
Luke caught himself a hard look nevertheless.
"You never knew her as a princess," the general said slowly. "You only met her ... afterwards, didn't you?"
Couple of hours after her planet was destroyed, if that's what you're asking!? old resentment hissed, before reflexive reaction – and common sense – reigned in the flare of temper. The young Jedi shook his head.
"Not much overlap with royalty in my life," he gave back dryly, before two decades of knowing next to nothing about his family had him add, "Did you meet the princess, before?"
Something just as dry twitched across Gen Ashen's lips. "Not personally, no. But at that level of Old Core nobility, whatever she did ended up in the gossip rags and she is … not exactly what I would call a forgettable person."
Luke blinked. An Imperial officer, let alone one with a job as weighty as the commander of the Palace forces, was not what the young rebel had pictured as a follower of gossip rags.
Some of that thought must have been readable on his face, for Gen Ashen raised a sardonic eyebrow and went on, "I have a wife and daughter who was exactly at the right – or wrong, could be argued – age to take great interest in such things. Enough for certain facts to pass on by sheer osmosis."
"Err … " Luke hastily scanned the displays before him for a handy distraction, but since the situation hadn't changed significantly in the last ten seconds, morbid curiosity got the better of him. "What facts?"
Features back to an impassive mask, the general ostentatiously returned his attention to the rows of displays, too.
"She went on more than her fair share of mercy missions," he said conversationally, after a few endless seconds. "Started long before she became the youngest senator of her generation – maybe even a few before hers – and kept them up until the very end."
The mask unbent minutely to show some thin-lipped disapproval. "An end that kept the gossip mongers in a sellout for a month."
The young Jedi swallowed. Knowing the truth, he had never really bothered to find out what the official lies were, but ….
"What did they say?" Luke asked softly.
Gen Ashen kept his eyes firmly on the tiny white figure bustling about more than a kilometer away. His tone was dispassionate when he said, "To sum up the factual reports, her ship was found destroyed after a fragmented distress call, all hands aboard presumed dead. A few weeks later, she was identified as a part of a rebel faction and apparently in a leading role, even. The reasons for her defection were never made an issue."
The cool, citing-info-for-a-briefing air turned back to cutting disdain. "In the ... more lurid publications, however, imagination was allowed to run wild.
You must understand," a sharp side-glance hit the young rebel, "she was quite the idol for plenty of young girls in the Empire – pretty, smart, courageous old nobility and so forth – and as such, she naturally couldn't have changed her mind about the Empire, all of a sudden. Clearly, she had been kidnapped and brainwashed and .... Given their target demographic, they couldn't say anything explicit, but those tabloids have insinuation down to an art form, anyway."
The general's focus went back to the screen in front of him. "It made a strong argument for those who wanted to further restrict the opportunities for females in leading positions – for, obviously, if she'd been a man, she would not have broken so easily."
What an insidious way to destroy any lasting inroads Leia might have made among the (potential) ruling castes and to use her name to achieve the very opposite of what she had been striving for. Luke had to hand it to the Emperor, the old man really had known his game, down to the petty details.
Caught in his anger, the young Jedi nearly missed the very last, very soft-spoken words of Ashen's speech. "Except that this girl has never been broken."
With that, the commander of the Palace forces went back to his previous occupation, that was to scan the wall of displays before him and occasionally bark orders at various technicians, especially the one in charge of the string of mouse droids bouncing messages and observation data back and forth through the communications blackout around the site of the attack.
It left the young rebel wondering just what the man that the elder Veers had once called a 'damn good soldier but Palpatine's man, through-and-through' had been meaning to tell him with that.
Oo oo oo oo oo oO
Before Luke could make up his mind if he shouldn't take a leaf out of his sister's book and ask straight-out, that middle-aged officer from earlier reappeared and drew his superior away to put the final touches on the reboot of the secondary surveillance grid.
The young Jedi had been left to his own devices for a mere ten seconds, though, when the gravelly voice spoke up again from his comlink.
"Ship preparing to launch from landing platform Cherek-4. Looks of a four-person airspeeder, but energy readings indicate starship-rated engines."
Silence stretched for long seconds before Luke realized that his father likely couldn't hear the message, as the Sithlord – and everyone else the young Jedi knew to wear the special comlinks – was still inside the reach of the jammer blanket (or whatever else the Hands had used to keep their chosen point of attack isolated).
Luke could have played relay buoy and forwarded the information, plus the respective responses, back and forth to his father, but then the voice reported, "Ship has launched. No interference from air-defense guns," and the young rebel reacted instinctively.
"Force it down!" the (erstwhile) leader of the Alliance's most successful (if also most irregular) fighter squadron snapped. "Non-fatally, preferably – or drive it up against the fleet. Don't let it escape into the city!"
A moment of stark silence.
"Who is there?!" Flat and slightly metallic, the tone still managed to convey an utter refusal to waste time on a flunkey with delusions of authority – impressive, for a mere three syllables.
Unfortunately, Luke had just as little time to waste. "Someone Lord Vader trusts enough to let him in on this line of communication! Unless you think I took it from him, don't waste time questioning my orders until you've secured that ship!"
The line stayed quiet but when the young Jedi had finally localized the screens showing the wide expanse of free space surrounding the Palace (an extravagant luxury, on this planet), the lone speeder racing towards the city had to swerve wildly because a non-descript ship in motley green-grey and maroon had slipped from between the skyscrapers and suddenly dropped into an aerodynamically impossible upright stance before it, outline bristling with weapons.
Uh-oh.
"The Palace defenses are about to come back online and they target active weapons," Luke warned, as much for the sake of his father's chosen ally as in the hope for some live prisoners when he didn't even know who exactly was trying to get away from the Palace as fast as possible.
Again, that didn't merit an acknowledgement, but when the speeder tried to dodge past the Firespray, the only thing hitting it was … a tractor beam?
The light-weight speeder suddenly jerked flush against her front, the much larger ship cut her engines and gravity did the rest. The repulsors of the speeder fought valiantly to keep a load afloat that exceeded their specifications by an order of magnitude, and promptly burned themselves out while the ground was still a good hundred meters away.
As a disorientation technique, the freefall and the abrupt 90 degree shifts before and after it, as the Firespray somehow caught herself at the very last possible moment to land cockpit up[1] – meaning, with the speeder upside down – had to be rather effective. Nonetheless, there was something the young Jedi couldn't quite make out moving in the shadows closest to the landing site before the Slave's ramp came down.
Luke blinked and the movement was gone and then a figure in scuffed Mandalorian armor dropped into a crouch next to the upturned speeder, did something unseen and raised a masked gaze straight back at the Palace and the young rebel watching him.
"Woman. Stunned. Where do you want her?"
Really good question. Luke was about to relay it to his father (at long last!) when Gen Ashen turned up again, took a look at the screens the young Jedi was so focused on and said, "What is that doing here?!"
Luke had arrived at Bespin at a point where the bounty hunter had been just another set of armor, worn green instead of polished white but of no further significance apart from being an unexpectedly alert obstacle on his way to Lord Vader. Consequently, the emotional impact of losing Han had never really stuck to that short glimpse across a gleaming white corridor. Han and Leia, on the other hand, would probably appreciate the cold disgust on the general's voice.
"Providing backup of the unlikely kind and therefore the sort that no one thinks of neutralizing beforehand," the young Jedi said with a sigh. Really, how does Father – and Leia! – do that, juggling so many factions at each other's throat within the same side?!
"In this case, stopping someone who tried to get away from the Palace real fast," Luke went on. "Err, what is the best way so stash them somewhere safe until the rest of this mess is sorted out?"
The question earned him two raised eyebrows but then Gen Ashen relented and gave him the relevant directions.
[1] Both as a pilot and a tech aficionado, Luke so wanted to take a closer look at the set of inertial dampeners that had allowed for that little stunt!
|
Ingrid raps on Bernadetta’s door with frantic urgency. “Uh… Bernadetta? Any chance you could let me in there? And then let me hide out until the ball starts? Mercedes and Annette have been making me try on outfits for two hours and–” she breaks off as the door opens, but her relief is replaced by abject horror as she is greeted by Dorothea with makeup brushes in hand and a sinister smile on her face.
“Um, come on in, Ingrid,” Bernie says from inside. “I think we’re all getting our makeup done one way or another, though.”
Ingrid slumps, knowing defeat when she sees it, and flops down on Bernie’s bed. Bernie can relate; getting all done up is definitely out of her wheelhouse, but at least she hasn’t had quite the eventful afternoon as Ingrid since she already made her own dress.
“You’re looking really nice though, Bernie,” Ingrid says, making eye contact in the vanity mirror.
Bernadetta flushes at the compliment and fidgets with her fingers. She definitely looks different, that’s for sure! And Bernie has to admit that it has been kind of fun to hang out and get ready with Dorothea like this. Nothing like when her parents would force her to be “presentable” for potential suitors back home…
Dorothea was gentle with her, carefully drawing the brush through Bernie’s hair and lightly applying makeup with a smile as they chatted and laughed together. Bernadetta is also extremely pleased with how the dress turned out; the knee-length dress in shiny black brocade with capped sleeves and a turtleneck neckline suited her perfectly, in her humble opinion, and Dorothea had agreed.
“I’ll accept the praise for both of us,” Dorothea says with a wink. “Some of my finest handiwork, if I do say so myself. But then I did have a beautiful canvas to work with!”
Just then Annette appears in the doorway with Mercedes close behind. “There you are, Ingrid! We haven’t picked a dress yet!” Then she notices the other girls in the room. “Oh! Are we all going to get ready in Bernie’s room? I’ll go get my makeup kit!”
Ingrid groans into her hands as Annette skips off to her room. “Can’t I just wear my uniform?”
“I don’t think any of us can actually
force
you to do anything,” Dorothea says, poking Ingrid’s bicep, “but it’s not terribly festive.”
Ingrid sighs. “Where’s Marianne?” she says. “Did she somehow manage to get out of this?”
“She’s upstairs getting ready with Hilda,” Annette replies as she enters the room again, equipped with her makeup kit. Her face lights up as she cheers, “Are you ready to get this party started?”
The girls take turns doing each other’s makeup, Annette and Dorothea singing cheerful songs and fits of laughter break out as they joke around. Even Ingrid has a smile on her face by the time they’re done.
Bernie looks around her room at the happy faces of her dear friends, thinking back on the Bernie from the beginning of the year who never would have expected to see such a sight, let alone be a part of it. It occurs to her with a bittersweet pang that she never wants it to end.
---
Getting ready had been fun, but Bernadetta feels her confidence waning as the girls enter the reception-hall-turned-ballroom later that evening. Sparkling chandeliers light the room in a warm glow, tables of food line the walls and a group of musicians play in a corner, and above it all is the pressing hum of people talking and laughing.
Dorothea squeezes her arm as if sensing her mounting dread. “Remember, you don’t have to stay for the whole time, and you can stick with us. I’m proud of you for making it this far,” she says. The musicians strike up another waltz and Dorothea tugs on Bernie’s hand. “Now, may I have this dance?”
Bernie can’t help but giggle as Dorothea leads her onto the dance floor. It’s all so overwhelming, but she tries to focus on her friend in front of her and her feet and the music, and she has to admit that this is at least a little fun.
The song ends, and then Annette pulls her into another dance, giggling and spinning the whole time, and then Mercedes, and then Bernadetta finds herself alone for a moment to catch her breath. She spots Marianne with Ashe and Sylvain trying to persuade Dorothea to give him a dance, and it’s then Bernadetta realizes she hasn’t seen Felix yet tonight.
There’s been such a crowd that Bernie was mostly just trying to tune it out and focus on her friends, so it would have been easy to miss him. But maybe he didn’t come at all? Felix didn’t really seem like he would be interested in dancing. Bernie tries to swallow her disappointment as she scans the room, because after all, even if he is here he might not want to dance with her anyway, and Bernie doesn’t know if she would even have the courage to ask…
“Good evening, Bernadetta.” Bernie jumps at the voice beside her. It’s Ferdinand, his hand outstretched toward her. “May I ask you to grant me the favor of a dance?”
Bernadetta blushes at the invitation. “M-me? I-I’m not very good at dancing, I’ll probably just step on your toes,” she stutters.
Ferdinand only smiles that winning smile of his and shakes his head. “I am sure that is not the case,” he says, “but I will be sure to do my very best to lead you so that it will feel easy. What do you say?”
Bernie bites her lip and looks at his hand, still waiting for her to take it. She is definitely not convinced that she won’t step on his toes, but it would be rude to just leave him hanging… “Okay,” she says, and tentatively slips her fingers into his gloved hand.
Ferdinand is good at leading, but Bernadetta is significantly more nervous than she was with the girls and still manages to trip on his feet a few times. Each time, Bernie looks up at him apologetically, but there’s no sign of recognition of any disturbance on Ferdinand’s face. Looking up at him, it suddenly hits Bernie like the
thump
of the closing of a thick book that Ferdinand is
tall
.
“You’re looking very lovely tonight,” he says, and Bernadetta blushes and looks away as she realizes she’s been staring.
“Um, th-thank you,” she mumbles. “Dorothea helped me a lot.”
Ferdinand hummed. “I don’t think she had to do much,” he said as he easily twirled them around.
Bernie bites her lip as she flushes even harder; what is she even supposed to say to that?
The music ends, and the dancers slowly come to a stop as well. Ferdinand bows deeply, saying “Thank you for giving me the honor of dancing with you.”
“R-right,” Bernie stammers and bows back.
She scurries away before the next song can start; Ferdinand was very nice, but she can’t handle another. She didn’t dance well but she did her best and got through it even though it was hard, but there’s so many people in here, and she needs some air.
She pushes through the open doors into the gardens, and the cool evening air is a welcome chill against her skin after the heat that had built up in the hall. Bernie takes a deep breath like the professor taught her, trying to slow her heart rate and calm down.
All in all… it had been scary, but it had been fun dancing with her friends, and… and Ferdinand too, he had been very kind. She was proud of the dress she made, and of how nicely her friends had done her hair and makeup, even though she didn’t usually think she could be pretty no matter how much effort had been put in.
It had been fun, but Bernadetta is ready for it to be over. Except…
She turns back toward the ballroom, squinting for a sign of blue-black hair. If only she could have danced with Felix, this night would have been beyond perfect. Then again, it was probably too greedy to wish for more.
She decides on one last look, just in case he would appear, but instead Bernie is surprised to see Ferdinand making his way out of the crowd, two glasses in hand.
He joins her outside, an easy smile on his face. “Care for some punch?” he asks, raising a glass. “I noticed you were looking a little tired and thought you could use some refreshment.”
Bernadetta takes the glass he’s offering numbly, her mind suddenly full of thoughts like,
I look tired?
and
Oh no, it’s super rude to look tired after dancing with someone isn’t it?
and
Ugh, I danced really horribly too! I’m the worst, I never should have danced with him -
“Sorry!” she bursts out loud, screwing her eyes shut. What a mess she had made, ruining an otherwise wonderful night -
“For what?” Ferdinand interrupts her thoughts, and when she opens her eyes she can see mild surprise written on his face.
“W-well I - I’m a really bad dancer, and - and I stepped on your toes and -” she’s babbling now, great.
Bernadetta is snapped out of her spiral when Ferdinand laughs, easy and honest. How does he do that?
“To the contrary,” Ferdinand says. “That was the most enjoyable dance I’ve had all evening. And actually… I came out here to see if I could ask for another.”
Bernie sips at her drink awkwardly, stunned into silence by the hint of bashfulness that had crept into Ferdinand’s voice. “Um,” she started hesitantly. That was… so nice of him to say she doesn’t really know how to react to it. It was nice, but it probably couldn’t be true right? Either way, she is tired. She’s already drained from the effort of being okay all night, when all her instincts were telling her was to run and hide.
Ferdinand is still waiting for an answer, giving her time to frame her thoughts before she speaks.
“Um,” she says again. “That’s really nice, but… I actually am really tired, though. I think I might call it a night.” She peers up at him, hoping he won’t be upset.
But of course, it’s Ferdinand, and he’s not upset. “Ah yes, of course, I don’t want to impose on you,” he says. “Can I at least escort you back to your dorm?”
Bernadetta waves her hands in front of her frantically. “No no, that’s all right! I can get back by myself. I don’t want you to miss out on the party.” She can see Ferdinand about to protest so she adds, “Really. It’s okay.”
When she cuts him off, Ferdinand lets out a short laugh. “Very well then,” he says, “as you wish. In that case, I wish you a most pleasant evening, and I thank you again for granting me the pleasure of dancing with you.” He smiles and bows again before taking Bernadetta’s empty glass and heading back into the hall.
Bernie watches him go (and still sees no sign of Felix), then turns away with a sigh of relief, the sounds of the party at her back. She wanders slowly back to her dorm, wrapping her arms around her as she walks. It’s gotten cold; it is the Ethereal Moon after all.
She reaches her room and places her hand on the doorknob, but she hesitates. She is tired, and the ball was too much, but… Still, it’s a magical night. Bernadetta finds herself not wanting it to end just yet. The stars are so beautiful tonight too, not a cloud to disturb them. Rubbing her bare arms for warmth, Bernie meanders out into the deserted monastery.
---
Felix had already thought that Bernadetta was cute, but tonight she could only be described as
beautiful
. Stunning might be a better word for it actually, as Felix is momentarily paralyzed when he catches sight of her from across the ballroom. Her hair, normally wild and unruly, is smoothed down and decorated with a hairpin, and she wears a beautiful black gown that falls to just below her knees. Felix knows it’s the same Bernadetta, but she looks more… mature, somehow. More confident maybe, as Dorothea drags her onto the dance floor.
Felix feels a flicker of annoyance at the way his heart pounds in his chest, and reminds himself that the point of tonight is to find out who it is Bernadetta wanted to dance with. It’s just to satisfy his curiosity; it’s not him, so there’s no point getting excited.
He tries to find an inconspicuous place to lean against the wall where he can watch the proceedings, but Sylvain and Ingrid come by and cajole him into a dance with Ingrid. He tries to keep tabs on Bernadetta, but it’s hard to see much of anything inside the press of bodies as they spin.
When the dance ends, Felix resumes his position and it takes him a moment to find Bernadetta again. She seems to be alone now, near the wall on the opposite side of the dance floor, looking a little anxious as she fidgets with her hands.
For a brief moment Felix wonders if he should make his way to her, and see if perhaps he could comfort her with his presence, or if he could at least offer to walk her back to the dorms if the ball is too much. Or maybe if she’s not ready to leave yet he could ask her –
The moment of light-headed hope is short lived though, as someone steps up beside her. Ferdinand. He holds out his hand, and after some hesitation, Bernadetta takes it and he leads her onto the dance floor, Bernadetta looking nervous and flushed.
Felix swallows, and he feels as though a hand has reached into his ribcage to squeeze his heart painfully.
So that’s it then. It was Ferdinand that Bernadetta was looking at all along. They look good together, he thinks distantly, before turning on his heel and leaving the hall.
He runs a hand through his hair as the cool air outside hits his skin. This is good, right? He got his answer, and now he can leave. His feet start moving without thinking about it, taking him in a random direction away from the music and chatter behind him.
He’s just leaving because he got what he came for, and he doesn’t want to be dragged into any more dances. He’s definitely
not
leaving because he was thinking of asking Bernadetta to dance and it hurt to see her with another man. Because he never thought his little crush would go anywhere anyway, and when Felix thinks about it it probably makes more sense politically that Bernadetta would end up marrying some like Ferdinand anyway –
That thought stops Felix in his tracks, and he exhales a long heavy breath. That’s not a topic he’s thought about often. Or ever, really. What does it say about him that it’s suddenly come to mind now?
Felix looks up to notice his surroundings, and he realizes his feet have brought him to the Goddess Tower. Wasn’t there some legend about this place that the girls had been gossiping about..? Felix can’t remember. But it seems like as good a place as any to be left alone with his confusing thoughts, so he pushes open the door and steps inside.
He finds a balcony a few floors up, and leans against the railing as he looks toward the sky. It’s clear tonight, a thousand stars twinkling down from the heavens. There’s too many thoughts swirling around Felix’s head, too much uncertainty about his feelings and Bernadetta and the boar and all the ominous occurrences of the last few months. Felix wonders briefly if there really is a goddess up there among all those stars, and if she knows what the hell’s going on. He can’t say he believes she has a plan, if she’s up there at all.
He wishes the training grounds were open. It’s easier to focus on the present when there’s a sword in his hand and a target to swing at.
The sound of a footstep behind him draws his attention, and Felix turns to see who it is.
“Eep! A g-ghost, I’m so sorry please don’t kill me!”
Felix squints in the darkness and yes, that characteristic outburst did in fact come from Bernadetta, who is shielding herself with her arms and trembling as she waits for a response.
He can’t help but smile even as his chest tightens at the sight of her. He walks over and gently brings her arms away from her face. “It’s just me,” he says.
Bernadetta risks opening one tightly shut eye to look at him. “Felix?” she says, and opens her other eye, visibly relaxing. “What are you doing up here?”
Felix walks back over to the railing. “Just sort of ended up here,” he says vaguely. He shoots her a sidelong glance as she steps up beside him. “And what about you? I thought you’d either be still dancing or back in your room by now.”
Or off somewhere with Ferdinand.
Bernadetta combs at her bangs with her fingers. She looks even nicer this close up. “Well, I did get tired, but it’s a really lovely night so I didn’t want to go back just yet,” she says. “Aren’t the stars really beautiful tonight?”
Felix hums in response.
Not as beautiful as you
, he thinks. They stand for a moment in silence, Felix leaning forward and Bernadetta shifting from foot to foot beside him. She jumps when he turns to look at her suddenly. “So, I look like a ghost, do I?” he says, the corner of his mouth turned up in a smirk.
“What? No, I didn’t mean that! It’s just that it’s really dark and–” she squints at him. “Are you teasing me right now?”
Felix can’t help but laugh when he sees her suspicious expression, and she pokes his arm in complaint, but she lets out a laugh too, and Felix relishes the sound.
“Hey Felix?” Bernadetta leans forward to rest her arms on the barrier too.
“Mmm.”
“Do you ever think about… what’s gonna happen after we all graduate from here?” she says softly. Felix risks a look, but he can’t read her expression from this angle.
“Not really,” he sighs. “I try not to think about it much.”
“Y-yeah,” Bernadetta agrees. “I try not to either. It’s just – I’ve been so happy here. I’ve met so many wonderful people and I wonder… if I’ll ever see them again once I leave.”
Felix looks away. “Like Ferdinand?”
“H-huh?” Bernadetta turns toward him in surprise. “W-well, him too I guess, but I was thinking more like Dorothea, and Annette and Mercedes, Ingrid, the professor… and you,” she finishes quietly, and Felix feels his chest constrict as if breathing too loudly would cover her words and erase them. “Especially everyone from the kingdom,” she continues in a stronger voice. “It just seems like it’ll be really hard to stay in touch.”
“Oh yeah? I’m sure everyone would be happy to write and come visit you, though,” Felix says.
Bernadetta rubs at her arm. “Yeah, it’s just that… I’m sure my father is going to want to marry me off as soon as possible, and I don’t really know what will happen after that…” Oh, right. Obviously. Felix mentally kicks himself for asking such a stupid question. “Although, I’m such a useless marriage prospect so I don’t even know if anyone would want to marry me anyway.” She sighs. “I wish I could just stay here and become a nun or something.”
Based on what Felix saw earlier, he doesn’t think her marriage prospects are all that bad, but it’s a sore topic and he feels like shit for bringing it up. “I didn’t take you as the religious type,” he says in an attempt to lighten the mood.
Bernadetta huffs out a small humorless laugh. “Yeah, I guess it wouldn’t be a good fit, right?”
Agh, this isn’t really how he wanted this to go. It’s funny how usually they feel so comfortable together, but somehow a ball and a forbidden tower and a sky full of stars has turned things tender and a little unsure, as though a small misstep could shatter everything.
“What about you, Felix?” Bernadetta says, changing the subject. “What will you do once you leave here?”
Felix sighs. Now it’s his turn to answer an uncomfortable question. “I guess I’ll go home, and be groomed to take over Fraldarius.” He straightens up, gaze focused skyward. “I really try not to think about it much. It’s not something I ever wanted, being the second son, but…” He trails off, scuffing his boot against the ground. “Pretty sure I’ll be terrible at it, too.”
“What? No way! I’m sure you’ll do great, Felix!” Bernadetta pumps her fists, suddenly energetic in his defense.
It makes Felix smile, even if it’s in a sardonic kind of way. “Have you seen me try to command a battalion?” he says. “It’s a mess, to put it lightly.”
“But you’re so good at everything!” Bernadetta protests, not backing down.
Felix scoffs at that. “I’m good at fighting, and that’s about it,” he says. But he is grateful for her faith in him, even if it’s misplaced. “Actually, I think you’d probably be way better at managing an estate than me.”
“Whaaa-?” Her exaggerated reaction has affection bubbling up Felix’s throat until it comes out as a laugh. “Nonono, you’re just saying that. I’d be no good at that!” Felix wonders if she’s blushing, but it’s too hard to tell in the dark.
“No, I mean it,” he says. “Staying inside, reading reports and writing letters and all that. Definitely more your specialty than mine.”
“Geez, not gonna let me win, huh?” she says, giggling a little. “Well, how about this then? They say that if you make a promise here, it’ll definitely come true, right? So how about, when we meet up for the millennium festival in five years, if neither of us is married, we can team up so you can save me from my father, and I can help you with paperwork, how does that sound?”
It sounds like something out of a fairy tale, which is just like Bernadetta. He smiles. “It’s a promise, then.” One that he won’t likely get the chance to keep.
“Okay, don’t forget!”
Felix is grateful that she sounds so cheerful now, that he didn’t completely ruin the night. They fall into silence, unsure how to follow up a subject at once so heavy and so light. The air is so still and quiet, it almost doesn’t feel real. Or maybe it feels so much more real than all the nights that had passed before.
“Oh yeah,” Bernadetta says eventually, “so I guess you decided not to go to the ball tonight after all?”
“Hm? No, I was there,” Felix says, aiming for nonchalance although he’s trying his hardest not to remember what he had seen earlier that evening.
“Wait, you were?” Bernadetta leans in, suddenly staring intently at Felix. From this distance, he can see the mascara on her eyelashes. “I didn’t see you!”
Felix scratches roughly at his hair, uncomfortable under the sudden scrutiny. “I didn’t stay long,” he says.
Bernadetta steps back, crossing her arms. “Hm, I guess I didn’t either, but…” She chews her lip, and Felix’s heart stutters at what she says next. “I didn’t get to dance with you.”
Felix blinks, mind spinning at how to respond to that. Did she… had she wanted to? Dance with him? He should probably brush it off to not encourage his little schoolboy crush, since he knows Bernadetta just sees him as a friend anyway. Should probably say something like, “I can’t dance” or “I hate dancing” or “You’re not missing out.”
Any of those would be good, but Felix’s mouth says, “Do you… want to dance now then?”
Time stops as Bernadetta turns to look up at him, big eyes blinking from under long eyelashes. She smiles shyly, and Felix realizes he’s holding his breath.
“Okay!” she beams.
Felix’s body continues to act on its own, taking Bernadetta by the hand and leading her to the center of the balcony. He decides belatedly to let it happen, because he can feel at the bottom of his heart that he wants this, he really wants to take her hand in his and place his other on her hip, pulling her close as he leads them into a slow waltz.
Her hand is cold, but it’s soft, and in contrast the hand that lays on his shoulder seems to burn him through his jacket. After a few steps, Bernadetta starts to hum something, and Felix realizes it’s a song that the orchestra was playing earlier. Her voice is so pure and soft, and it envelopes him like the girl in his arms is the only thing in the entire world. With a flood of heat that starts in his chest and spreads like wildfire to his fingers and his toes, Felix realizes that this is not some schoolboy crush. He’s completely fallen for Bernadetta.
Bernadetta smiles up at him through her humming, finally gathering the courage for eye contact, and Felix smiles back. Having her in his arms, smiling up at him feels so right, feels like
home
and all the selfish feelings Felix has been holding back burst forward like a dam splitting open. He doesn’t want to wait five years, he doesn’t want her to go back to her father, he wants her to stay where he can see her.
He pulls Bernadetta a little closer, and it’s like all the stars in the night sky have come down to earth to light up her eyes. He wants to kiss her, Felix realizes with a gulp.
He wants to kiss her, but would that be okay?
Their feet move in tandem. One, two, three.
Would that be too much? Would it scare her?
Or would she kiss back?
Screw it, Felix thinks, it’s a night for taking chances and he closes his eyes, takes a breath, and –
Bernadetta stops singing, the song is over. She steps back, dropping his hand, leaving him cold in her absence.
She beams up at him, looking thoroughly happy. “Thanks Felix,” she says. “I’m really happy I got to dance with you.”
Felix gulps for air, blood rushing in his ears. “Y-yeah, me too,” he stammers.
He is so screwed.
|
Class 1-lgbtqA
cotton, helium, literally icyhot, boom x4, and sleeping bag are online
cotton: Woah, there’s like 30 new notifications for this chat
helium: Wait, Mido don’t read up yet
cotton: ………
literally icyhot: he read up didnt he
boom x4: hey nerd
cotton: …..
cotton: Im so sorry that you had to find out like that even though I wasnt planning on saying something because I dont know how any of you guys would react to me being,,,, well trans,,,,, and ik that society as a whole isnt very accepting to people like me and I can’t go through losing my friends not again and just it hurts and oh my gosh please dont leave me i won’t be able to take that if it happens
sleeping bag: Problem child, I speak on the whole of the teachers in who do we need to kill for making you believe this
cotton: why would they say that?
sleeping bag: Why do you distrust my word?
cotton: ……..well, adults as a whole have never really helped me before so how can I know that this is legit and not just a ploy to hurt me more, inevitably
sleeping bag: …..Okay, what middle school did you go to? And I’m doing this only for right now…
sleeping bag has added [redacted] to the chat
[redacted]: Aw, Aizawa, what is this?
sleeping bag: MIdnight, read up
cotton: Aizawa-sensei, you added Midnight??
cotton: ………
cotton has gone offline
literally icyhot has gone offline
helium: He’s checking on Mido I think
boom x4: …….
boom x4 has gone offline
cotton has come online
cotton: Aizawa-sensei, can we go into DMs or something???
sleeping bag: Of course
DM between cotton and sleeping bag
cotton: okay,,,,,, this is the first time I’ve told anyone the whole extent of this so please don’t ridicule anything I say
cotton: I was, well quirkless for the majority of my life
cotton: My quirk showed up literally right before the entrance exam, and that’s when I used it for the first time
cotton: But because it showed up so late, I was diagnosed quirkless
cotton: And, what society taught me was that nobody liked Quirkless people
cotton: Kacchan was my friend at first, but then his Quirk manifested and mine didn’t and he…… he became a huge jerk
cotton: Life was difficult enough with school, then I reached middle school
cotton: I was the only Quirkless kid in the class and got bullied a lot
cotton: And, because I was quirkless, the teachers turned a blind eye to the bullying because, after all, who cares about the Quirkless freak?
cotton: I would get rude notes thrown onto my desk, and one time I found a white lily on the corner of it
cotton: I didn’t worry about a lot of that stuff, but it still hurt a lot at the time
cotton: I told my P.E. teacher about the white lily because he was the nicest (read: didn’t ignore me at all times)
cotton: He laughed in my face, knocked me over, and broke my finger walking out as he yelled at me to stop asking for attention and if I wanted it that much to get on my knees bc that was the only way to get it (i hadnt transitioned yet)
cotton: And my mom never heard about the incidents, and my dad was gone after being an abusive jerk for the 4 years I knew him
cotton: That same PE teacher called me back into his office, alone, several times over the first year of middle school
cotton: I finally learned just how much more you could be hurt, not only physically and emotionally
cotton: That teacher was fired at the end of the year, for doing the same to a Quirked student
cotton: Notice I said Quirked, because I tried to tell them and they brushed me off
cotton: But as soon as a Quirked student said it, he was out
cotton: Gotta love society huh
cotton: but YEAH
cotton: then my second year started
cotton: It was pretty much the norm, without that PE teacher (thank goodness) but I had started transitioning and binding so !!!!
cotton: Well no one accepted that I was trans there except for Kacchan (funnily) and I kept getting deadnamed
cotton: Then it came to a head like 3 weeks before the school year ended
cotton: Kacchan exploded something I had worked literally all year on and threw it out the window
cotton: He burned my shoulder, so nothing new there
cotton: I tried to fight back, but he knocked me back
cotton: When he left, he told me this:
cotton: ‘If you want to be a hero so badly, why don’t you hope you get a quirk in your next life and do a swan dive off the roof?’
cotton: I considered it
cotton: I got the thing he exploded back and started walking home
cotton: On the way I was attacked by a goop villian thing, the same that attacked Kacchan later on
cotton: I tried getting free, but couldn’t, and then All Might saved me
cotton: I asked him whether I could be a hero or not, because he was mine
cotton: …….he said no and left me on the rooftop where we landed
cotton: I was headed home, yet again, and then I saw the villain attacking Kacchan
cotton: I remembered how it felt, and then he looked at me, and his eyes were scared, Aizawa-sensei
cotton: He was scared, and no pro heroes were able to save him
cotton: So I ran out and threw my bag at the villain, trying to knock it back
cotton: It worked so I tried to get Kacchan out
cotton: All Might had to come save us again
cotton: After the whole thing and being scolded by all the heroes, I was, yet again, homebound
cotton: then All Might caught me and said that if I hadn’t run out, he wouldn’t have done anything
cotton: He said I risked my life for Kacchan, and that he needed to practice what he preached
cotton: I was in shock but he said ‘Yes, you can be a hero’
cotton: Then we did a whole buncha training to get me ready for the entrance exam
cotton: I told him about my trans-ness so he could adjust the training schedule for my body type because, as much as I didnt like it, I had a female body
cotton: Then the exam came along, and I used my Quirk for the first time, and yeah
sleeping bag: …
sleeping bag: Midoriya, I need to know
sleeping bag: Have you ever cut, purged, or self-harmed in any way
cotton: …..cut
sleeping bag: Thank you for being honest with me Midoriya, do you have a razor or something on your person
cotton: Yes, I tried getting rid of it but it felt wrong, so I held onto it
cotton: I haven’t done anything since UA tho, so go me!!
sleeping bag: Midoriya, this might seem invading, but I have to let someone know about this
sleeping bag: Do I have your permission to show the teachers this
cotton: ….. If it’ll help it go away, yes
sleeping bag: It’ll take a while but if you let us help, it’ll help you let it go
sleeping bag: Wait, is that PE teacher why you’re so tense whenever a teacher keeps you after class?
cotton: ….
sleeping bag: Alright. I’ll show this to the teachers and we can go from there. Thank you for telling me, Midoriya. I will need to take the razor though
cotton: Thank you for listening Aizawa-sensei, and that’s fine
Why does school exist
sleeping bag is online
sleeping bag: {screenshot.1}
sleeping bag: {screenshot.2}
sleeping bag: {screenshot.3}
sleeping bag: {screenshot.4}
sleeping bag: When you get online offer help
sleeping bag: I think this might be the most traumatized student at UA
sleeping bag is offline
|
"Is there any more chocolate-chip?"
Kelly watched as Amy searched through the freezer. She looked unkempt, straight out of bed, her hair sticking out in all directions. "Have you brushed your teeth?"
"No." Amy continued searching for the ice cream.
Okay. She'd have to be cruel to be kind, Kelly decided. "I think you've gained a few this past week. Have you been on the scales lately?"
Amy's hand stilled for a moment, but then started rummaging again, hesitantly. "I don't care really," she muttered. Suddenly, she banged the freezer shut and sank down on a kitchen chair. "Oh my God! I do! I
care! How can I not care? I
to care!" she wailed, before burying her face in her hands.
Kelly hurried to envelop her in a hug. She didn't know what to do to ease her friend's distress. With Christmas around the corner, all the shit that Amy was going through was making her even more depressed. She didn't like looking at Amy destroying herself like this, which is why she'd hidden the half-finished carton of chocolate chip last night. Amy
gaining weight - and it showed. This was good in a way because Kelly had always thought Amy was too skinny, but it could mean cancelled contracts for her as a runway model. Amy didn't need that right now. She had to have all the confidence she could get. Comfort food was good, but so much? Bad.
"What am I going to do Kelly?" Amy's muffled voice found its way out from between her hands.
"How about a nice green salad?" Kelly strove for some humour. "Or... how about pigging out on yoghurt and grapefruit?" She rubbed her hands across Amy's back soothingly.
Amy sniffled. "You're a good friend Kelly." She sighed. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Yes, well, you don't have to think about that really. I'm here and I'm running your life for the next few days until you're better, ok?"
Amy chuckled. "Do I have any say in what happens to me?"
Kelly smiled. "Some."
"I'd like to eat but not put on weight."
Kelly rolled her eyes. "I said I'm running your life, which means you do what I tell you to. It doesn't mean I can turn nature around to keep you skinny even though you stuff your face. Try again. Concentrate on it being something doable this time."
"Hmmm... how about finding a couple of hot men who'd give me mind-blowing orgasms?"
Kelly's eyes widened. "Are you serious?"
Amy laughed. "Of course not, silly. This whole mess I'm in, it's because of a guy. If that swine hadn't left me to run off after that skank...." She took a deep breath. "Right now I want all of them dead. Wiped off the face of this earth. Incinerated." Amy cocked her hands in a gun shape and made bzzt bzzt noises while pointing them as if men were nothing but flies who could be eradicated as easily as flies that had found themselves in intimate contact with one of those electrical current fly traps.
"God, this could be so satisfying!" she whooped.
Kelly was relieved. Amy was sounding a little like her old self. "Yeah. Death to all men! Who needs them anyway? But you know..." she continued slowly, "...they're kind of good for orgasms."
Amy made a face. "Nah. I could do that without them too." And with that she tromped off to the bathroom.
All this talk about mind-blowing orgasms had given Kelly the niggling of an idea. She didn't know if she should do it, hell, she didn't know if she could, but she would try.
She remembered the last time she'd had a break-up. It was two years ago this Christmas, and she remembered how broken-hearted she had been. Fabian had come into her life then, and had made her feel loved and wanted. She now wondered if he could help Amy in the same way.
Kelly tiptoed to the door and closed it. She cleared her throat, and then a thought occurred to her. He said he'd come when she called him, but was there a time limit to it? It
been two years. Would he still come?
Well, it was worth a try.
Kelly opened her mouth... and closed it again. Maybe she should ask Amy about this? Maybe she should check that Amy was occupied before going ahead? Maybe she should stop making excuses and just do it? Yes? Okay, so she took another deep breath, and called out to him.
"Fabian, please come. I need you."
There, that should do it. She looked around, and yes, there was that familiar little chocolate brown figure coming through in the window.
Kelly stared. The window? Why the window?
"Hi Kelly. You had the door closed," he explained.
"Oh." Kelly was at a loss for words, but she battled on, "That was for Amy. You know Amy, right?"
"Ah, yes. That delightful young woman. Of course I remember her."
Something twitched in the region where Kelly thought her heart was. Delightful? Well, Amy
delightful, but... she frowned and caught herself. Was she actually jealous of her own friend?
"Kelly? What's wrong?" Fabian was peering at her with narrowed eyes.
Kelly sat down in a chair and sighed. "Why do you ask?" she asked him. "You can read my mind, can't you? Elves can."
She looked him over. He was exactly how she remembered him - small, chocolate-coloured, with kind eyes. Her very own elf.
Fabian watched her with his head cocked to one side.
"Oh, dammit. Listen, I need your help. Well, you know, like when I had broken up with Alex and was sad, you helped me through it? I want you to... well, I don't know... Amy and I were talking this morning and she just happened to mention, well, ummm... mind-blowing orgasms, and I thought... the best I had ever had were... oh my god, this is really tough!"
Fabian grinned. He actually grinned, and sent Kelly into an incoherent sort of rage. He was enjoying this. How dare he!
"Why are you doing this to me?" she hissed.
"What am I doing?" he asked, amused.
"You can
my
!" she grumbled. "You
what I'm trying to tell you. Why are you making me do it?"
"Ah, well." Fabian fingered his chin. "Sorry. Was just having some fun. So you want me to help your friend, but you're too possessive about me to let me give her mind-blowing orgasms."
Kelly's eyes widened. He could read her mind all right - every little thought, even those drenched in self-denial and hidden in the depths of her mind. Yes, he could read it. She just didn't want him to be this accurate about it. A girl needed some places of hers left uninvaded.
"Well, that's why I wanted you to tell me what you wanted," Fabian mumbled.
"I just want her happy," Kelly said earnestly. "I
care for her."
"Of course you do." Fabian smiled. "And I think I have a solution for you."
Kelly tensed.
"No, it's not what you think," he continued. "I'm not about to go down on her. There's someone else actually. I met him a few days ago, and I think..." Fabian chuckled before going on, "...I think he would be perfect for her."
"What are you going to do? You're not going to set her up with some man, are you? Don't do that. She hates men right now. She's not in the right frame of mind for that, she just needs some fun and loving..." Kelly stopped babbling and realised she was sounding too much like a mother hen.
Fabian smiled kindly at her. "No, it's not a man. In fact...." He went to the door and threw it wide open, mumbling, "He probably isn't fit enough for the window."
And Kelly saw another Fabian walk in. He was a perfect copy of the little elf standing right in front of her, but something was different -- something imperceptible. Kelly scrunched up her brow in concentration. Okay, he looked... somehow older, though how, she had no idea, because he had the same lean built, same arms, same face and the same... oh, there it was. He wasn't smiling. In fact, he was frowning.
"Hi Harold!" Fabian greeted him like an old friend.
Harold looked at Fabian and nodded at him, then turned to Kelly and gave her a sweeping look from her head to her toes.
"This is Kelly," Fabian introduced her. "And Kelly, this is Harold, a dear friend."
"Hi," Kelly offered tentatively.
Harold nodded at her.
Fabian coughed uncomfortably. "Kelly here needs our help," he said. "You know what she needs," he added.
Just then, there was a flurry at the door and Amy walked in, still in her bathrobe, but much more awake with a freshly scrubbed face. She stopped short when she saw the two little men.
"Amy! You remember Fabian?" Kelly asked her.
"Yes, but..." Amy looked very confused. "There are two of him?"
Kelly managed to disguise her sudden laugh into a cough and Fabian grinned. Harold's frown deepened.
Fabian cleared his throat and explained. "Amy, I'm Fabian. This," he gestured, "is Harold."
"You're called Harold? Why, that is so absur..." She stopped, obviously realising that she shouldn't be so outspoken about someone's name.
"What exactly is so absurd about Harold?" Harold asked. "It's a perfectly respectable name." His voice was deeper than Fabian's.
"Well, nothing I suppose, unless you're an elf. I just haven't met an elf called Harold ever."
"And just how many elves have you met before?" Harold asked her patiently.
"Oh. Well. You know what I mean. Harold is not a very... elf-like... name. I mean, it's so grown-up!"
Harold looked at her for a beat before replying dryly. "Well, I'm grown-up. I'm 118."
Amy's eyes bulged. "Years?" she squeaked.
"Of course, years," Harold replied calmly.
"Oh. My. God." Amy looked completely shocked.
Kelly was much too surprised herself. "One hundred and eighteen?"
Fabian cleared his throat again. "Stop playing with the ladies, Harold. 118 is about middle-aged in an elf's life. We live to be about 250 on an average."
"Wow." Amy seemed awe-struck. "I've never seen someone who's 118 before."
Harold raised an eyebrow at her, spread his hands and shrugged as if to say, 'well, here I am'.
Amy shook her head from side to side like she still couldn't believe it, and stood there, staring at Harold.
"Um... Amy? Breakfast?" Kelly wanted to distract Amy and get her out of the kitchen soon without being too obvious about it. She didn't really know what was going on, and if Fabian thought that he could pair off Amy with Harold... well, that wasn't going to happen. This was a stupid,
plan.
"Breakfast? Yes. Sure." Amy was still half occupied by the two small men in the middle of their kitchen.
"Coffee?" Kelly asked.
"Yes." Amy wandered over to the table and sat down on one of the chairs.
"Eggs?"
"Yes." She was still giving Harold little, unobtrusive looks.
Kelly wondered if Amy was even listening to her. "Ice cream?" she asked next.
"Yes."
"The rest of the carton?"
"Yes."
"With the two chocolate bars I have in my bag?"
"Yes."
"Amy!"
She whipped around her head at that to look at Kelly.
"Are you even listening to me?" Kelly demanded.
"Of course. You were asking me about... breakfast?"
Kelly sighed and served her coffee. "You can make whatever else you want yourself," she huffed.
"Ugh! I'm sorry. I guess I'm just not in a sociable mood. And you should entertain your guests. I'm... I will just... I think I'll take my coffee into my room and be back in a bit, ok?" Amy shuffled off.
Kelly watched her go and soon as she was out of earshot, she whipped her head around to face Fabian. "No," she said quite clearly.
"But why not? Harold isn't as grumpy and forbidding as he looks."
There was a sputter from Harold at this. "Excuse me?! I'm right here."
"Yes, yes Harold, you are. It's just that... listen, don't take this personally." Fabian tried to soothe the other elf.
"Not personally? How else then? Humph!" Harold's frown deepened.
"Kelly, he's not as crotchety always. Maybe his back's acting up?"
Harold advanced on him.
Fabian took a step back. "No, Harold. I don't mean you're crotchety really. It's just that you're a teeny bit grumpy today, aren't you?" Fabian turned to look at Kelly. "I wouldn't do anything that would hurt your friend, would I? Harold is a marshmallow really, under all that gruffness, he's a puppy. Believe me."
"I can't believe this," Harold muttered.
"Neither can I, actually," Kelly chimed in.
Fabian threw up his hands. "Ok, I admit defeat. We won't do it if you don't think it's a good idea. I thought it would work, but... well... okay." He turned, walked into a corner and sat down.
Harold cleared his throat. "Do I have any say in this?"
Kelly looked at the little frowning creature. "Yes, tell me." She felt sorry for the poor thing.
Harold sighed. "You do not have to feel sorry for me."
Kelly caught herself and tried to clear her head of all thought. Damn these little beings who could invade minds like this!
Harold continued. "Well, I'm an elf. And elves always strive to make people happy. I'm no different. I might look like someone's idea of a cantankerous old fuddy-duddy, but I cannot be mean or hurt anyone. It's the way I'm made and maybe because of the way I look, people don't really give me a chance to do anything for them." He stopped, gathering his thoughts. "Well, all I can say is -- my job is to make people happy. And I think I can make your friend contented, if only for a few moments."
Fabian nodded from his corner. "That's what I've been trying to say."
Kelly was undecided. She wanted Amy well on the way to healing, and she knew how the little elf had made her feel two years ago -- loved and special, but she didn't want Amy hurt. Was what she was orchestrating right? Who called elves to mend broken hearts? Was she, maybe, losing it? Maybe all this was better stopped now than regretted later? But then, she couldn't think of anything else to help her friend.
"Kelly, you're thinking too much." That came from Fabian in the corner. "This should be about what Amy wants."
"I'll leave if the lady tells me to, okay?" That was Harold.
Howard's offer clinched it for Kelly. "But if you upset that girl, I swear I'll
you," she told Harold.
Harold turned away and walked out of the room, grumbling about helping people and getting threats in return.
* * * * *
Amy was sitting by the windowpane on the ledge, looking out and sipping from her coffee mug when Harold entered. She looked around at him. "Oh, hey," she greeted him with a smile.
"Hi." Harold settled down cross-legged on the carpet and cleared his throat. He didn't know how to do this. "Do you need..." he stopped. He couldn't just barge in like that, could he?
"Yes? Do I need what?" Amy looked at him with an expectant look on her face.
"Well, do you need... anything?" Harold asked.
"No, thank you. Coffee's enough for now."
"No. Yes. No. I didn't mean..." Harold swallowed. This was harder than he thought it would be. "Well, Fabian called me here to..." he stopped and sighed. He looked up at her. "Amy. You're a delightful girl," he said sincerely.
She smiled. "Thank you," she said softly.
"And you're hurting," Harold continued. "I want to help you somehow. Would you let me?"
Amy looked at him. "I'm not sure how you'll do that."
"Ah. Well. It involves... you know... um... you were talking about mind-blowing orgasms earlier this morning?"
Amy stared at him. Then her gaze softened. "Harold, are you blushing?"
He shook his head vigorously. "Of course not! I don't blush," he said gruffly.
Amy laughed delightedly. "You're such a darling."
Harold got up and walked to Amy. He took her hand in his and waited until she got to her feet, then led her to the stuffed chair in the corner. "Your coffee's done?" he asked her, and when she nodded, took the empty cup from her and put it on the floor under the chair.
"Harold? What are you doing?" She sounded anxious.
"Giving you a relaxing massage," he replied.
She looked at him suspiciously, but put her head back and relaxed.
"Don't worry," Harold soothed. "You're in good hands."
He felt her body relaxing as he took both her hands in his and rubbed her palms soothingly. He placed her hands beside her knees on the chair, and kneeled in front of her. She tensed a little as his hands found the back of her legs, but loosened up again when he only kneaded gently. "I won't hurt you, Amy," he whispered.
She nodded and her lashes dampened imperceptibly. "You're being so good to me," she whispered, almost too softly for him to hear. "Thank you."
"My pleasure," he murmured and took her foot in his hands, gently working it.
"I'm not usually like this. I'm not weepy. Its just that... too much kindness... you all are being so good to me. It makes me feel incredibly grateful." She sighed and closed her eyes.
"Yes, I know."
"That feels good..."
"It does?" Harold kissed the insides of her knees.
She sighed. "Yes."
Harold trailed his fingers up her thigh, under her robe. Amy's eyes remained closed, so he got bolder and spread her legs a little for better access. He kissed her thighs and moved up, feeling the edges of her panties.
Amy shifted in her chair.
"Relax," Harold whispered. "Let go of your inhibitions. Enjoy this." His finger trailed over her centre, feeling the warmth there. While his finger teased her, his tongue made little swipes over her thighs.
Amy felt like she was in a dream. Her limbs hung loose, her breath was slow, and deep; it felt like she was breathing something thicker than air. Her body felt warm and tingly all over. She was completely relaxed and secure. Every touch and sensation seemed amplified, as if she was drugged.
Harold felt her wetness seeping through and replaced his finger with his tongue. He lapped at her lightly until her panties were soaked, and then slipped them off so easily from under her that Amy didn't realise they were gone until she felt him touch her
.
Her upper body arched reflexively, bringing her chest to Harold's attention. He placed his hands on her breasts and started kneading them. Amy moaned at the contact. His pointy tongue prodded her sex, eliciting another moan and causing her hips to squirm. She was pushing down towards him.
"More?" Harold asked her.
"Oh yes, please." Amy's speech was slow, slurred.
Harold smiled and prepared to give her the thorough loving she deserved. A finger found its way inside her and he heard her sigh as he burrowed it deep inside her. Her stomach clenched as she felt him move inside her. He added another finger to the first and established a slow rhythm.
It was not hurried, nothing earthshaking. Instead, the slow and honeyed assault had Amy's insides melting slowly and steadily, until her fingers curled with the slow building heat. She felt something in her start to uncurl as she registered Harold suckling on her clit.
His fingers were going in and out of her, with her hips moving to meet them with every thrust. Amy abandoned herself to the feeling that gripped her, the ride that took her higher and higher until she could take it no longer and felt herself explode with the sheer pleasure of it all. As the waves washed over her, Amy let herself enjoy every heightened sensation that she could.
When it was over, Amy opened her eyes to see Harold watching her intently.
"That was good," Amy murmured, moving down next to him on the carpet. She sighed and continued, "You're not as grumpy as you look. You're a sweetie really." She threw an arm over him, cuddled up and settled down next to him for a relaxing morning. "It's going to be a lovely Christmas."
* * * * *
To the readers: I hope you liked the story. Votes, comments and feedback are always appreciated. I like hearing from you so please do write. Every email with a return address will receive a reply. :)
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“Bad.” He answered, just as the wind kicked up and blew leaves and nests off of the trees, “Very bad weather.”
Another siren’s wave blared and James reacted faster than he did this time, grabbing him from around the waist and hauling him back toward the dining table. They huddled beneath it, watching as trees were ripped from the ground by the suddenly ferocious wind.
“We can’t stay here!” Tony yelled over the noise, flinching when the windows shattered, “We need to as far from here as we can!”
James grabbed his shirt and wrapped it around Tony’s shoulders, urging him to put it on whilst he grabbed their pants as well. They stumbled to their feet, half-dressed, and ducked when a branch sailed through the room from outside.
Broken glass was everywhere and his shoes were in the bedroom, but when he tried to run and get them, James grabbed him, put his own boots on and lifted him into his arms instead.
“Wait – !”
“No time!” He snapped.
“Well how the hell are you going to run holding me?” Tony snapped back and James pushed him higher, using one arm to support him and the other to wrench the front door open. As though to prove a point, he ran effortlessly well and Tony clung to him, staring wide-eyed at the devastation that this storm was creating.
The hole in the lake seemed to be it’s epicentre and it was quickly filling with water from the rain. As he watched, the water began to bubble, steaming as though the ground was burning hot, before shooting upward and spiralling like a tornado, reaching the sky at an incredible speed. He was so focused on that bizarrity that he almost missed the lodge’s sofa flying toward them until it was practically on top.
“Look out!” Despite the vagueness of his warning, James dodged the sofa, but he must have lost his footing in the process because they tumbled down into the mud just as the downpour increased. Tony grunted as he fell, rolling away and staying crouched as leaves and dust flew around him like the beginnings of a hurricane.
James helped him to his feet and picked him up again, bracing against the wind until they reached a spot by the forest that seemed to be untouched by all that was happening. They sat together over the ground, finding a large log and hiding behind it. The water tornado was still upright and spinning ridiculously fast, it’s bottom inside the hole and it’s top hidden by the clouds. The sound it made reminded Tony of the scream a plane created when it was hit by turbulence.
“You ever see anything like that?” James asked him, frowning.
“No,” Tony swallowed, “I’ve seen an incursion in person before but this never happened.”
“This place’d already been hit anyway, though, hadn’t it?”
“Yeah but they’ve never occurred twice in one place,” Biting his lip, he wished he hadn’t been naked when this had begun if only so he could have had his earpiece in at least, “If this is the next stage, every other hole could be hit again too.”
“Shit.” At first Tony thought that that was an emphatic reaction to his words but then he saw the tyres and ducked. James held him close as the car flew over them, crashing not too far from their hiding spot. Oil splashed around it as it’s tank smashed over the trees and they both looked at each other in panic.
“Go further in!” James pushed him toward the trees and they ran like crazy, branches snapping in their faces and rocks digging into Tony’s bare feet. A broken telephone pole landed near the car and it’s snapped wires flailed around until they struck the oil and ignited.
Tony felt himself leave the ground from the force of the explosion, wrapping his arms around his stomach as he fell in a heap. James hit a tree when he was propelled forward as well but he was up a second later, helping Tony up and moving them along.
Fire licked at the trees but the water spraying from the tornado put it out before it could start to spread too drastically and finally, when all they could see was forest, they found a ridge and gathered beneath it. The storm seemed to go on for hours after that until eventually, the sound of the wind and it’s force died down. They stayed put anyway, just in case, and James rubbed at Tony’s arms when he started to shiver.
“We gotta get you warm.” He held him close, running his hands up and down to try and generate some heat. Too exhausted to protest, Tony let him.
“I need – I’ve got to contact someone. Tell them this happened.”
“When you’re not close to getting pneumonia, sure.”
“The hospital’s a 30 minute drive.” Tony told him, “And my car just exploded.” He shook violently for a moment, the chill digging into his skin, “How did you get here?”
“Taxi.” James looked past him and around the trees, probably searching for the road, “I saw a main lodge further down on the way here. They have jeeps.”
Tony nodded, “I need my suit, first. It’s in the lodge.”
“We’re not – ”
“I’m not leaving it here where anyone could find it. If it’s destroyed, it’s destroyed, but I need to make sure.” Looking at him for a long while, James frowned, only to then visibly give up when he realised Tony would not back down over this.
“Fine.” He stood and bent down. “Hop on.” Tony scoffed and he looked back at him over his shoulder, “You want to run in the mud with no shoes on?”
Sighing, Tony climbed onto his back, feeling odd and out of control but knowing that James would never drop him. He held on tight the entire way back however, keeping his head down to avoid all low branches and so forth until they left the forest and saw open sky again.
The lodge was in total ruin when they arrived but as there was only the one floor and the roof was collapsed, there wasn’t any danger of anything falling on them inside. Tony grabbed his suitcase and opened it get his shoes out and pry them on. The outside was soaked through but mercifully, his clothes and so forth were untouched. His suit was still inside the buckled compartment and was untouched as well.
“You got it?” James slid into the room beside him, avoiding the broken wall that jut out a doorframe like an arrowhead.
“Yep. All accounted for.” He straightened to face him, “I can change out of these clothes too, get warm. No need for the hospital.”
James nodded, “You get dressed, I’ll call Steve.”
Around twenty minutes later, the both of them were walking down the path toward the main lodge. James had told Steve everything that had just happened, weather-wise, and now that the lodge was history they were getting an early flight home. Tony also left a message with the receptionist to tell Mr Porter not to approach his lodge and to instead file for insurance and stay somewhere safe.
He hoped he’d listen to Tony Stark at least, even if he hadn’t listened to the warnings the first time.
They boarded Tony’s private jet once FRIDAY called it out for them and once safely aboard, Tony slumped over two seats with a sigh. James sat beside him and for a moment, Tony was sure he’d comment on the luxury of the plane, but then he visibly changed his mind and leant back in his seat instead.
“I think I’m cursed.” Tony spoke when the silence started to bite. James looked at him, “Every vacation I take ends in me getting attacked. I never even get one day of relaxation.”
“Your maternity-leave counts as a vacation, doesn’t it?”
“Oh yeah, I’m going to be so relaxed with a swollen belly and constipation.” He sighed again, the adrenaline from the storm vanishing after their walk and drive here but there was still a sense of urgency in him that he needed to get this sorted. If other incursion sites were in danger of being affected like this one, the Avengers had to act.
They had to keep people safe, especially if that girl from Poland was dead like he assumed she was – he was not going to let there be a death count of more than one with these events.
As he sat there, the sky they flew through looked much clearer than it had been during the storm and the clouds looked close enough to touch. He ached to fly through them but had only brought his suit with him for emergencies and for an absolute last resort. His bump would fit in it for now but he hadn’t wanted to risk it unless it was life-or-death.
Sailing through the clouds didn’t count, however much he wanted it to. Reaching out, he lowered the blinds to block out the view, and felt James shift beside him, reminding him that they still had an unfinished conversation to get through.
Instead of what he thought would be said however, James reminded him of something else.
“You told me you were shot, once.” He murmured and Tony looked at him, blinking, “In the stomach. … and that you needed cryo because of it.”
It wasn’t a pleasant memory but he supposed he had worse to talk about, “Cryo kept me alive long enough for Helen to get there, yeah.”
James nodded, slowly, “Who shot you?”
“Why?” Sitting up a little straighter, Tony turned until his back was against the window and he could prop his feet up, laying them over James’ lap, “He’s dead.”
James placed a hand over his ankles, “By you?”
“By his own idiocy.” His skin tingled wherever James touched, “He shot me to get his hands on the Chitauri weapons I was transporting into a vault. Used it to make his own weapon and had it explode in his face. Literally.”
James nodded, leaning down until his lips were centimetres away from Tony’s stomach, “Good.” He murmured, pressing a kiss to it softly. Tony swallowed, watching him, and he waited to react as he wasn’t even sure what that meant.
There were a different theoretical reasons for kissing him there and he didn’t want to assume. It could have been because that that been where he’d been shot, it could be because of the baby, or just simply because it was where James could reach at the moment.
He got his answer when James pushed his feet off of his lap then and pulled him upright, gathering him into his arms and kissing him hard. Tony kissed him back instinctively, putting his hands through James’ hair and holding on tight. He slid forward, putting his legs either side of James’ and pressing their chests together, tilting his head back when kisses left his lips and were mouthed over his neck.
“Wait.” He gasped, his eyes flickering shut, “Wait, stop.” James did, sitting back and looking up at him, “I don’t want to – I mean I want to, but – we shouldn’t. Not until we know what this is.”
James blinked, “The incursions?”
“No lunkhead. Us.” Still sitting over him, Tony put his hands over James’ shoulders and met his gaze, “You said you’d be willing to test B.A.R.F’s effectiveness on you.”
Nodding, James said softly, “I did.”
“And if it proves to be? Effective? What then?”
Lifting up a hand, James used it to push some of Tony’s hair back from his face, his own face softer than he’d ever seen it, “If it works? … then I want.” He let out a breath, “I want to try. What you said before. About family.” He leant forward and pressed his forehead against Tony’s collarbone, “I’ve never had, I – I want to try.”
Holding him there, Tony lay his hands on the back of his neck, lowering his own head to rest on James’.
“Me too.” He whispered.
They stayed sat so close together for the rest of the journey, dozing in their seats, until eventually FRIDAY called for them to put their belts on and brace for landing. Natasha and Rhodey were by the pad to meet them and Rhodey dodged the luggage staff to make a beeline for him straight away.
“Tony,” He took his hand, checking him over, “You okay? Barnes said a hurricane hit the lodge.”
“Not a hurricane exactly,” Tony corrected, “But – yeah. Pretty much.” He smiled, “I’m fine though.”
“He should get checked out,” James added, “We were outdoors in the rain for over an hour.”
“I’m fine.” Tony insisted again but now that Rhodey had a little more information, it was useless. “Alright, whatever. I’ll go for a check-up. But it’s for the baby’s sake, not mine.”
“As long as you go.”
Natasha met with them then, looking tense and uncertain, “Steve’s on his way back from Poland.” She said, “They found the girl.”
From the tone of her voice, it wasn’t good news, “Dead?” Tony asked but she shook her head, opening her mouth to explain but the sound of the Quinjet landing cut her off.
Rogers landed in the compound directly, which probably meant a briefing, and though he’d promised a check-up, Tony knew he needed to be there. Luckily Helen was understanding and took the BP pumps and anything else she needed into the meeting room with them.
Tony gave his arm up for her to check his blood pressure, all the while listening avidly to Rogers talk about his mission. Apparently they’d found the girl in less than an hour but she didn’t seem to have any memory of the incursion or even of the argument she’d apparently had with her family beforehand.
At first, they’d assumed it might have been memory loss or trauma, but then they’d learnt that her birth mark was gone as well and that she was behaving strangely. Her parents were treated formally at best and coldly at worst and her boyfriend was utterly ignored. Neither party had been happy with this and had asked the Avengers for explanations.
Obviously they had none at the moment but this was interesting nonetheless.
Afterward, Tony and James told their own tale between them and Tony described the water tornado as scientifically as he could but honestly, he’d never seen a phenomenon like it. As he spoke, Helen interrupted only once to say, ‘heartbeat’s pretty strong’ and he’d paused and looked down at her with a smile, before continuing.
To their credit, the rest of the team ignored the baby-in-the-room pretty professionally.
“So what we know now is,” Rogers summarised, “That a young woman was in the middle of an incursion and has changed physically and mentally because of it. And that an incursion site is still dangerous because one of these ‘water-tornados’ might appear in all of them too.”
“And that there’s no warning for a second storm,” Tony added, “No temperature change at all. The only warning we got was the Siren-wail and that gave us literally a minute to react.”
“Okay,” Rogers nodded, “So we need to first contact every country the incursions occurred in and issue a warning to keep away until further notice. We can – ”
“We can’t warn them ourselves; the Accord committee has to sanction it.”
“Okay, then ask them.” Narrowing his eyes at him, Tony leant back a little in his seat, until Rogers added, “Please.”
“Yeah no problem.” With that decided, they disbanded and Tony accepted Helen’s help in standing.
“You need to rest.” She told him, “And have a proper ultrasound by an actual midwife.”
“I’ve got one now actually,” Tony said, “Pepper and I discussed it and he’s apparently an ‘awarded’ midwife.”
“Awarded?” Helen raised an eyebrow.
“I know. I didn’t even know midwifing got awards,” He shrugged, “I’ll call him now and get him here. Best way to get a new client is to jump right in, right?”
“No.”
“Ah well.”
.
James didn’t leave his side after the meeting’s end, which was quite the contrast to his behaviour these past few weeks and to how alone in this Tony had gotten used to feeling. Pepper didn’t live in the compound and Rhodey had been overseas for a while. Now however, he had three alphas by his bedside and an omega midwife unpacking the state-of-the-art ultrasound Tony had ordered about a month ago.
Pepper took the opportunity of their wait to make a few calls and Rhodey stole the only seat, watching as James stood at Tony’s other side with his arms folded across his chest, glaring at the midwife as though he was a spy sent to kill them.
“Stop it,” Tony poked him in the ribs, “You’re scaring him.”
“Oh,” The midwife looked up, his badge reading ‘Nathan Gruell’, “No it’s okay, I’m fine. I’m used to protective alphas don’t worry.” He smiled, “It’s the jealous and pregnant omegas I tend to get wary of.”
“Well you’re free to flirt all you want, if it’s how you work,” Tony told him, pressing his lips together when James gave him a look, “I’m joking. And I meant with Rhodey anyway.”
“Thanks,” Rhodey muttered, “Like I didn’t have a big sign saying ‘single’ on my head as it was.”
Respectively ignoring that, Nathan went around to pull Tony’s shirt up, “Hold this up for me.” He said, holding the hem up for Tony to grab and hold.
Pepper ended her call then and came to stand behind Rhodey, watching as Nathan set the machine up and rolled some jelly over Tony’s stomach. His bump was a little more pronounced now, probably because he wasn’t actively hiding it, and he didn’t think his skin was smoother anywhere else but his stomach.
Beneath it and around it however were plenty of stretch marks. He grimaced when he noticed them.
“Perfectly natural, don’t worry,” Nathan assured him, pulling the screen toward him, “Now. How desperate do you need to pee right now?”
“Bursting.” Tony admitted, having drunk two litres of sugar-water beforehand.
“Great.” He pressed the wand into his stomach and immediately, Tony held back the urge to just let his bladder go from the pressure he applied. He pressed his lips together, keeping his legs spread over the hospital bed and staring at the screen when blurs of grey and black appeared within it.
Nathan lowered the wand with a frown of concentration and Tony bit his lip, trying hard to hold his pee in and not embarrass himself, and it took all of his focus to stay that way that he barely noticed when the machine was switched off.
“Hey,” He blinked, turning, “I didn’t see.”
“Nothing to see I’m afraid. There’s not a lot of visibility, right now,” Nathan told him, “I’m going to advise that you drink a little more and we try again in an hour.”
Tony let his head fall back, “You gotta be kidding me.”
“Afraid not.” He looked at the others, “Who wants to go get another full litre for him?”
“I’ll go,” Pepper said, “I’ve got a meeting in half an hour so I might have to miss this anyway,” She bent and pressed a kiss to his forehead, “But I want to see the picture afterwards.” She glanced up, “There – will be a picture, won’t there? Because otherwise, I can cancel – ”
“There’s a picture at the end, Miss Potts, not to worry. As many copies as Mr Stark wants.”
Relieved, she said her goodbyes and left quickly, calling someone as she went. Tony rolled his head around to face Rhodey then, smiling.
“What?” Rhodey asked when he noticed.
“You can go too,” He said, “I relieve you.”
“Relieve me?” He rolled his eyes, “I’m not – ”
“Rhodey, I love you, but I know when you’re uncomfortable.” He gestured to his bare stomach, “And I’m not exactly decent right now.”
“I’ve seen you fully naked plenty of times,” Rhodey countered.
“Only briefly.” Tony said, “And not happily. You really want to be here for discussions of birthing and shit?”
Looking at him, Rhodey frowned for a while before shaking his head and standing, “Yeah no, I’m good. Send me a picture too, yeah?”
“No I thought I’d keep them locked up. Pay-per-view only.”
Once he was gone, Tony relaxed a little, having felt somewhat awkward with his pregnancy so on show. James took the seat Rhodey left and tilted his head at him, “Want me to go too?”
He looked at him, “No. You stay. It’s your baby as well.”
“I’m not the one pregnant.” James said, “If you want me to go, I’ll go. Just tell me.”
“You really like being told what to do, don’t you,” Tony said teasingly, fully prepared to make a sexual joke about that before he realised what he’d said, “Shit. I didn’t mean – ”
James was smiling however, “This is why you’re not my only therapist.” He said and Tony relaxed, feeling stupid at his slip but glad James could see that he hadn’t meant anything by it.
“I’m not even your therapist at all.” He corrected, “I just let you vent sometimes.” He shifted over the bed, getting closer to him, “But in answer to before, honestly? I do want you to stay. You can hold my hand and make sure I don’t pee everywhere.”
Nathan snorted where he was ‘busying’ himself with keeping his hands clean, “Sorry,” He said, “I was trying not to eavesdrop.”
A moment later, they heard Pepper’s heels over the corridor outside and she came in, handed Tony a glass of water and left with a small wave in their direction. Not for the first time, Tony was glad she’d taken over so much of the CEO role for him as she did it so brilliantly and it gave him a much lighter load at times as well.
“Drink up, Mr Stark,” Nathan ordered when he started to zone out and he scowled, sitting up a little straighter and lifting the glass up.
He gulped the water down, ignoring the weight that it seemed to settle in his stomach and how his body clearly rejected having so much more liquid shoved into it when it was already full. He drank it anyway, ignoring his discomfort, and then used his tablet to email the Accords committee with regards to issuing warnings for other countries.
James tapped a beat over his knuckles as he typed one-handed, the tablet propped over his bent knees, and then finally Nathan put some more jelly over his stomach and pressed the wand in again.
“Oh God.” Tony bit the inside of his cheeks, the pressure building with each roll of the damn thing over his skin, and he counted down from 1000 in his head to distract himself. “Please say you can see.”
“I can.” Nathan said, softly, and Tony looked at the screen. Most of it was still black but at its centre was a hammock-shaped grey smudge that had something small and round above it. He stared, his heart pounding.
“What’s – ?”
“This is your baby’s head.” Pointing at the screen, Nathan placed a finger around the round spot above the hammock, “And this is their heartbeat.” He tilted the second screen toward them, showing the ECG running and rising with each beat of their baby’s heart.
“Oh.” Tony swallowed, his bladder totally forgotten now, and he stared, “That’s – ?” He smiled, looking at James to make sure he was looking as well.
“It looks transparent.” James commented; his words blunt though he seemed in awe so Tony forgave him.
“It essentially is,” Nathan said, “Your baby’s skin is very thin at this stage but now you’ve passed 19 weeks, it’ll start to develop a lot faster. Soon you’ll see the head a little clearer and maybe even some fingers.”
“Maybe?” Tony checked, “It’s not definite that it’ll have fingers?”
“Oh no, it is definite,” Nathan clarified quickly, not at all patronising despite the ridiculous question, “But it’s not always visible so soon.”
“Oh.” Tony relaxed, feeling stupid but another glance at his baby on the screen trumped that feeling, “That’s good.”
“I’ll print out four copies for you, okay,” Nathan said, turning back to the machine.
“No.” Tony stopped him, “Seven please.”
“Seven?” James glanced at him but he didn’t answer and after a moment, Nathan nodded.
“Okay,” He turned, printing them out onto tiny squares of shiny photo-paper. James took his slowly, looking down at the picture like it held the secrets to life itself and when Tony got all of the other copies, he reacted to them in much the same way.
Once the machine was packed up and his stomach was wiped of excess jelly, he stood and pulled his shirt down, saying goodbye to Nathan and promising a check-up in 5 weeks time.
On their way down to the communal area, Tony put three of the copies in his bedroom to pass on to Pepper, Rhodey and Happy when he saw them. He saved his and scanned it into the network via FRIDAY, ensuring a copy of it was always with him if he wanted it to be.
The physical copy was tucked into his wallet and once they stepped out from the hallway, he wasn’t surprised to see Rogers standing in wait for them both.
“Bucky! Hey. Tony.” He looked at them both, “How are – things? The baby?”
“Fine,” Tony let him know, still giddy from having seen how real this entire thing was now, and refusing to let his mood go down, “All okay.”
“Good.” He really did seem relieved, “We were worried.” He gestured behind him, to Natasha and Clint.
“Yeah. Well.” Tony shrugged, “There’s no need.” As he stood there, his tablet chimed and he glanced down, reading, “The committee’s ruled that calling for an evacuation of incursion areas is a priority and approves us warning them.”
Rogers straightened, his eyes flickering with disappointment at being denied baby-talk but he hid it behind his ‘avenging’ face, “Then we’ll get onto it.” He glanced at Bucky and was ignored; his hurt again evident, “I – uh. Could you look into Dorota Bubak’s medical file? Her parents sent it to us after we took her to the hospital.”
“Dorota the girl who was missing?” Tony checked and Rogers nodded, “Okay. But I’m not a doctor. A medical one anyway. So I don’t know what I can – ”
“I just want you to see if we missed anything.” Rogers clarified, “You’re good at that.”
Ignoring the attempt at flattery, Tony just nodded, “Yeah okay. I’ll see what I find.” He looked at James then, wordlessly dismissing Rogers from their conversation. After a moment of hesitation, he got the hint and stepped aside, walking past them. “You want to test B.A.R.F now or later?”
“Later.” He said, leaning down. For a moment, Tony panicked, suddenly sure that their relationship was unknown and a secret but then he remembered the disaster of a breakfast and knew that everyone was aware.
Still, he felt slightly self-conscious as he accepted James’ kiss, rising to his toes and smiling into it despite the nervousness he felt. He was flushed afterwards though, he knew, and he hated it.
Why the hell did he care what anyone else thought? He rolled his eyes at himself and faced the communal area again. Natasha wasn’t looking at them anyway and was writing a report over the desk, with pen and paper for some bizarre reason, but Clint was watching them like a sportsman watched the game.
Tony gave him a look to which he was just shrugged at, “I’ll meet you in the lab,” He said to James before inclining his head to one side, in a gesture that let Clint know he wanted to talk.
They stepped into one of the meeting rooms and he shut the door, taking out one of the copies of his ultrasound. “Here.” He handed it over.
Clint took it, looking bemused, before realising what it was and staring, “… oh wow.” He glanced up and then back down at it, “I missed Laura’s first trimester every time, I never saw them like this,” He admitted, “It’s tiny.”
Tony swallowed past a suddenly dry throat, “I thought you’d like one. To keep.” Clint looked at him, surprised, so he added, “To remind you of your promise?”
“Right,” Nodding, smiling too, Clint held the photo close, “To be better. Yeah.” He lowered his eyes for a moment, before gesturing toward the outside, “Anyone else get one?”
“Rhodey and Pepper. And Happy.” Tony said, “And James and I obviously.”
“James.” Clint murmured to himself, smirking a little.
“And now for you.”
“Well thanks.” He said it mockingly but Tony knew that there was a genuinity within that, “I’ll pin it to my wall.”
He grinned, “If you find space beside your Magic Mike posters, go for it.”
.
Despite having two tasks due, Tony took a nap first until he felt less like a walking-zombie and more like a, well more like a more-awake-zombie at least. He pulled up the file on Poland that Rogers had forwarded to him and read through everything listed, even if he’d already seen it, before going to the file on the girl.
It was pretty detailed.
Dorota Bubak was blonde and pale-skinned, had a juvie record for shoplifting and owned two cars with her parents as secondary drivers.
She’d been missing since the incursion but had been found in good health by the hospital. Remarkable health in fact. She’d broken a bone at age 15 and it hadn’t set properly but that was now all okay, along with the disappearance of her birth mark and acne. It was as though the incursion had ‘fixed’ her.
He frowned, reading through the material. Each incursion began with a temperature drop, a white blast and then an earthquake. Dorota was, so far, the only anomaly they were aware of but not the only injured party. No deaths, however. At all.
Which, considering the earthquakes and lack of warning, that was pretty surprising. Unless these events weren’t here to hurt the Earth.
He sat back in his seat, “Friday, bring up images of before-and-after incursion sites.”
“Before and after what boss?”
“Before any Avengers visited them and after they’d left.”
One by one, Friday brought up the images for him to see and he frowned, seeing a difference so clear he felt stupid for not seeing it the first time. Though, in all fairness, this was the first time he’d thought to compare the two periods of time.
He checked through every one more than once, however, fully focused, before saying, “Call Rogers down here.”
Rogers came down a minute later, stepping into the lab and immediately honing in on the images on screen, “What’ve you found?”
“Take a look,” Tony gestured, pulling Poland’s images up closer first of all, “This is just after the incursion occurred, and this is after we finished with clearing the aftermath.”
Rogers glanced between them, “And what am I looking at?”
“It’s not obvious?” Tony asked, raising an eyebrow, and though he wasn’t being sarcastic he earned a look. He expanded the images, “How ‘bout now?”
Rogers frowned, his eyes clearing when he must have finally seen what Tony had, “Is this the same for all of them?”
“Each site has shown a significant change in undergrowth. Trees, plants, whatever nature provides, has grown faster than it ever should have. I doubt it’s noticeable without the comparison though, which is probably why it’s not come up yet.”
“Why did you think to check?”
“Dorota Bubak,” He pulled her screen toward them, “Everything in her medical file suggested advanced cell growth and mutation. It explains her change in personality too, if the synapses in her brain have been changed, she probably views the world a little differently.”
Rogers’ frown deepened, “Why only her?”
“I’m assuming it’s because she was caught right in the middle of one. Plus,” On a hunch, he hacked into the Haiti medical facility that the previous victims of frostbite had been sent to and found reports of their skin healing much faster than normal, “She’s not the only one.”
“Okay. So these incursions are changing things then. Mutating them.”
“Looks that way. The only questions now is why.”
“And what’s causing them.”
“Yeah that too, but that’ll probably come after the ‘why’.” Folding his arms across his chest, Tony frowned as well, “Whatever is doing this is doing it for a reason and with this now, I doubt it’s mother nature herself. This feels engineered.”
“And that white flash,” Rogers agreed, “That looked unnatural when I saw it.” He straightened, “Okay. That’s more than we knew before. Do we know if this will affect those victims any more than they’ve already been?”
“Without scanning them, I haven’t a clue.” He shrugged, “I doubt it though, anything beyond simple cell mutation would have made the news and Friday would have alerted me.”
“Okay. In that case keep digging anyway and see if you can find out what has enough power to be causing this. And why.”
“Sure. I have a – thing, with James right now, but this has been on my list to crack anyway. Anything else I find; I’ll make a report.”
Nodding, Rogers smiled, “Good.” With that done, Tony turned away, wordlessly dismissing him but this time he didn’t get the hint. Or he did, but just ignored it, “Is this ‘thing’ to do with the baby?”
“No.”
“Oh. Uh. … B.A.R.F then?”
“This ‘thing’ is a ‘thing’ because the ‘thing’s’ not your business and I called it a ‘thing’ to keep it that way.” Tony said, “I get confidentiality isn’t your forte but you could at least try to understand how it works occasionally.”
Rogers looked at him, silently, for a while before sighing, “Yeah. Okay. I’m, uh. I’m just glad you’re still helping Bucky with all this.”
Tony stopped, “Why would I stop?” He looked at Rogers and was gratified to see a flicker of fear at having said the wrong thing in his eyes, “You honestly think I’d cancel B.A.R.F appointments out of pettiness towards you?”
“No Tony. I don’t think that.” Rogers said, looking and sounding so damn sad, “I’m just trying to talk.”
“Well don’t.” Tony snapped, “I have nothing to say to you. I have nothing in me for you.”
“Tony – ”
“Leave it.” He snatched his hand back when Rogers tried to reach for it, “I don’t know what you want from me, okay – ”
“What I want from you? Tony, I just want us to be how we were. Before all this. When we trusted each other – ”
“No. Stop. We never trusted each other.” Tony glared at him, “I trusted you, it was never the other way around and don’t you dare try to say it was. You never trusted me.”
“I trusted you with a lot more than you think.”
Tony scoffed, “Right. Yeah. And yet you trusted Wanda over me, when you barely even knew her. You’ll trust anyone over me and only tell me things when it’s convenient to you!” He shook his head, “That’s not trust. That’s abusing someone who believes in you.”
Rogers stiffened, “I’ve done wrong. I understand that. But don’t try to dig the knife in further by saying you believed in me Tony. You went against every decision I’ve ever made, you violate the rules, you refuse to – no. I’m not doing this.”
“Doing what? Remembering why you don’t trust me?”
“I’d have trusted you more if you’d given me more of you.”
“I gave you all I had of me,” Tony shouted at him, “I gave you everything, I gave this team my all, and you slammed that back in my face and then just kept beating that in. I trusted you Rogers, I really did, but I’m telling you now, I’ll never make that mistake again.” He turned away, “We are not friends. And we never will be, again.”
Rogers continued to stare at him before finally just nodding to himself slowly and turning away, “I understand. But I want you to know – I’m not going to stop. I’ll do whatever it takes to win back your trust, Tony.” He reached into his pocket and put something down over the desk, “Whatever it takes.”
With that, he left the lab. Tony blinked until his eyes didn’t feel so warm and ignored the urge to grab whatever it was that he’d left behind, struggling to focus on his screens instead. He took a few deep breaths to calm down, closing his eyes for a moment, and then he couldn’t resist looking anymore.
He glanced down and saw that it was a simple piece of paper, with a time and date written over it and the words ‘video-link’ beneath them. He picked it up, turning it over in his hands. Despite himself, he had absolutely no idea what it would be for and his curiosity was at it’s peak now.
There were only a few rooms he could think of that Rogers could mean for him to watch the surveillance tapes of and, as everyone knew about the baby now, he doubted it was the meeting rooms. That left the cryo-chamber.
“Friday, scan this in and input to video, room 142a.” He held the paper up for the AI to see and waited until a surveillance clip appeared before him.
On screen was James, in his cryo tube, and Rogers was switching it off to wake him up early. He blinked, realising that this was the moment James had been told about the baby and that Rogers had remembered the time and day he’d told him. He obviously hadn’t watched the video himself though, because according to the runoff there was about 10 minutes of him trying to figure out how to wake James up without altering anyone else.
Tony swallowed, his hand poised by the ‘play’ icon as he struggled to decide whether he should watch this or not. If anything significant had happened, James would have told him, wouldn’t he? And was he betraying his trust by helping Rogers earn his in seeing what he probably assumed was a private moment?
Some part of him did want to see the reaction to the pregnancy however and Rogers, for all his faults, must have a reason in giving this to him. Something had been said and he needed to know.
Bracing himself, he sat back and pressed his lips together, forwarding the clip to the point James finally woke up.
His heart pounding, he pressed ‘play’.
.
|
Elgin was a male elf who stood almost four feet tall, he was thin with long slender hands and fingers, large, round green eyes, pencil-shaped nose, pointy bat-like ears and a long, well-shaped cock that hung prominently between his legs. Unlike the other elves, Elgin was a Dark Elf and as such was privy to skills and acknowledgeable about powerful elf magic that surpassed that of traditional Wizards. Though for the most part he was prohibited from using his magic against Wizards under the threat of censure and punishment, when pressed he could be a formidable foe.
Elgin the elf was a free elf, but for the last year had unhappily been employed with a prominent pureblood family who treated him, spoke to him and considered him to be a lesser, expendable creature. Despite everything, Elgin had shown himself to be a hard worker, and to people who treated him with respect and friendship a good and loyal friend, but to others he could be mean-spirited, vindictive and vengeful.
*****
Elgin's employer was a high ranking member of the Wizarding government and the household was made up of himself, and his pretty, much younger wife. Though Elgin had always tried to be kind and considerate to the wife, she did not temper her condescending attitude toward him or to Elves in general. Despite this, Elgin remained in their employment because he was drawn to the wife by the pull of her vibrant, alluring pheromones, the relenting scent of her sexual arousal and his barely suppressed desire for her.
The Elf's attraction to her was undeniable; he could smell her, sense her sexual readiness regardless of where he was or what he was doing. In the early morning hours when she thought she was alone, she would lay in her bed masturbating. Elgin would know, and would quietly enter the room adjoining her's and secretly watch her. As the girl blissfully writhed on the bed, her legs open and her eyes closed, Elgin would imagine what it would feel like to have his cock buried in her, satisfying her. He watched . . . her body covered in a light sheen of preparation, his cock eager and throbbing with need would become swollen and erect, quite out of proportion with his body size but fully capable of satisfying her and himself if given the opportunity.
Things continued like this for several months, his hating his employer while at the same time lusting after his young wife. One day following a vicious reprimand from his employer Elgin had had enough and decided to have his revenge. Biding his time through the evening, Elgin performed his duties and waited patiently for his employer to leave the house.
He had managed to surreptitiously slip the girl a glass of the ultra-potent Elf wine at the end of dinner, and melting into the shadows of the room . . . waited. Intoxicated by the unfamiliar wine, the girl though groggy, was able to walk (stagger) to her room and shower in preparation for bed.
Her damp hair hung long and wavy across her ample white breasts, her skin, wet and shiny, and her nipples hard and erect from the coolness of the room. In the midst of drying herself, she had sat on the bed and momentarily closed her eyes before she passed out and now lay naked on her back, on the corner of the bed, her legs draped over one side, feet almost touching the floor. Emboldened, Elgin approached the bed and spread the girl's legs wider bent forward and began to lick between her legs; up and down her naked thighs, over her smooth shaven mound before allowing his tongue to slide between her swelling pussy lips and finally into the tight, pink entrance to her pussy.
Despite her drunken condition, the girl's youthful, hungry body began to involuntarily spasm as the Elf's long, experienced tongue coaxed her to an intense orgasm. When her orgasm began to subside, she lay satisfied and exhausted as Elgin withdrew his tongue and began licking away the sweet aromatic essence of her fully aroused womanhood.
*****
Elgin slowly stroked his throbbing, swollen elf cock and stood back watching the sleeping girl. Though his physical stature was barely four feet, his fully erect cock was more than equal to a man of normal height and weight.
Though he had been with many, willing and sometimes not so willing human women, his balls ached with his desire for this girl. He had watched her, smelled her for many months and in her vulnerable condition knew he could have her if he wanted her . . . and he most definitely wanted her. She had been naked and damp from her shower before the effects of the wine had fully overtaken her. The magic trance he had administered was probably unnecessary and he had done it more as a precaution just in case she came out of her stupor before he was finished with her. He mounted her warm, body and began to guide his still swelling cock inside her, all the while marveling at how well his small four foot body rode her and his cock snuggly fit inside her. He could feel her unconscious body begin to squirm under him and her pussy muscles instinctively grab and hold him inside her as she unknowingly milked his monstrous tool. His long, agile tongue slipped between her partially open lips into her moist, pouty mouth as she began to moan softly and then to whimper.
"Yes, yes . . . oh yes," the girl mouthed in a barely audible whisper that only Elgin could hear. Her hips began to lift upward meeting his thrusts, and her pussy to squeeze his cock, her hip movements becoming insistent.
As the girl's pussy worked his cock, Elgin could feel his member pulse inside her. Despite the pleasure he was finding between her legs, he knew that because the girl was human, that if in his arousal he became too engorged he could hurt her. With that in mind, he made himself slowly pull out until only his bloated cockhead remained inside her. Stroking his cockhead up and down, just inside her opening, he slipped one long, slender finger up the girl's ass and immediately felt her body stiffen under him as her ass squeezed his finger and her pussy contracted hard around his barely inserted cockhead.
With a barely noticeable nod of his head, a small pillow materialized under her hips elevating them ever so slightly. Grasping her hips he pushed himself deeper into her, impaling her on his long, monstrous cock. He began to stroke with increasing speed until he was pounding into the entranced girl with abandon. His long knarly hands held her hips steady as he rode her, pushing, humping inside her, up and down. The girl moaned and squirmed when she felt her pussy being stretched to accommodate him and then the sensation of her pussy clenching around his cock. The girl orgasmed before Elgin came in a hard, deep thrust releasing a load of hot elf cum inside her. After he had slowly spent himself, the Elf slumped forward onto her chest and began sucking the girl's ample tits, moving from one to the other. As he suckled, he bit her elongated, brownish pink nipples and hearing her cry out began stroking faster in and out of her elf abused pussy, as he built to another erection.
Elgin continued to thrust into the girl, edging closer and closer to his orgasm, only slowing when he saw the girl's eyes briefly flutter open and stare into his large bulbous green eyes. A flicker of fright and confusion shown in her eyes before the entrancing spell overwhelmed her and she again closed her eyes and relaxed under him. Elgin the Elf not realizing that he had been holding his breath, exhaled and with his characteristic high pitched cackle of a laugh resumed raping his employer's wife. Elgin fucked and came inside her several more times that night, and it wasn't until the sunlight began to filter through the drapes covering the windows did he pull out of her and slip between her legs with his mouth and tongue.
When he had licked her pussy to his heart's content, sucked her clit nub until it resembled a hard, pink shiny pearl and finger fucked her ass to another orgasm, Elgin using his magic positioned the girl properly in her bed. Half asleep, she whimpered and he stared in amazement when her small white hand crept between her legs and began to rub her wet, sticky clit. Within minutes, her lovely, nubile body began to tremble and he knew she had brought herself to yet another orgasm. He stood near the bed resisting the impulse to slip his now hardening cock between her full, red lips before leaving, but before he could act on his urge, the girl rolled onto her side, and with a deep, satisfied sigh drifted off to sleep.
*****
Elgin vanished, reappearing in his own room, and within a few minutes was seated in front of a fire with a full glass of Elf wine. As he sipped his wine, his mind replayed everything that had happened.
He felt pleased with himself; mainly it was the satisfaction he derived from indirectly taking his revenge against his employer by fucking his wife. Because of the entrancement spell, the girl wouldn't remember anything that had happened, but he smiled to himself at the thought of her confusion when she awoke and discovered her thighs and belly covered with thin silvery threads of his elf ejaculate, to say nothing of a sore pussy filled with a generous load of cum.
Last night would not be the first time he tasted the girl. Damn, his elf dick jerked at the thought of how it had felt when he came inside her, her soft white thighs parted and inviting him. Elgin was thankful that a human woman could not be impregnated by an elf, considering he had filled her pussy to overflowing with his elf cum several times that night.
He took another long sip of his wine thinking of the not too distant future when he would have her kneeling in front of him sucking his dick until he came in a torrent down her slim, human throat. Elgin rubbed himself and groaned envisioning pulling his dick out of her mouth and having her get on her hands and knees. He could feel himself beginning to ooze pre-cum at the imagery of her small, tight ass being presented to him and him fucking her from behind until his elf cum drenched her pussy and then dripped out of her, pooling between her legs onto the bed. Soon . . . soon.
Elgin finished his wine and stretched out on his cot to rest. He began to grin broadly and laugh making a shrill, high pitched sound when he reflected on the day, when he would have his fill of the girl. That would be the day he would let his employer know just how good his wife had been when he fucked her . . . in his bed.
|
Blood dripped into the sink, stark against the white porcelain. Amethyst eyes glared at it, as though it was somehow the sink’s fault that blood was steadily streaming from his nose.
Hitoshi liked to think he had mastered the art of keeping a nosebleed at bay; leaning forward with his head tilted downwards, pinching the bridge of his nose while drawing in deep breaths through his mouth. It was a pretty pathetic art to master, if he was being honest.
Yet there he was, again, standing over a bathroom sink, one hand clutching onto the edge while the other pinched at the scarred bridge of his nose, silently willing the bleeding to stop.
“Are you going to tell Aizawa-Sensei this time?” An infuriatingly mocking voice piped up from somewhere behind Hitoshi.
He snapped his head up perhaps a little too quickly in favour of shooting Monoma Neito a glare through the mirror above the sink. His vision blurred ever so slightly, but with grit teeth & an ever-present resting bitch face, Monoma would hopefully be none the wiser.
While he had half a mind to not even bother gracing him with a response just as he did almost every other time they were together, Hitoshi opted for the more polite option. Well, as polite as it could be given he grunted out his response as though Monoma had personally offended him.
“No.”
“I think you should.” He replied, far too casually & completely unphased by Hitoshi’s standoffish response. He disappeared out of view just for a few seconds, reappearing with a wad of tissues & handed them over.
Hitoshi took them after one more glare for good measure & pressed the tissues just beneath his nose, eyes flickering to his reflection in the mirror, trying to recognise who it was looking back at him.
That seemed to be the running theme recently, to the point where avoiding looking at reflections was oddly satisfying. There was a subtle comfort in purposefully ignoring his slowly growing identity issues.
But looking at himself now, really looking, he wasn’t so sure what to make of it.
To say he looked tired as hell would be an understatement.
The ever-present bags beneath his eyes worked as a stark reminder of his often nightmare-filled nights. The scars along the bridge of his nose & his jawline sat as cruel little reminders of a past he was desperately trying to outrun.
There was just too much to his reflection.
It was an ever growing pile of confusing fuckery that he didn’t even know where to begin in trying to decipher. For the most part, that confusion stayed in his head, locked away behind various defensive walls, not quite ready to see the light of day just yet.
Some people saw it, he knew that. He knew Aizawa saw right through him, he always had & probably always would. The same went for Denki, in his own Denki kind of way.
Hitoshi had hoped as time passed, some of his issues would have subsided, like a personal testament to the phrase of ‘if I ignore this for long enough, it’ll eventually go away’. But as it turned out, they hadn’t gone away. Instead, they just seemed to be getting worse.
It had been a month. One month on the dot, to be exact.
One month since there was a raid on the Hassaikai compound. One month since Hitoshi wasn’t saved by the heroes, but by the bad guys who hated Chisaki about as much as he did. One month since Dabi hand delivered him to Aizawa’s doorstep, crumpled & what should have been broken beyond repair.
In a more positive way of looking at it, Hitoshi supposed he could consider it one month since he & Eri escaped Overhaul’s maniacal grasp together, ignoring the little details of who saved who & why.
Except it was those exact little details that were eating Hitoshi up on the inside.
His numerous scars acted as permanent reminders. There were injuries that would never quite heal into something whole, leaving him as a barely held together mess of fear & defence mechanisms.
Three weeks had passed since Hitoshi had been discharged from the hospital & Aizawa handed him a key to his apartment & called it home.
The place was as cosy as an on-campus apartment could be. With Aizawa as both his & Eri’s legal guardian for the time being, Hitoshi had come to find solace in the place. It was where he was safest, where the monsters from outside those fortified U.A walls couldn’t get to him.
He had yet to call it home out loud, or even in his head for that matter, but the sour taste that specific word usually left in his mouth faded each & every time Aizawa or Yamada walked through the door & called out ‘I’m home’.
Two weeks had passed since the news broadcast that a Musutafu police officer had been killed; the body staged just a few roads from the police station with the word ‘GUILTY’ carved into their chest.
Burns that covered the officer’s body left cops & reporters to speculate that none other than Dabi had to be the perpetrator. Hitoshi had tried not to think too much about it.
One week had passed since Aizawa & Yamada brought Hitoshi a new phone, adding their contact numbers to it in case of an emergency. They claimed they should have done it earlier, but given Hitoshi had been housebound with injuries that resulted in barely any mobility in his hands, there wasn’t a particular rush.
He had tried to talk them into returning the phone so they could get their money back. Not only did he feel guilty for them spending it on him, but he didn’t feel as though he needed one. However, the adults were awfully stubborn in their ways & refused on repeat until he gave up trying to reason with them.
Yamada’s argument eventually seemed to win Hitoshi over more than the idea of needing it to call them in case he got into trouble. He pointed out that Hitoshi would now be able to talk to Denki whenever he pleased.
Given that he had been cooped up inside of the apartment while his shattered hands & tired body were healing, the thought of being able to talk to Denki actually sounded pretty good.
His only visitors had been Togata & Recovery Girl, but he couldn’t even really count those as one was only there to fix him, while the other was mostly only there to see Eri.
Seeing as he had only left campus twice since moving in & barely left Heights Alliance at all, the company had been kind of nice.
The only times he really strayed too far on his own was to visit Monoma’s dorm where he could test the limits of his brainwashing with the one person he knew damn well would let him get away with it.It was why he was with him now.
Ever since the Sports Fest, Monoma had always been freakishly interested in his quirk & awfully pushy in wanting to befriend him. No matter how hard Hitoshi tried to shake him, Monoma always came back. He claimed that Hitoshi should be in 1-B with him, that he understood him & the way the world viewed his quirk.
Hitoshi wasn’t so sure on that one.
He didn’t quite think Monoma would ever understand, not truly, but the thought was there & he was finally learning to appreciate the teenager’s unwavering confidence in him. Not to mention, he could now use it to his advantage.
Given that Hitoshi had been right there alongside Eri in the Yakuza compound & Chisaki needed a test subject to be sure his quirk-killing serum worked… Well, Hitoshi’s quirk was now all kinds of fucked up. Just like the rest of him.
All of the meddling with his plus alpha genes, taking away his quirk only for it to come back again, Hitoshi’s quirk was left unstable at best.
He had yet to return to class, but he at least wanted to know his limits before he did, so seeking out Monoma was the wisest choice. The guy loved his quirk, would never push him to answer uncomfortable questions & he never pried too much into Hitoshi’s business.
He had yet to actually tell Monoma of his past & he wasn’t so sure he ever would. There were never easy ways to say he had been raised by criminals for almost half of his life. But when Hitoshi finally stopped hiding the scars on his face, the other teenager never asked about them.
He never pointed them out. He had simply tilted his head, studied Hitoshi for an extra second, then nodded & carried on his rant.
Hitoshi reluctantly leaned forward to inspect his nose in the mirror after wiping at it a few more times with now bloodied tissues. He sniffed harshly, cringed at the feeling & the metallic taste in his throat, then tossed the tissues into the nearby bin, a little too quick as to look away from his reflection.
“If you’re getting nosebleeds almost every time you use your quirk, Aizawa should know about it… He’s gonna find out sooner or later. You said he’s moved you into 1-A, right? So, what? You just gonna not use your quirk when it comes to heroics?”
Monoma was leaning back against the sink beside him now, arms folded over his chest, one leg crossed over the other. Hitoshi tilted his head to narrow his eyes at him, studying him for a few moments before muttering, “I can use my binding cloth.”
“Can you?” The response was instant. The spark of antagonism was clear in both Monoma’s tone & the way his icy blue eyes flickered down to Hitoshi’s crooked & scarred fingers, then back up to his face.
“Shut up.” Hitoshi spat, defensive despite knowing Monoma had a point.
He hadn’t so much as touched a capture weapon since he got out of the hospital. He could barely type on his phone or fill out mock exam papers without pain sparking through his fingertips.
He had yet to find out for certain if all the progress he & Aizawa had made in their training together before everything went to shit was for nothing, or if there was still hope for him yet.
Little scars ran down the sides of his fingers from where the nurses had initially had to pin his bones back together & take out the shattered bone fragments from his joints.
Being on the receiving end of Chisaki’s quirk had been hell.
Thanks to Recovery Girl’s daily visits, he actually got a recovery, something that wouldn’t have been possible if not for her. However his fingers still sat crooked & tension lingered, leaving his mobility at about seventy-five percent of what it once was.
That was outstanding for most, but terrifying for him.
Aizawa kept reminding him that it’d take time, that with physiotherapy when he was ready & slow training to get back into the swing of things, he’d be able to get back to where he was. But that all seemed so far away now.
Hitoshi flexed his fingers a few times, a little habit he had picked up over the past month. With limited mobility came limited feeling & the slight twinges of pain that irritated his joints were a small reminder that he was still alive in spite of it all.
“You never did tell me what happened. They were some pretty nasty injuries.”
“I know.” Hitoshi pushed away from the sink after cleaning up the blood & hesitantly checking one last time in the mirror to be sure his nosebleed had actually finally stopped. He headed out of Monoma’s bathroom & his dorm, making his way down the corridor with Monoma himself in tow.
“Will you?"
“Probably not.” He admitted, hands slipping into his sweatpants’ pockets, fingers curling around the apartment key he had sitting in them; a little habit he found he did quite often.
Hitoshi pressed the key against his palm, fingers brushing along the ridges, memorising each curve & sharp edge. It helped keep his head on straight, kept his mind from straying.
He couldn’t exactly tell Monoma he was kept as a test subject, attempted to rescue Eri, got caught & promptly had his bones pried apart with somebody’s quirk as punishment. So his usual, cold & aloof demeanour was all he had to offer in the meantime.
“I always love your honesty, Shinsou. You never sugar coat anything.” Monoma practically sing-songed, skipping a step to catch up to his side. “I like our little meet-ups, how about next time you let me borrow your quirk? That way I can practice with it on you & when I go up against 1-A, I’ll crush them with it.”
A buzz from Hitoshi’s other pocket had him pulling his phone out to check it almost immediately out of habit ever since Togata started looking after Eri on certain days. He had promised to text him if something was wrong.
Thankfully though, all that illuminated the screen was a text from Denki with a photo attached.
Denks 2:14P.M:
Hey Toshi, how much trouble are we gonna be in for this?
The photo attached was of Denki & Ashido crouching either side of a sleeping Aizawa in 1-A’s homeroom, tossing up peace signs with the biggest possible grins on their faces. It was enough to have Hitoshi snort in a silent amused huff.
Still unused to typing quickly given the limited mobility in his hands & fingers, Hitoshi slowly tapped out his reply.
Hitoshi 2:15P.M:
If he ever sees that, ur dead, y’know that, right?
He was a little caught up in texting to really care about Monoma’s disdain towards 1-A & belatedly replied by agreeing to whatever Monoma had said with a mumbled, “Sure.”
The teenager knew immediately that Hitoshi was distracted & peered over at his phone to see what had stolen his attention away. “Kaminari again?”
Hitoshi nodded, turning his phone enough for Monoma to see the photo Denki had taken & was pleasantly surprised to earn an actual laugh from the boy who claimed to hate 1-A more than actual villains.
“I don’t know what you see in him, Shinsou, he’s kind of an idiot. I can’t believe you chose that blond over me when picking which class you’ll be in.”
“Aizawa chose, not me.” Hitoshi reminded him with a half shrug. “Even if I had a choice, I’d still pick 1-A.”
“Ouch. You’re as cold as ice, y’know that?”
Hitoshi simply nodded. He got lost in thought as they walked, while Monoma ranted about everything from Hitoshi being put into the wrong hero class, to his genius plans to borrow his brainwashing when the time came for their battles. Nothing said he couldn’t steal Hitoshi’s quirk before their team-ups, apparently. Blah, blah, something about having to do unheroic things to become a hero, blah blah.
Yeah, Hitoshi thought about that a lot.
He had done a hell of a lot of unheroic things. All in the name of trying to save Eri.
Huh, maybe Monoma could understand him better than he had initially thought.
They walked side by side, walking right the way up to the teachers’ dorms until they came to a halt outside of Aizawa’s apartment. Hitoshi pulled his key from his pocket to unlock the door, side-eyeing Monoma.
“You didn’t have to walk me to the door.”
“What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t?” Monoma replied as he took a dramatic bow when all Hitoshi replied with was a scoff & an eye roll. “Contrary to popular belief, I care about my friends. I didn’t want you passing out on the way.”
“I’m fine.”
“Somebody should get you a dictionary, Shinsou.” Monoma smirked. “I don’t think you know what that word means. Text me if you feel dizzy & Aizawa isn’t back.”
“I’m fine.” Hitoshi repeated, him being the one who earned the eye-roll this time.
There was a dramatic sigh, but Monoma didn’t fight him on the topic. Instead, he just turned on his heel to leave, waving a hand & muttering about not wanting to go to his last class of the day.
Hitoshi quietly made his way into the apartment, locking the door behind him. His eyes scanned the living room, everything being right where he had left it, yet he compulsively felt the need to check anyway.
Old exam papers were spread across the coffee table that he had been going through prior to meeting up with Monoma. They helped him to brush up on the school he had missed & gave him something to do while everyone else was out of the apartment.
With Aizawa & Yamada both teaching & Eri hanging out with Togata, it left Hitoshi alone.
He didn’t necessarily get bored, not when he had been trapped in a room with nothing at all to do day-in day-out when with the Hassaikai, but both heroes still seemed to feel guilty at the thought of leaving him alone when they had to get back to work.
They had taken the first week off after he & Eri had first moved in, mostly to keep an eye on things given the severity of Hitoshi’s injuries. He thought perhaps their worry was misplaced, but he was coming to learn that it was simply their nature.
The apartment was eerily quiet without Yamada around, but given it wasn’t exactly like Hitoshi wasn’t used to silence, he tried his best to convince himself that it shouldn’t bother him. Instead, he slipped off his sneakers & shuffled to the kitchen to quietly go about making a cup of coffee & something to eat.
A hand reached for the cupboard that housed the cereal & bread, only to pause mid-way upon seeing a little pink post-it note stuck there.
‘Don’t forget to eat lunch. Yes you can have the last bowl of Lucky Charms - Hizashi’
Hitoshi tilted his head, the tiniest little upturn curling at one corner of his lips.
It was still a strange feeling to be allowed to wander around a household freely, to do as he pleased. In the entirety of the month he & Eri had been there so far, the only rules they had were to make sure they had a decent bed time & to tell either Aizawa or Yamada if something was wrong.
It was weird.
No having to do chores with no regard for his injuries, no having to ‘earn their keep’. They were allowed to just… exist.
Eri seemed to adjust to it better than Hitoshi did, but he supposed the fact she had never grown up in foster care helped somewhat. She only knew the cold depths of the Yakuza compound & while it had been hell for them both, at least Eri didn’t second guess a warm bed or a seat at the breakfast table.
Hitoshi took the note from the cupboard & went to toss it into the trash, but paused at the last second & pocketed it instead.
As his coffee brewed, he made some toast instead of cereal, deciding that last bowl of those stupid sugary marshmallows could go to Eri instead.
With toast stuck out of his mouth & a coffee mug between two hands so he didn’t drop it, Hitoshi shuffled back to the couch, placing the mug on the coffee table so he could actually eat his way-too-late lunch properly.
His phone buzzed a few more times, but this time he ignored it with the assumption that it was follow-up messages from Denki. He finished his food & before he could actually check if they were, a key jiggling in the front door caught his attention.
With old survival habits kicking in, Hitoshi jolted to his feet as if ready to either flee or fight. It was only Aizawa who tiredly shuffled into the room & due to being used to Hitoshi’s jumpiness, they were only caught in a brief stare off for a second before the hero went about locking the door.
He didn’t make a comment about Hitoshi’s deer-in-headlights fear, nor about the fact he was still standing in the middle of the room in a defensive stance. He simply shoved his sleeping bag aside ready for the next day & made a beeline straight for the coffee machine without even bothering to take his messenger bag off.
“Your boyfriend really wants you in class. He was nagging me all morning trying to find out what day you’ll start.” Aizawa began in lieu of a hello, voice more rugged than usual, making him sound slightly more standoffish.
Hitoshi had learnt weeks ago that it had less to do with his mood & more to do with dealing with 1-A for half of the day.
It took him a moment to register, then Hitoshi rolled his eyes & made his way over to the kitchenette to rinse up his empty coffee mug. “Denki isn’t my boyfriend.”
“I never said his name.”
Purple eyes slid across to narrow at Aizawa, who had a visible little smirk on his face. Deciding he was intentionally just trying to wind him up for his own amusement, Hitoshi didn’t grace him with a response. Instead, he padded back to the living room to grab the exam papers he had scattered across the coffee table.
After skimming over them to be sure he had every answer box filled out, he made his way back to Aizawa, holding them out without saying a word.
The hero was now leaning back against the counter, coffee in hand & taking a few sips. He cocked a brow when Hitoshi didn’t offer a single word & took the papers with his free hand.
He skimmed over them, then spoke from behind his mug, “You didn’t cheat?”
Hitoshi frowned ever so slightly, head tilted as he debated whether or not it was worth asking a question or not, still a little hesitant on them, even after a month of living there. Eventually, he caved. “How would I cheat without the answer sheets?"
“You have a phone now.” Aizawa said as if it were obvious. Then, as if only belatedly realising Hitoshi wasn’t following, he elaborated, “It has the internet. You could have looked up the answers.”
The teenager let out a soft ‘oh’, then shook his head. He moved to perch on the edge of one of the breakfast bar stools so he could slip his phone from his pocket to see if it really was that easy to cheat on an exam paper.
Thanks to his impeccable memory, he didn’t have to look at the papers again to recall exactly how each question was worded to put them into Google. Before he could even get his phone unlocked however, three unexpected text messages illuminated his lockscreen.
Shouto 2:25P.M
Do you think it was Touya?
Shouto 2:26P.M
www.musutafu.news/another-body-found-in-
Shouto 2:34P.M
He promised to stop hurting innocent people. If this is him, why?
So much for expecting it to be Denki messaging him on repeat.
Shouto was one of the few people who knew about Hitoshi’s past with villains. Despite their first face-to-face meeting resulting in a physical brawl, Shouto was perhaps the only other teenager besides Denki that he felt as though he could turn to when things got bad.
Dabi being their common interest helped somewhat.
Finding out if he could cheat on a test simply with his phone was long forgotten when Hitoshi clicked on the link to the news article Shouto had sent to him.
Another body had been found in Musutafu, this time the victim was found in their car & the only reason it even made headlines was because this was the second body to be found with a word carved into their chest.
This time, it was the word ‘CATALYST’.
According to the reports, they had yet to find out the victim’s identity. All they had to offer to the public so far was that they were a woman in her mid-thirties with black hair. Not exactly a lot to go off when that description matched half of the women in Japan.
Yet again there were burns across the body.
Growing up around terrible people, Hitoshi held a certain level of emotional detachment to the more gruesome side of humanity. People were cruel. He had been on the receiving end of malicious quirk users for about six years, so reading the more graphic details in the report, he didn’t particularly feel much of anything.
He thought perhaps most people were supposed to feel nauseous at the thought of a murderer running around the city, perhaps even worried that they could be next, but Hitoshi felt nothing of the sort.
He simply stared at his phone, trying to figure out if this really was the work of Dabi or not with a sinking feeling churning up his stomach & he couldn’t figure out why.
“Toshi? Hello? Hey, kid.”
A hand on his shoulder jolted Hitoshi out of his thoughts & he lurched up so fast the stool he had been perched on very nearly went tumbling back behind him. Wide, amethyst eyes snapped up to the owner of the hand.
Aizawa stood in front of him, instantly pulling his hand away with a concerned look sitting in usually tired features. His mug of coffee had long been finished, test papers in his free hand at his side.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.” He said in an unusually soft voice. “You were looking a little worried there, was searching test answers really that stressful?”
Hitoshi could hear the way he was trying to lighten the tension simply by the tone of his words, but they were not quite enough to distract him completely. He looked down to his phone again, swiping off Shouto’s text notifications, leaving the news report open so he could show it to Aizawa.
“I was distracted. It’s the second one within a month. Statistics say one more & that makes a serial killer.”
Aizawa’s dark eyes flickered to the screen to skim over the headline & first paragraph, then to Hitoshi’s face with an unreadable look. “Even in a city full of heroes, these things can happen. In broad daylight, though, that’s uncommon, I have to admit.”
Hitoshi lowered his phone, levelling his guardian with a matched unreadable look.
He slipped his phone back into his pocket & he contemplated whether it was worth speaking his mind or not. After much hesitation, he decided to keep his snarky comments about people blatantly ignoring crimes happening right in front of them because they thought heroes would deal with it to himself.
Just like Touya.
Just like Tenko.
Just like him.
Instead, Hitoshi swallowed around the lump forming in his throat & let out a tired sigh. Despite his silence though, Aizawa seemed to always know what he was thinking.
“I know where your mind is heading. You’re not back there anymore. You’re not going to be ignored when you’re hurting.”
“But those people were.”
“I know.” Aizawa sighed softly. “But we have to trust that the police & heroes will double their efforts to be sure this doesn’t escalate. Given the theatrics catching the headlines, there’s no doubt people will demand better security from heroes for fear they could be next.”
Strange nerves were itching at Hitoshi’s insides in a way that he couldn’t properly explain. He held eye contact only for a moment before using the cat, Sushi, plodding into the kitchen to find her food as the perfect excuse to look away.
“It looks like the killer is only going after specific people, though.” Hitoshi murmured, crouching down so he could gently fuss Sushi’s head with slow, careful movements. Aizawa gave him one last look that he caught out of his peripheral vision before moving to put food down for both of the cats.
It wasn’t long before Pillow was bounding into the kitchen at the sound of the food packet rustling.
“That won’t exactly soothe the public's worry, though. Until more details are divulged, people are going to panic.”
“I guess so.” Hitoshi sighed softly, them both mutually & silently agreeing to leave the conversation at that. Sushi brushed up against Hitoshi’s leg a few more times, quietly purring at the affection she was being given until she decided food was more interesting than he was.
Silently scoffing in feigned offence, Hitoshi stood back up to head to the couch with Aizawa in tow after he made himself a fresh cup of coffee.
The silence lingered between them only for a little while until it was broken by the hero telling him that he got almost every answer right on the exam papers & that perhaps he should have looked for more difficult ones.
From there, the conversations slipped into something that had been brewing for a few days, yet nobody had brought up just yet.
“So… About Denki.” Hitoshi started, then quickly corrected himself. “I mean, about what he said… About me showing up to class. I want to go.”
“I know you want to be in class rather than being cooped up in here, but with your injuries, we have to prioritise your healing.” Aizawa placed the papers down onto the coffee table, replacing them with his steaming coffee mug instead.
“I know. But it’s been a month now & Denki said after the U.S.J, you showed up to class the next day bandaged up like a mummy.”
Aizawa actually smirked at that.
“I was teaching, that’s a bit different to hero practice, no? You haven’t touched a capture weapon the entire time you’ve been here. Think you’re ready for that? Then there’s what the doctors said about your quirk.”
Yeah, Hitoshi knew all too well about what the doctors said.
Cutting the nurses’ fancy phrasing out of the equation, they essentially all but told him that he was broken. He was unstable & that using his quirk too much could have very negative results.
Take away his quirk & all he had was his binding cloth. Add his limited mobility in his hands into the mix & Hitoshi had to resist the urge to laugh to the point of tears.
In a way, he supposed it was probably a karmic justice, that this was his punishment for not coming clean to the heroes about his past sooner. If he had, then he probably could have avoided the whole Chisaki-torture thing.
But here he was, trying to handle what he had been dealt without sounding as though he were trying to throw himself a pity party. That was the first thing on his very long list of things he did not want.
A soft sigh left Hitoshi as he curled his knees up to his chest, sinking further into the corner of the couch as he flexed his fingers absentmindedly. Now would be the perfect time to bring up the fact that he had been testing out the limits of his quirk on Monoma.
Now would be the time to mention the nosebleeds that occurred as soon as he pushed even slightly too far.
He knew what his old limits were. He knew how strong his brainwashing could be just as long as he focused with everything he had, but Overhaul had obliterated that. Now he could barely make Monoma do three simple tasks before he was breaking free like it was nothing.
But when he opened his mouth, all he said was, “I’ll never know until I try & if things get too strenuous, then you can pull me out. That’s logical, right?”
He could tell him about the nosebleeds later.
Hitoshi tilted his head enough to flash a tiny smirk at Aizawa for using logic against him. “Please?”
“Well, we were planning on having some joint training battles with 1-B at some point in the near future.” Aizawa said & Hitoshi nodded with a curious head tilt as though he wasn’t already aware of them thanks to Monoma. “But if there’s so much as a nosebleed from you, I’m pulling you out & benching you.”
The teenager knew damn well he had an impeccable poker face, he also knew that there was no blood left on his face to give him away, so he had to assume that Aizawa was merely speculating on what would be the most likely turnout.
It didn’t suck any less that he was 100% accurate, though.
The look Aizawa fixed him with said that there was no room for arguing, but waited patiently to see if Hitoshi would protest anyway. When he said nothing, Aizawa added, “You’re doing this because you want to, not because you think you have to, right?”
His guardian knew all too well about Hitoshi’s desperate need to feel useful, to be useful. His fear that if he was anything less than perfect, then he’d be tossed away just as he had been one too many times in the past.
But Hitoshi wanted this.
When faced with the choice to stay in U.A for real, or to apply to a different school, the answer was obvious.
He wanted this not just for himself, but for Eri too. To be the hero she deserved to look up to.
“I want to.”
“Alright.” Aizawa accepted with a nod & a half smile. “I’ll let Nedzu know that you’ll be starting classes after this weekend. Speaking of, why don’t you actually use the weekend to socialise with your class properly? A whole month here so far & you’ve only seen Kaminari once.”
The teenager didn’t particularly have an argument in his favour to respond with, so instead he pulled out his phone to text Denki to see if he wanted to hang out over the weekend.
Perhaps Denki wasn’t what Aizawa meant when he said ‘class’, but he was the only person Hitoshi could actively talk to & be around for long periods of time without wanting to crawl out of his own skin.
Hitoshi 3:28P.M
Aizawa is sick of me being an ‘introverted crouch gremlin’ as u called me. Wanna hang out on the weekend?
Denks 3:30P.M
I thought u’d never ask, Toshi! Me & the bakusquad are going out on saturday. Wanna join? Tell the parents we’ll keep u safe;)
Denks 3:30P.M
I’ll even hold ur hand so u don’t get lost
Hitoshi 3:32P.M
They’re not my parents. But fine
A subtle warmth crept up onto Hitoshi’s cheeks at the second text.
Denks 3:34P.M
I should probs clarify that we’ll only b like a 15 minute walk away from U.A at that new local mall
Hitoshi looked up to Aizawa, who’s attention was now on grading actual class papers. By the look on his face, he was probably grading Ashido’s & would welcome the distraction.
“Denki is going out with his friends on Saturday & offered for me to go with them. Is that… okay? They said they were only going to the mall nearby.”
Logically, the chances of something going wrong was minimal & Hitoshi knew he would be safe to leave campus for just a few hours, but he’d never quite doubt his ability to attract trouble no matter where he went. By the look on Aizawa’s face, he was thinking the same thing.
He watched the hero look contemplative until he eventually nodded. “As long as you keep your phone on you & you’re all back on campus by six, then I shouldn’t see why not. If anything happens-”
“Tell you or Yamada. I remember.” Hitoshi finished, then out of habit murmured a soft little apology for interrupting.
Just because the Hassaikai were behind bars didn’t mean there weren’t other people who wanted Hitoshi’s head on a platter. Just because he was hiding behind U.A walls didn’t mean they had backed off for good.
There was Tatsuya Ando - his old foster father - a criminal who was initially responsible for his fucked up upbringing was still out there somewhere. He was the man who forcefully trained Hitoshi to become the perfect accomplice, the man who sold him off to the Hassaikai when he became more trouble than he was worth.
Then there was Trigger, Tatsuya’s contact. She was the woman who created the drug of the same name & had aided in Hitoshi’s ‘training’.
Not to mention the League & their fascination with him.
They were all still out there somewhere, even if they had disappeared off of the map, elusive as ever.
Hitoshi had been promised that the police would keep a close eye on tracking them all down. That they’d update Aizawa on anything & in turn, Aizawa would tell him.
Still, the thought of walking around Musutafu with a target painted on his back & Tatsuya thirsty for the bullseye shot made Hitoshi’s skin crawl. But he knew damn well he couldn’t hide behind the walls of U.A & Aizawa forever, simply due to fears that may never turn into a reality.
He knew he’d never survive a rematch with his old foster father should he run into him one day, but he couldn’t let that fear take over everything else.
He was here. In spite of everything. He was alive. For how long? He wasn’t so sure. But he had to make the most of it.
Hitoshi 3:43P.M
Aizawa said it’s cool if I go off campus. Bakugou definitely going too?
Denks 3:44P.M
Yeah, Toshi, the guard dog is coming too. U’ll b ok!:D Meet us at the gates saturday 12P.M? We’ll get lunch while we’re out
Denks 3:44P.M
Wait, I forgot ur food thing
Denks 3:44P.M
I can come over to urs first so me & u can have lunch there, then meet the others
The subtle smile that sat on Hitoshi’s face was tough to scrub off no matter how hard he tried. Knowing that Denki actively remembered the little details about him made something spark in his chest.
“They were gonna go for lunch first, but Denks said he’ll come here for lunch with me then meet them after, if that’s cool with you guys.” Hitoshi paused for a moment, nibbling at his lip, then mumbled in an even quieter voice, “He remembered my food thing so...”
Aizawa looked up at that, an ever so subtle & rarely seen, genuinely soft smile on his lips.
It wasn’t exactly a secret that Hitoshi refused to eat or drink anything if he hadn’t made it himself or watched it be made. It took a little longer for Yamada to catch on, but as soon as Hitoshi started lingering around the kitchen at dinner times, he began to understand.
“It’s fine, ‘Toshi. You’re allowed to have friends over. That’s actually really considerate of him. But you do know if you put those two loud blonds in one room, all hell will break loose.”
“Yamada is Denks’ favourite teacher. He’ll be more excited to see him than me.” Hitoshi smiled subtly at the thought.
Despite Aizawa’s strict streak when it came to his students & his protective streak when it came to Hitoshi, he knew damn well that Denki wouldn’t show an inch of anxiety over the thought of being in the same house as his teachers.
Something about that knowledge made his chest all warm & fuzzy, knowing how Denki’s appreciation for him outweighed any apprehension elsewhere.
Or maybe it was just that Denki seemed ever oblivious to the sheer fear Aizawa’s red eyed, hair floating glare could instil into his students. He supposed it went hand in hand with the sheer lack of self-preservation the teen had when it came to irritating Bakugou.
Hitoshi had to wonder if Denki just didn’t notice that people were scary, or if he just actively refused to care. Given he had cosied up to Hitoshi more than anyone else, he was taking his chances on it being the latter.
There was that warmth in his chest again & if the look he was earning from Aizawa was anything to go by, then the warmth on his cheeks was blatantly obvious too.
Rather than entertaining those thoughts aloud, Hitoshi opted for mumbling about wanting to read & hopped up to scurry off to his room instead.
He didn’t end up reading & instead ended up lying on his bed with his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling as his thoughts began to swirl.
For the first time since… Well, ever, he was going to go out with friends.
Calling them friends was a bit of a stretch, he hadn’t even held a proper, full length conversation with any of them besides Denki. Perhaps he’d consider it a trial run, borrowing Denki’s friend group as a test to see if this was something he could deal with.
If he couldn’t? No harm done, excluding the electric blond, it wasn’t exactly like he knew any of them well enough for them to be negatively affected by him deciding he was better off alone.
Bakugou & Kirishima were in the small group of people who were in the know of Hitoshi’s past & all of its horrors. He hadn’t faced them since they found out, hadn’t been there to see their reactions, hadn’t had to deal with the fallout just yet.
Logically, he knew that one day he would have to see them, perhaps even have to talk about it, but as he lay there staring at the ceiling, Hitoshi was beginning to wish he could have put it off for longer.
Impatience to begin a new chapter of his life was at war with overwhelming fear & the crippling grip of never being able to let the past go.
Part of him wanted so badly to be a normal teenager, doing normal teenager things. He wanted to laugh & hang out with friends, he wanted to look over at Denki & see him smiling & get teased for having such blatantly obvious favouritism towards him.
Yet he knew he couldn’t. He knew this was bordering on the line from ‘within reason’ to ‘pipe dream’.
But who was drawing that line? Nobody but his masochistic self, apparently.
Hitoshi would never stop looking over his shoulder. He’d never not flinch at a loud sound or a door unlocking. He’d always be afraid of monsters that only he seemed to be able to see & that clouded every possible route towards being okay.
This war between what he wanted versus what he felt as though he couldn’t have was as draining as it was infuriating & Hitoshi moved his hands from behind his head to scrub at his face frustratedly.
In an attempt to save himself before he spiralled into a panic attack, the teenager sat up, lanky legs flinging over the edge of his bed to plant his feet firmly on the soft carpet as something to focus on, something to keep him grounded.
His eyes drifted around his room, landing on the small, unopened box on the edge of his desk that housed the earphones that came along with his phone.
Spurred on by the annoyance at the thought of not being able to do a single ‘normal’ thing, Hitoshi reached out to grab the box, taking a little too long to try to peel the sticky tape off. Once he managed though, he wasted no time in getting the wireless earphones paired to his phone & opened up the music streaming app that Yamada had been absolutely adamant on him having.
For a few moments, he just sat there, staring at the blank search bar, realising he didn’t actually know any music.
He had never really been around it. Same went for movies or video games or other forms of media. It just wasn’t something he got to enjoy.
If not for his sudden spur of spite-filled confidence, the earphones would have stayed sitting there collecting dust as they had been for the past month.
The thought of having something obstructing his hearing absolutely terrified him. The thought of not being aware of his surroundings at all times, not being able to hear when someone was sneaking up on him, it was almost too much to bear.
It didn’t matter if he was in the safe confines of the apartment with a pro hero he trusted more than anything or anyone in the other room, he had just never been able to bring himself to stick his earphones in, play some music & focus on a book or some revision papers.
But considering he had already braved making plans he was already dreading & had looked at his reflection for more than thirty seconds, today was feeling like the sort of day to try to act like a normal fucking person, even if he didn’t feel like one.
Hitoshi moved to situate himself so his back was against the headboard of his bed, making it so the door was in his perfect line of sight. Swallowing down his nerves, he popped the earphones in his ears & drew in a few steadying breaths while trying to convince himself in his mind that this wasn’t a big fucking deal.
Then, after much more contemplation, he pulled up his contacts to text the one person he knew would be able to help with his lack of music knowledge predicament.
Considering he had lived with Yamada for a month now, Hitoshi had barely spoken a sentence to the man. He just… didn’t know how. Sure, he’d said a word or two here & there, nodded or shook his head when Yamada babbled on about anything & everything, but he had never actually held a full conversation with him.
Shit, he really couldn’t do a single thing like a regular person, could he?
His fingers hovered above the letters on his keyboard as he nibbled at his lip, trying to work out what the best way to even begin a conversation was. Did it matter? Would Yamada be offended if he only texted him now that he wanted something?
Deciding he was thinking too much again & ‘fuck it’ was the best option, Hitoshi got to typing before he could chicken out & blatantly asked Yamada to recommend him some music. No hello, no small talk, just a simple question followed up by a brief sentence saying it dawned on him that he could name a whole zero bands or musicians.
He didn’t even have time to second guess what he had written as his phone buzzed almost instantly. The response was so freakishly fast, Hitoshi was curious if the hero was already on his phone, because if he wasn’t, how the fuck did someone type so quickly?
Yamada (ICE) 4:06P.M
Yoshi Toshi! Hey, listener! You’ve come to the right person :D You look like you’d like some post-punk, so why don’t we start there? If that ain’t up your alley, then we can try new-wave or even something completely different, but still groovy.
Attached to the message were multiple links to various playlists, titled as their genres.
Hitoshi wasn’t so sure what Yamada meant by saying he’d look like he’d like post-punk, but given that was the first one he mentioned, he figured he’d start there.
After texting back a thank you & promise he’d tell the hero what he thought of the music, Hitoshi finally clicked on the first link & clicked play. The second the music began to play, soft sparks of colour began to fill his mind. Greys & blues, muted, but something to focus on.
He kept the volume below halfway, being certain that he would still be able to make out heavy footsteps down the hall or voices if someone spoke, but as the sounds of soft guitar riffs & simplistic drum beats paired with melancholic lyrics filled Hitoshi’s ears, the anxiety that was eating him up from the inside out slowly fizzled away.
Not completely, it’d never go away completely, but it was definitely drowned out by the words filling his ears & the colours filling his brain.
Purple eyes stayed trained on the door, not quite brave enough to let his guard down yet, but as he settled back against the headboard, the tension from his shoulders slowly ebbed away. He listened to a man sing about feeling whole again with someone whom Hitoshi presumed to be their love interest.
The lyrics struck chords inside of Hitoshi that he hadn’t quite been expecting. Images of a smiling blond with golden eyes flooded his mind without his permission & a blanket of calm felt as though it had settled over him.
Once the song was over, Hitoshi momentarily cast his eyes down to his phone to catch the name of the band.
The Cure.
He couldn’t help but scoff at the irony.
Nonetheless, he skipped the song back to the start so he could listen to it all over again, hoping that calm feeling would stay for just a little while longer.
For just a few seconds, Hitoshi thought that perhaps for the first time in a long time, he felt more okay than he ever really had been. It was an odd realisation, really, he wasn’t so sure how to feel about it.
He wasn’t sure how long it’d last, not when there was a strange ticking-clock feeling somewhere in the back of his mind, as if time was running out. He was running from demons he knew damn wanted to catch up to him.
But for now?
He pushed it aside with every other thought that was plaguing his ever-spiralling mind & focused on those gloomy vocals with a subtle smile on his face.
|
Because whatever they are Steve is obviously a pushover for Robin the cookies end up being oatmeal raisin. Which he’d bitch about more, because who the fuck likes oatmeal raisin? but the end result is—fucking oatmeal raisin cookies should not be this good. Holy shit, Robin was not lying, Steve can fucking cook.
He does not moan around the still warm morsel of deliciousness in his mouth— but it’s a near thing. Fucking embarrassing, yeah. Jesus fucking Christ how can Steve cook like this?
‘These are fucking amazing,’ slips out even though it’s kind of— yeah. Uncool. Acting like an idiot over cookies of all things—
The statement earns him a pleased smile, the words, ‘It’s my Grandma’s recipe. I think— I mean, I only saw her make them a couple of times, but they tasted like these ones do, so I think it’s right—' and another cookie, before Steve puts a bunch on a plate to deliver to the kids— now all in the den, and making the kind of noises that makes him suspect they’ve given up on psychic experiments and have resorted to watching nerdy TV.
Robin steals one from the plate as the brunet walks past, leaning back against the counter where she’s been leaning the entire time, and looking at him. He doesn’t get it. What that look means— there’s assessment there, she’s judging him, but he’s not sure why.
He cocks a brow at her and leans back against the opposite counter, which makes her roll her eyes and blow out a breath. ‘What?’ he snaps.
‘Getting a bit domestic there, aren’t you Hargrove?’ she asks between bites. ‘Aren’t you worried easing up on your asshole act will turn you into a loser like the rest of us?’
‘Steve’s not a loser,’ he points out.
‘Not sure most of the idiots of Hawkins High would agree with you there.’
‘Like their opinion matters,’ he scoffs. ‘Anyway, thought he was your friend.’
‘Oh, he is,’ she replies, ‘Just didn’t think he was yours.’
For a moment he wants to protest, feels like she thinks being so fond of the brunet makes him a loser, but— Actually— a few nightmares, a lot of lost sleep, and some other —concerns— aside— he’s probably as content as he’s been in years, and Steve is part of that.
From the den he can hear the sound of the kids carrying on, first excited about cookies, then whining about them being oatmeal raisin— then Steve laughing at them and saying if they don’t want oatmeal raisin cookies he can just take them back— which makes them start panicking and apologising and saying oatmeal raisin’s ok as long as it’s not too often and sometimes a change is good and then Wheeler Jr.’s frantic voice going on about how he’s sorry he was a dick he didn’t mean it and he won’t do it again just give us back the cookies, please Steve!
He shrugs, glances back at Robin, ‘Yeah. Well, guy grows on you. He’s— Yeah. He is not the guy I thought he was when we first moved here.’
She snorts a laugh. ‘Weird, but I know exactly what you mean. For, like, the longest time I thought he was just another asshole like Carol or Tommy H.’
‘I fucking hate that guy,’ he spits out before he realises he’s going to.
A twitch of her brow. ‘I thought he was your friend?’
He shakes his head. Fuck, now he wants a cigarette— ‘Nope. Started hanging around me when we first moved to town, talking shit in my ear— He’s a fucking parasite, that’s what he is— Wish I’d seen it then.’ If he had maybe he would have told the guy to fuck off and given King Steve a chance instead. He’d probably have been happier that way—
Not that Steve would have given him a chance, not with the way he was treating Max back then. Fuck he was a dick to her. Jesus. It took her almost taking off his balls to make him see sense—
It took him waking up realising he’d almost killed the brunet—
He realises Robin’s looking at him in a way that’s different from her usual look of— whatever it is. Dislike. Mild disgust— this is a more friendly version of that considering look she sometimes gives him.
Steve trots back into the room a moment later, sans cookie plate. ‘You two want another cookie before I get started on dinner?’
He isn’t going to agree, except he has before he thinks about it, accepting yet another perfect, warm, moist— Jesus. Eating like this is not going to be good for his waistline. It’s something to see Robin’s in the same predicament.
While they’re both stuffing their faces Steve turns the tape deck back on, humming along to a mix tape of mainly weird Queen songs as he gets started making homemade mac and cheese. Once she’s finished her cookie Robin joins him, singing the lyrics with a surprisingly good voice.
The two of them are just—
‘Fie-fo Black Queen, marching single file—'
Fuck his life is insane.
He goes back out to the pool for another cigarette— It’s funny, now he’s used to the cold air, the wrong scent of it, the strange, uneasy feeling of the place, it doesn’t really bother him that much. He almost feels comfortable— Though it is fucking unnerving when he catches movement out of the corner of his eye but looks and sees nothing down there. Still— Worse and weirder things have happened recently.
The kids decide they’re going to be allowed to eat dinner in front of the TV— and, of course, Steve doesn’t protest— doesn’t even protest when they— or mainly Squawky, offended about certain statements concerning Star Wars earlier— decide that’s what they’ll all be watching. The first one. Fuck, he does not even care what the thing’s called other than Star Wars. He remembers when it was just Star Wars.
He claims one of the armchairs. Erica claims the other. Steve and Robin and the little Byers boy— on Steve’s insistence when El makes it clear she wants to sit with Max and the Wheeler kid— take the couch— with the rest of the kids all lolling around on the carpeted floor in front of the TV set.
Of course the movie’s barely started when Squawky starts going on about his imaginary girlfriend and how much she likes Star Wars— because all nerds like Star Wars Erica— and then Max interrupts with something about this “Susie” being hotter than Phoebe Cates and how she doesn’t think Phoebe Cates is that hot, is she Robin?
And he’s thinking what the fuck? But then Max is going on about how Carrie Fisher is really hot as Leia and you know she’s not wearing a bra under that white dress, don’t you? ‘What do you think Robin, is Phoebe Cates or Carrie Fisher hotter?’
And then, while the chick in question is going bright red and stuttering, Max starts listing other women she says are hotter than Phoebe Cates— Like Sigourney Weaver and Sean Young and Joan Jett and Michelle Pfeifer in Scarface— and when did she even see Scarface?— and it seems like half the girls at Hawkins High— and he’s just starting to wonder if Max is a dyke too, when he realises the constant ‘What do you think Robin?’s are her attempting to work out if he was right about the chick.
Smart move Max.
For her part Robin just gets redder and redder under the barrage of names of hot chicks and reasons they’re hot. Sitting next to her on the couch Steve looks like he’s torn between finding this hilarious and starting to get a bit protective— and Squawky looks like he’s about to have a fit.
The kid starts squawking at Max about her being a girl and thus not allowed to have an opinion on which girls are hotter than Phoebe Cates— which gets Max calling him sexist— and then he appeals to Steve to help, wanting the brunet to agree that the relative hotness of girls is a guy interest not a girl interest.
‘I’m sorry man, but I’m pretty sure telling a girl she’s not allowed to have an opinion on something because she’s a girl is, actually, pretty much the definition of sexist,’ is the brunet’s reply. ‘Also, you know, aesthetics are aesthetics— Hot’s hot— and I don’t think you can really say girls aren’t allowed to have an opinion about girls unless you’re willing to say the same about guys— and don’t think I’ve forgotten you whining about how you don’t get why everyone thinks Ralf Macchio is that hot.’
‘You’re supposed to be on my side, Steve!’ Squawky complains, to which Steve just shrugs.
A moment later the brunet shoulder bumps Robin— who is still an amazing colour of scarlet— and says, quietly, ‘You want to help me in the kitchen for a moment—’
When they’re gone Max and he exchange a look while Squawky is still squawking. Yep highly likely Robin is a dyke, also likely Steve knows, and probable that the brunet is considerate enough that he wants to give her a chance to compose herself after Max embarrassed her like that.
What it all means though—?
For the rest of the movie he does his best not to think about Carrie Fisher’s tits bouncing around unconfined— or why Max knows that. Girls are— Anyone who tells you girls are sweet and innocent and know nothing about things like that has probably never met one that wasn’t amazingly sheltered. Mind you, even the sheltered ones can be pretty—
Yeah.
He has had some very weird sex with sheltered girls— but maybe that’s sheltered Cali girls. Hawkins girls have been a bit more tame in his experience. Catholic schoolgirls, man—
Mid-movie Steve starts getting twitchy— mind you he’s feeling a bit twitchy too, they probably all are, since Squawky won’t stop telling Erica why each scene is amazing, what each character must be thinking based on a whole bunch of bullshit not included in the actual film itself, providing all sorts of random crap facts no one needs to know, and essentially inadvertently sabotaging his own campaign to convince the girl of the merits of the stupid fucking film series.
Ok. Yeah. Star Wars is actually pretty entertaining, but less so with Squawky— squawking the whole time.
‘How about I get some more cookies?’ Steve finally breaks and asks. ‘Cookies would be good, right? Everyone wants cookies? Ok. Good.’
He could swear he hears the guy muttering something about “Oh my God shut up Dustin before you make everyone hate Star Wars” to himself as he leaves, but he thinks he might be the only one.
There is almost a moment of peace, but then Squawky starts up again. Before he can drag himself out of his chair to go join Steve in the kitchen to get away from this fucking kid the brunet’s back, plate of cookies in hand. The kids start making grabby hands, but Steve offers the plate to Robin and Will first— arguing with the other kids when they insist he hurry up— then taking it around to Erica, before bringing it over to him. ‘Take as many as you want,’ the brunet advises, ‘Because they’ll be gone the moment those greedy little shits get them.’
He leans forward to take a couple, picking two of the bigger, raisinier, cookies— but as he does he gets a whiff of the brunet’s cologne, the smell of his shampoo and conditioner and soap, and his brain goes I jacked off in his shower and Carrie Fisher and tits and something and he feels his dick twitch. He grunts, quietly, but does his best to ignore his swelling dick. If he shifts or readjusts himself it’ll be noticeable—
Fuck his tight jeans.
Ok. Yeah. He’s probably going to have to choose to wear his briefs for longer than it takes to keep his dick hidden during the walk from the bathroom to his bedroom or something the way things are going recently.
Sitting back as naturally as he can he looks up, about to suggest Steve make sure he gets some cookies for himself before handing them over to the ravening hoard— but those brown eyes are dark and velvety and for a split second he gets caught in them—
‘Cookies Steve!’ Squawky demands.
The brunet jumps a little, gives him a real fucking nervous smile, then takes a cookie for himself before handing the plate to El— the most patient of the cookieless children.
Jesus fucking Christ—
Max has scored herself an invite to sleepover with El at the Byers house— which is apparently where her and the Chief are living now— though where they’re going to fit her he has no idea— which she brings up after the movie’s over and the kids are starting to make noises about going home. ‘When did that happen?’ he asks, because he can’t remember hearing any of them talk about it.
‘I think you were outside smoking—’ she replies. ‘It was sometimes when Steve and Robin were singing the Flash Gordon song—’
‘Queen really is a nerd band,’ Erica adds.
Steve starts arguing with that assertion, but Erica is firm. Queen is a nerd band. Steve likes Queen. Steve is a nerd. Everyone’s a nerd— other than him— but the way she says that makes him think maybe that’s not a compliment.
Anyway, he tells Max she’s allowed to stay over with El if it’s ok with 1. Chief Hopper. 2. Mrs Byers. 3. Susan— so she has to go use the phone while he gets to watch Steve Harrington get roundly schooled on his nerd status by a ten-year-old girl.
Max comes back triumphant— the end result of which is— after the other kids have been picked up or rode off on their bikes (or driven off in her mom’s car, in the case of Robin)— he and Max and El and the little Byers boy all get ushered into Steve’s car so he can drop the rest of them off at the creepy Byers place with a tin of cookies for Mrs. Byers— where he tries to ignore Chief Hopper looking at him from the front window as he pulls Max aside to make sure she’ll be alright if she has a nightmare, to which she responds that she’s pretty sure both El and the little Byers kid have them too, so it should be fine— before Steve starts off all the way across town just to drop him and Max’s bike off.
He can’t think of anything to say, but that seems ok. The two of them falling into a comfortable silence, broken only by the brunet humming along to the pop songs on the radio. The guy’s voice is pleasant— don’t get him wrong, he’s no Freddie Mercury, the brunet’s not likely to be winning any record deals anytime soon, but still, pleasant. A good voice for lullabies, if that makes sense. Sweet and smooth— though without Robin’s surprising range.
They part with Steve confirming what time he wants to be picked up to be dropped off at the pool in the morning, before he lingers outside to smoke and watch the burgundy beemer drive away. It’s dark, both inside and outside the house— no lights left on for him, though he can see light shining under Neil and Susan’s door.
He gets ready for bed— hoping for once he can sleep and won’t dream— and lies down, light off, closing his eyes and—
Falling.
Falling.
Falling.
|
Sam wakes up with a huge crink in his neck and an archangel blowing breath that smells like caramel popcorn into his nose. He makes a face and sets about removing himself from the octopus that is also known as the archangel Gabriel without waking him. Miraculously a few minutes later he manages to make his escape. Gabriel seems to realize that he's left, because he reaches out for the warmth of Sam and instead tucks himself into Castiel in Sam's absence. Cas doesn't seem to mind if his deep breathing is any indication. Dean is still draped across Cas and Lucifer both, and Lucifer is leaning so far into Cas' shoulder he's nearly knocking him into Gabriel. Sam pulls out his phone and clicks a picture.
After slipping his phone in his pocket, he makes his way down the hall. In the lounge he spots Balthazar, Crowley, and Bobby sitting on a couch together. Their legs are all intertwined as they speak lowly amongst themselves. Sam approaches slowly, unsure from their facial expressions whether or not he'd be interrupting anything.
"Hey," Sam greets awkwardly as he gets close enough.
Balthazar stops talking, though he offers a tight-lipped smile at Sam. Crowley's hands travel to the collar of Bobby's shirt, playing across his neck as he says, "The answer is no, Moose. You will not be taking Bobby from us to go hunting."
"I don't need to go hunting," Sam replies, "I need answers."
All three of them perk up at that. "What kind of answers?" Balthazar asks.
"About this wedding thing." He settles in on the ground, crossing his long legs and resting his hands on his chin.
"What do you want to know? I think I speak for all of us when I say we'll answer just about any question you've got," Bobby begins.
"Possibly in far more explicit detail than you want," Balthazar snickers.
Sam recoils. "No, no, nothing like that!" he hastily reassures the men. "Why can I see the hellhounds?" he blurts.
The three men exchange a frustrated glance. "You mean to tell me not a single one of your idjit husbands mentioned that?" Bobby asks.
"Lucifer mentioned that it was his fault because 'I needed to be able to see them,' whatever that means. But Gabriel mentioned something about accepting them, and that being the reason why I could see them. Lucifer alluded to that too as he was talking to Dean yesterday, only in regards to Dean's relationship with Michael. So, which is the truth?"
Bobby sighs. "The way I understand it- and either of you jump in if I'm tellin' him wrong- both are somewhat true. You can see the hellhounds because you need to be able to see them. However, if you weren't accepting your role in this marriage scheme of God's, you wouldn't be able to." Sam's brow crinkles in confusion, so Bobby keeps explaining. "Think of it as a fail-safe. No one had any way of knowing how you would react to this whole marriage news. Just because it's something that should be done doesn't mean it's something that you will do, as anybody who knows you can testify to. So there would be no point in making you over to be a ruler of Hell if you refused to be a ruler of Hell. But since you're accepting Lucifer and Gabriel, your body is preparing you to take on that role."
He falls silent, allowing Sam to absorb that. "So what else is going to happen to me?"
Bobby looks to Crowley expectantly, so that's where Sam looks too. Crowley sighs. "That's a bit more difficult to guess at. Dean's was slightly more obvious, because as a ruler of Heaven we all knew he was going to be growing wings, and we figure he'll probably have a low dose of angel mojo too. He'll be immortal, of course, as will you. You though...it's very hard to guess what skills you're going to need. You definitely had to be able to see the hellhounds. Most likely, you'll need to be able to see our true forms. But other things...your spouses, for example, both have wings. Will you get them too, in order to fly up to Heaven and chit-chat with the angels up there about how they're running things? It's possible, but no guarantees. You're a wild card right now."
Sam frowns at that, looking back and forth between them. "What changes are you guys undergoing, if you don't mind my asking?"
"Nothing, besides the fact that Bobby here is going to be immortal too. There's not much change required to be heaven's ambassadors to Earth."
"Crowley is a demon," Sam feels the need to remind them.
"But not like the others," Bobby replies with a fond glance in his direction.
"Am I really going to have to rule Hell?"
"Ideally you would. We don't expect much from you or Dean until centuries from now so you can adjust."
Sam thinks this over, a tiny frown crawling across his face. "Thanks. That's it for now." He unfolds his long legs and walks away, thinking about the conversation. He's not expected to rule Hell, but he certainly doesn't plan to allow Gabriel and Lucifer to make the decisions alone. He's planning to help but to do that he needs to know a lot more.
Mind made up, he leaves a note and tries to find someone's car he can borrow. Adam lets his car go without a fuss, so Sam is off.
As soon as Sam clicks the locking mechanism on the keys, all the hellhounds peer up at him sleepily. They tumble free of the pile they were sleeping in and approach with wagging tails. Sam shrugs, then whistles for the dogs and pats the backseat. The hellhounds jump in exuberantly. Sam climbs in himself and backs out of the parking lot and onto the road. Next stop: Stanford.
Thirty-eight hours later- thanks, California traffic- Sam is pulling Adam's car into his old college. He grabs his phone and calls one of his favorite professors.
"Hello?"
"Hi, this is Sam Winchester. I'm in town, mind if I swing by?"
The response is startled, but warm. "Certainly. When can I expect you?"
"Fifteen minutes."
Fifteen minutes later, Sam is pushing the door to Professor Frank's office open.
"Come in, come in! It's good to see you! Looking to finally get back in the swing of things, the old college grind?"
"Not quite. Actually, I was hoping I could buy some textbooks off of you."
"You lose all yours?"
Sam shrugs. "Think they burnt up. But I don't need lawyering ones, actually. I'm switching my major."
"Oh yeah? To what?"
"Political sciences."
"Really? The Sam Winchester I knew would've wanted to be a lawyer and a lawyer only. So what's happened to you since you left us here after your girlfriend died in that freak fire?"
"You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Let's just say I found someone else. He's a diplomat, and I want to learn this stuff to support him. But because he's so busy I don't have time to actually return to college. So I was hoping I could just buy the books."
"He, huh? What country is this 'he' a diplomat for?"
"It varies."
"Hmmm. Well you're in luck. I do have the textbooks you're looking for, most of them anyway. I can make some calls and get the rest. I'll see you back here at this time tomorrow?"
"Great. Thank you very much, Sir."
"Good luck with your diplomat, boy."
"Do you know, did anyone take over Jess' and my apartment?"
"Nah, it's empty right now."
"Then that's where I'll be, if you get the books sooner. Thanks for everything."
It's a simple matter to head back to the old apartment and let himself in, hellhounds tumbling with him. It's been repaired since the fire, and Sam doesn't recognize the wall color. He wanders it for a moment, trailing curious fingers over the wall.
When he turns around again, he's not surprised to find Jess standing there watching him.
"Hey," he croaks.
She smiles fondly. "Hey, Sam."
He's moving, unaware that he's even taken a step until he's colliding with Jess, back hitting the wall as his arms surround her. He buries his face in her neck, inhales her scent, and falls apart. She says nothing as he sobs, just holds him and strokes his hair until he cuts himself short with gasping breaths.
"It's okay, Sam. It's alright. I forgive you. I don't blame you. It's okay. We're alright."
"Jess-" Sam begs, but what he's begging for he can't begin to explain.
"It's okay. We're okay. We're going to be fine."
"You're alive, you came back," he gasps. His hands travel reverently up her arms to cup her face. "Is it really you, you're really alive?"
"It's really me. I'm here."
"I missed you so much!"
"I'm so sorry, Sam. I didn't want to leave." She hugs him tighter. "Thanks for killing Brady for me."
A cut-off laugh. "Welcome. Things I never thought you'd say to me."
"You could have told me, you know."
"That Brady was gunning for you? Can't tell you what I didn't know."
"That's not what I'm talking about, and you know it."
"Hunting," Sam says the word with all the exhaustion he feels. He pulls back to look at the woman holding him. "I couldn't have!" At her skeptical look, he argues, "Don't give me that look! You were innocent, Jess! How would you have responded to knowing that there were monsters in this world, that everything in your worst nightmares is true? I thought I got out, thought I was safe and never going back!" His voice trails off. "That's why they killed you, you know. They needed me to return to it."
"I know. They told me when I got to hell."
Sam yanks back and stares at her, shocked. "What?!"
Jess smiles sweetly. "What, you think you're the only one who went to hell?"
"Jess, I-"
"Sam, if you beat yourself up over something you had no control over one more time, so help me I will fight you."
Sam smiles at that, he can't help it. The image of tiny Jess fighting him...then he groans, because she was successful in distracting him and he knows it. "Why did you go? Why did they take you?"
"Because I was close to who they really wanted."
"Me."
"No, Dean. Yes, of course you!"
Sam grins unwittingly, but quickly sobers again. "Did they hurt you?"
"Surprisingly, no. Brady took me to Azazel, Azazel took me to Lucifer, and all Lucifer wanted to talk about was you. I'll have you know I froze out the devil for several centuries until he convinced me that he didn't want to hurt you. After he finally convinced me of his sincerity, we talked about you a lot."
This conversation has just taken a very weird turn. "What about?"
"Everything you can imagine. Favorite food, color, dessert, flavor of ice cream. How you dressed, styled your hair, your college education, how smart you are. The dates we went on, how you were as a boyfriend, if you can imagine it we probably talked about it, with the exception of our sex life because I made it clear that was off limits."
"Why?!" Sam throws all of his incredulous feelings into the question.
"Because he wanted to get to know you before he tried to get you to say yes."
"He wanted an easier way to manipulate me."
"No! He did get inside your head, didn't he? How could you not know the depth of what he felt?"
Sam stares at her. "What?" he manages weakly.
"Have you ever watched a romance movie, Sam?"
"Um, yes. With you!" he says emphatically, feeling like he's got whiplash from the sudden topic change.
"Remember when people say that the characters are 'made for each other?'"
Sam begins shaking his head before she finishes the sentence. "That is not AT ALL what they mean."
"You're right. But hello, it really exists for a few people, and you're throwing it away!"
"No, Jess. That's not what it means, that's not what he wants...just, no."
"Now you're just being pig-headed."
"Jess! I am not!" Sam cries, shocked. "Just because I don't want to marry SATAN doesn't mean I'm being pig-headed! I'm terrified to death that marrying him will seal my eternal fate. I don't want to go back to Hell! And I don't want to lose me! When I drank the demon blood I wasn't in control of who I was- I was a monster puppet for whoever was smart enough to pull the strings. Well I'm not doing it again! I refuse to be a monster again. I can't do it, Jess, I just can't."
"It doesn't have to be like that. You're Sam Winchester, you're brilliant! Learn how to rule Hell and do it! Marry Lucifer and don't let him push you around. He loves you, Sam, as hard as it may be to wrap your head around that concept."
"Would you stop saying that?"
"No, because I'm hoping if I say it enough times it will click in that big brain of yours."
"He doesn't love me."
"Oh really? I'm sorry, did you spend centuries talking about you with him? Because I certainly did. Newsflash: he loves you. It was enough to make me jealous, listening to him go on and on about how much he liked you. He was in love with the idea of you before he ever met you."
"He first appeared to me wearing your face!"
"Good! Then unlike you, it appears he can follow simple directions!"
"You told him to do that? Why?"
"Because I knew that you would be scared if he revealed himself for who he was. So I told him to be me first, so you wouldn't be afraid."
"Well, that didn't work out the way you planned. Seeing him change from you to him was terrible- gave me nightmares for a long time."
"Sorry, Sam. I didn't think of that."
"Can we be done fighting now? I didn't drive all this way to argue with you over whether or not Lucifer is in love with me," Sam says.
Jess laughs. "Sure. We're done. Just think about what I said, yeah?"
"Fine, whatever. So are you all packed, so we can go back tomorrow?"
Jess stares at him with pity in her gaze. "Sam. I'm not coming back with you tomorrow. You're moving on, getting married! I wasn't going to come here to you at all, but I knew you needed to hear that I didn't hold you responsible for my death. Plus, you needed a kick in the rear to get you thinking about Lucifer romantically."
"But- but I want you to come. Back with me, I mean."
"Sam, there's nothing there for me any more."
"I'm there!"
"And I gave up my claim to you a long time ago."
"Jess-"
"No, no, don't do this Sam. This wasn't meant to be a sad thing. There's no future for us, but you still have a life, so you'll go back to it. And I'll be your friend for tonight. Tomorrow I'm going to Heaven for the first time, so that will be super exciting! You can come visit sometime."
"I'll have to," Sam answers optimistically. "So, what did you want to do for tonight?"
What they end up doing is reminiscing together, laughing until their sides hurt. They play stupid games and talk like they're normal people who haven't died. Night slips away before either of them realize it, and soon it's time to split up.
"When are you returning to Heaven?"
"Soon. I wanted to see you off first."
Sam calls his professor and within minutes has all the books (a huge massive pile that even he staggers under) and they're tucked safely into Adam's car.
Jess and he hug, and when they finally separate she says, "Remember what I said. Talk to Lucifer."
"I will. I promise."
"And let your brother know I don't blame him for not realizing I was in danger. He came to my grave to apologize on the one year anniversary of you jumping into the Cage."
"He never told me that."
"Well, he did."
"Thanks Jess, really. For everything."
"You're welcome. Good luck."
Sam gets into the borrowed car and drives away. One of the hellhounds climbs into his lap and he rubs it absentmindedly as he drives, thinking about what Jess told him. The idea that Lucifer is in love with him, was even before he met Sam, is startling. Try as he might, he can't think of anything that gave that away.
Sam finally gets back to Indiana and goes into the hotel. His eyes are burning as he tries to hold them open for a tiny bit longer. The hellhounds knock him out of the car and onto his face, but thankfully it's early enough no one is around to witness it. He staggers into the hotel tiredly.
Lucifer is still awake, or perhaps just woke up, but he's talking with Azazel and Ruby quietly. Lilith doesn't seem to be nearby. Azazel catches Sam's eye and says something to Lucifer. Lucifer looks up and sees Sam, and the expression on his face is akin to a man witnessing a miracle.
"Sam, are you alright?"
"Fine. Tired," Sam manages to communicate.
"You're bleeding."
"Fell. Hounds."
Lucifer's hand traces his arm, and tiny gashes that Sam hadn't noticed begin to mend. "I thought you weren't coming back," Lucifer tells him.
Sam frowns. "Note?" he questions.
"Where?"
Sam takes Lucifer's hand, interlocking their fingers. "Here."
"We didn't see it."
"Dropped?"
"Maybe," Lucifer allows. "Go to bed."
Sam shakes his head, though his eyes are drooping shut. "Talk," he insists.
"Not tonight."
"Yes."
"No. Come on, Sam. Time for bed."
"'Morrow?"
"Sure. We'll talk tomorrow. All day, if you want." Lucifer scoops Sam into his arms before he can breathe a word of protest. "I'll be back," he mouths to his demons, and carries his soon-to-be husband up the stairs.
Sam snuggles in, burrowing deep into Lucifer's shirt. He yawns, then drifts off.
Lucifer kicks the door lightly once he gets to their room, and Gabriel yanks it open. "Sam?" he questions, alarmed, but when Lucifer places a finger to his lips he hushes.
"He's sleeping."
"Where was he? I didn't think he was coming back. It's been four days!"
"I don't know, he didn't say. He did manage to communicate that he left a note for us, but didn't know where it went. He left it in my hand."
"We'll have to look for it. For now, I can take him, if you want to get back to your demon powwow."
"They can wait. He's more important." He carries Sam over to the bed, laying him down carefully so he doesn't wake him. Gabriel yanks the blankets back the moment before Sam hits the sheets. Sam's shoes are pulled off, set on the side of the bed so he can find them easily tomorrow. Lucifer debates about undressing him, but in the end decides against it- Sam will probably wake up, and even if he doesn't he's not sure how Sam will react to realizing he was undressed without his knowledge in the middle of the night. He covers Sam with the blankets, and smooths his hair out of his face. "Goodnight, Sam," he whispers. He brushes a kiss across Sam's forehead because he is not strong enough to resist, and breathes out, "I'm glad you came back to us." Sam doesn't stir.
When Lucifer straightens back up, Gabriel is watching him with a knowing expression.
"What?" Lucifer demands, uncomfortable with the way Gabriel is staring at him.
"You really do love him."
"Your pranks have gone to your head, brother, and you can no longer tell the difference between reality and the alternate universes you create."
Gabriel smirks. "You never denied it," he points out, and he leaves the room whistling.
Lucifer glares after him, then returns to his demons, shutting the door quietly behind him. They're trying to prevent civil war, and as much as he wants to be with Sam, this is more important.
...................................................................................................
Sam feels hot all over when he wakes up. He's been sweating for several days- California in August is not known for being cool- but he had been hoping it would decrease as he went back to Indiana. It almost feels like he's hotter now than he was. He kicks off the blankets and takes a cold shower, which does nothing for his body temperature but helps wake him up a bit more.
He's still more than half asleep as he stumbles downstairs, which is what drives him to grab a mug of coffee and beg Bobby's flask off of him.
"Where were you, you idjit?" Bobby demands as Sam upends his entire flask into his coffee.
"I went to Stanford to get books on Political Science," Sam explains as he gulps down the concoction, making a face at the taste.
"Moose, you're not supposed to gulp that!" Crowley mock-scolds, sounding scandalized. "Where is your sense of refinery?"
"Still asleep, where the rest of me would like to be."
He blinks for a moment at Crowley. Now that his vision isn't blurry with sleep, he can see- well, he's not sure. It's clearly Crowley's true demon form, but the sight is too horrible for words, and Sam has seen many horrible things in his life. He jumps away from the table, stammering out an apology, and flees.
Sam is so distracted he nearly walks into his brother, and it's because of this that he doesn't duck the fist flying to meet his face. He's slammed backwards, a thundering sound in his ears.
"I thought you left! Don't you EVER do that to me again!"
Sam groans and grabs Dean's arm to stabilize himself. Dean misunderstands the gesture, wrapping his arms around Sam in a quick hug. A second later, he let's go with the exclamation, "You're burning up, Sammy!"
Sam shivers. "I'm cold," he mutters.
"Cas, Sam is burning up!"
Cas is by their side in an instant, fingertips glowing with blue light as he touches Sam. The light travels through Sam's body and returns to Cas with a zap. He frowns, brow creasing, and sends the light again.
"Cas?" Sam hears Dean ask, voice sounding as though it's coming from far away. "What's happening?"
"His body is rejecting the grace."
Lucifer is there suddenly, seeing Cas touching his beloved husband. "What's happening?"
"He's burning up," Dean says.
"He's rejecting my grace," reports Cas.
Lucifer's grace glows on his own fingers a moment before he passes it into Sam. The same thing happens, the blue grace returns to his fingers without helping Sam.
"How's he doing this? Is he going to be okay?" Dean yells.
"Sometimes people can reject grace. He should be okay, so long as we can get his fever down," Lucifer explains.
Michael and Gabriel join the small knot of people standing together in the center of the room. "What's happening?" questions Gabriel.
"Sam's rejecting grace and running a high fever."
Gabriel reaches out to touch him and recoils at the heat radiating off him. He snaps his fingers, conjuring a large glass of water with plenty of ice cubes floating in it. "Sam, I need you to drink this, okay?" Gabriel orders, pressing it into Sam's hand.
"Cold," Sam protests.
"I know, but can you drink it anyway?"
Sam tries, but half the glass ends up down his shirt. "Cold," he mumbles sadly, yanking at the wet shirt. "So cold."
"Sam, it's Michael. We're going to get you upstairs and out of that cold shirt, okay?"
"Cold," Sam repeats.
"I know. We're going to help you. Cas, go for ice packs please, they should be in the kitchen. Lucifer, slide under Sam's arm, I'm going to take his other. I don't trust him to make it upstairs under his own power. Gabriel, start a luke-warm bath in your room so we can try to get his fever down," Michael orders. "Dean," Michael turns to his fiance, noticing the fear in his eyes, "walk ahead and talk to Sam, okay? Be sure he can hear your voice so he doesn't freak out. He's going to be fine."
Dean does as he's asked, keeping up a running monologue on the elevator ride. Sam's eyes are clearly unfocused, but he seems to be listening to his brother because he's not fighting Michael or Lucifer as they support him.
They make it into the hotel room and Dean steps into his brother's space, yanking his shirt off which is soaked with sweat. The pants come next, and Dean muscles him into the bathroom where Gabriel has just finished running the cool water.
"C'mere, Sammy," Dean coaxes, holding his brother close. "Lift your leg, that's it," he soothes as Sam steps into the water.
Sam recoils, yanking away from his brother. "No, no, no, cold!" Sam mumbles in a litany.
"Sam, it's okay," Gabriel promises. "We're trying to get your fever down."
"Should we try to force him in?" Michael asks.
Sam hears his voice and jerks violently. "He'll hurt me!" he whispers frantically to Dean.
"I won't let him, Sammy. It's okay. We're just trying to get your fever down. You're really sick." He steps back into the tub, uncaring for the wet denim that clings to his legs now. "Here Sammy, come in with me."
"NO!" Sam yells.
"Inside voice, Sammy," Dean reprimands. He tells Michael, "I don't think we're going to get him in this tub without a huge fight, and fighting with him will only jack his temperature up."
"What about a shower?"
"If you can get him inside of that tub, be my guest."
Michael manages to coax Sam in once the water is drained out of the tub, but the second the shower comes on he lets out an inhuman screech and claws at Michael's arms in a desperate bid for freedom. "Stop it!" he gasps, "I'm not broken." Then the words turn into a begging litany for "DeanDeanDeanDeanDeanDean."
"Michael, turn off the water now," Dean barks. "Sammy, I'm here. It's okay Sammy, I'm here."
Dean manipulates them both out of the tub, taking the towel Gabriel holds out with a grateful smile. He dries Sam as best he can, though the water is already mostly gone from the heat of Sam's skin. He leaves Sam in his boxers, because anything they can use to keep Sam cool is a blessing at this point. Once Sam is dry he tries to lead him out to the bed.
Sam jerks away from him, eyes hazy with fever. "Dean?" he questions frantically.
"Yeah, Sammy, right here."
"I'm hot," Sam informs him.
"I know. Come here, Sammy, lay in the bed with me."
"Not tired. Wanna talk to Lucifer."
"I'm here, Sam. What do you want to talk about?"
"Jess said-" Sam begins, reaching for his fiance. The second he makes contact, he lets out a delighted exclamation of "Cold!" He rips Lucifer's shirt off, pressing into him and wrapping his arms around him. "So cold," he mutters contentedly, pressing his lips into Lucifer's clavicle.
Curiously and cautiously, Lucifer presses his arms back into Sam. "Here, Sam," he calls, easing back onto the bed. "I'm tired. Can you lay here with me?"
"Sleep?" Sam demands.
"Just a bit."
Sam crawls onto the bed with Lucifer, body chasing the coolness of the other man. He snuggles into him, pressing his body to Lucifer's shirtless chest. His body shudders, and he drifts off immediately.
Dean's mouth presses into a tight line, and he drags a chair over and settles into it.
"Dean-" Michael begins.
"I'm staying here. Don't try to talk me out of this."
Michael nods, taking his fiance's hand and sitting as his feet. Dean speaks into the silence, "I don't expect you to wait here with me."
"He's important to you, and to my brother. What more do I need to care about his well-being?"
Dean falls quiet. Then after a moment he speaks again, "Where is Cas?"
As though Dean's voice has summoned him, Cas forces his way into the hotel room, lugging massive amounts of frozen vegetables, ice packs, bags of ice, and popsicles and ice cream.
"What the f**k?" Dean questions wonderingly.
"I wasn't sure what you wanted, Michael, so I brought a bit of everything," Cas explains.
Michael can't stop the smile playing across his lips as he says, "I think just the ice packs here would've been fine, but since we've got everything else, we'll use that too."
Cas pouts. "I did it wrong, didn't I?"
"No, not necessarily. I said we'll use it all, and we will." He captures Cas' chin and plants a kiss on his still-pouting lips, "Stop pouting, it's unbecoming."
"How is it unbecoming?" Cas asks.
"Because it makes me want to ravish you."
"Oh!" Cas exclaims, sounding startled. "Really?"
Michael rolls his eyes. "Castiel, how many times must I tell you I want you before you believe me?"
Dean, who is putting the ice cold stuff Cas brought onto his brother, takes this opportunity to toss an ice cream novelty at Michael's head. "Eat this, it'll cool you down," he says casually when Michael shoots him a look.
Gabriel chuckles and reaches for his own, crawling into bed behind Lucifer as he crunches into his ice cream.
"You better not get that in the bed," Lucifer tells him.
"Or what?" Gabriel asks, which prompts Lucifer to turn and whisper something in his ear. "That's not fair!" Gabriel exclaims.
Sam bolts awake with Gabriel's pronouncement, eyes looking around wildly for a threat. Lucifer manages to get him to lie back down, coaxing him to lay his head on the pillow with his back to Lucifer's stomach. He reaches out his hand for another ice cream, unwrapping it and encouraging Sam to eat it. Sam does so obediently, though he drifts off again in the middle of the ice cream. Lucifer passes the rest of the sticky concoction behind him to Gabriel with a grimace, who finishes it with a lick of his fingers.
"Cas and I can watch Sammy, if you and Lucifer need to host more meetings to prevent civil war," Gabriel offers to Michael.
Michael shakes his head in rejection of the offer. "Thank you, but no. We'll figure something out, but we need to get people to understand how important they are to us. This is non-negotiable. I'll be here alongside Dean." He takes his fiance's hand, kissing it to comfort him. "He's going to be okay, Dean."
Dean doesn't answer him for too long. Finally, he says, "You can't know that. But I can. He's been through so much, it would be stupid if it would be a fever that ultimately kills him." He goes silent again, watchful eyes trained on the bed. Sam's body jerks and shudders as shivers rack through him again before he goes still. The family keeps watching, each of them rooting for Sam to make it through.
|
Bakugo had always known that the vampire had a penchant for dramatics. No doubt it was weaved through their bloodsucking and infuriatingly good looks genes.
Three weeks since the last time anyone had seen or heard from the asshole. THREE WEEKS. And Bakugo really couldn’t care less but then, he’s also friends with an exasperating worrywart. It would’ve been less of a problem if he could lock a door to stop hearing Deku’s ceaseless wailing about their friend. But really, when did doors stop ghosts from invading people’s privacy and peace of mind?
And Deku knew. He KNEW that the vampire was fine. He wasn’t dying anytime soon (—not according to the ghost’s equally dramatic ass), he wasn’t injured either. He was just in one of his moods. Moods that have been more frequent lately than ever. The vampire had always been a loner, close to only few people. But sometimes, he just did not come out of his gloomy Bram Stoker castle for days, content in his total isolation with only bats for company or whatever. Deku had always nagged him about how that was detrimental to his psych, but again, vampires and their tragic theatrics.
Bakugo couldn’t be bothered with the whole checking up on a friend thing. Because, to begin with, were they even friends? His relationship with the night creature varied from day to day. There’s a sort of attachment between them, elusive and unmarked, like a tangled silky cobweb string.
The two of them weren’t the most eloquent creatures. He wasn’t going to deny that. The Great Wall of miscommunication between them would easily misplace and misname their connection.
But that was neither here nor there. Because in the end, he was there. Predictably.
Bakugo easily and quietly slid inside the grey castle through the kitchen’s enormous window. He looked around and sniffed. Despite its apparent cleanliness and empty countertops, he could tell the place hadn’t been touched in a while. What a waste of beautiful china.
He walked out of the kitchen and through the long hallway, passing by the desolate hall to enter the high stone-walled living room where the fireplace was. Bakugo was willing to bet a leg and an arm that that’s where Todoroki would be.
He let his cheek pull on a devilish smirk, chest inflated with pride for winning an imaginary bet with himself.
The fire was weak, scarlet and smokeless, crackling gently. It barely illuminated the room, the silhouette of the flames danced on the walls. On the burgundy armchair in front of it, a figure sat huddled in a fox fur-mantled cloak.
What a fucking show off.
His hair though, unlike it’s usual slicked back style was pushed back messily behind his ears. A testimony of his low spirits. It somehow looked better like this, as if he had just rolled out of bed. His eyes were half open and far, far away, lips pouty and pale.
The motherfucker looked good enough to devour.
Bakugo licked his own lips hungrily, eyes gleaming like a predator about to bounce on an easy kill.
Truth be told, he wasn’t even here to investigate the vampire’s whereabouts (—much to Deku’s dismay and Bakugo’s absolute delight). And as insensitive as it might sound, he had come here tonight to fulfill his own agenda. The full moon was in two days, and he’s always extra horny around that time.
And his mind like clockwork would fill up with images of their previous endeavors and he’d turn carnal.
He and Todoroki fool around often. It started as a challenge. A sort of game that quickly embedded itself fully into their systems like wine seeping into white linen. Times like these were not as scarce as he’d like them to be but the fact that both of them do not acknowledge it afterwards was both reassuring and convenient.
Their own dirty little secret.
But again, Todoroki was in a mood. And Bakugo was not unfamiliar with these moods. An excited shiver ran through his body.
“You’re welcome to take a seat, you know.” The vampire’s voice was thick and raspy from prolonged disuse.
Bakugo’s furry ears perked up at its timbre. “Oh, it speaks.” he commented sarcastically as he strode in to stand in front of the vampire, hands in his pockets., “Deku will get an evacuation warrant if you don’t get out more.”
Blue and grey eyes moved reluctantly away from the dancing flames to meet his. His expression was completely closed off.
“I’m serious. He’s frying his last brain cell worrying about you cooped up in this gloomy ass dungeon.”
“It’s not a dungeon.” Todoroki grumbled then sighed, “I don’t feel like talking, so,” he gestured wordlessly at the other armchair.
Bakugo refused the silent invitation and folded his arms defiantly instead. “Well, I’m not here to talk either, dumbass.”
Todoroki glanced through the window at the almost full moon adorning the night sky and back at Bakugo, “You know it would be a long night.” he stated meaningfully.
“Is that a challenge?”
“Merely stating facts.” and he really didn’t sound like he was bragging, “You do know I haven’t fed in over a month now, don’t you?”
Of course he knew.
Bakugo relaxed his stance and looked him over slowly. Under the fur cloak, he was wearing fitted black pants, cream colored poet shirt, laced up loosely with strings, and umber leather boots. The ensemble was so simple, yet so enticing. Enticing because it’s him. Bakugo glanced from under his lashes at heterochromatic eyes that were lazily regarding him.
Truth be told, for the longest time, the blasé attitude used to rub him off the wrong way. Irritate him to no end. But when their relationship developed to this— whatever this is, he found himself feeling differently about it. He could not for the life of him fathom how his libido worked and what triggered it, but he knew that this right here, that cold, arrogant head tilt, that one lifted brow, that comfortable sprawl.. that pretty much never failed to kickstart his erection like the best aphrodisiac.
Taking a step forward, the werewolf placed a hand on top of the armchair’s back over Todoroki’s head for leverage and leaned closer. With his thumb and forefinger on the other’s chin, he tilted the pretty face towards his. His eyes never leaving the mismatched glinting gemstones, equal amounts ice and fire. Bakugo had no trouble drowning in them for hours. Except he was seldom that patient. He glanced at the full, small mouth, and as easy and natural as the sunset, he dipped his head and molded his lips against them. It was barely a brush but he melted immediately. He pressed his lips harder and kissed him again and again. He coaxed his lips to open with the thumb on his chin and sighed contentedly when the latter gave access. There was no fight, no resistance, but no reciprocation either.
It was like kissing a doll. If a doll ever tasted this good or felt this warm against him.
Something about the passive attitude, the wordless compliance granted Bakugo a certain freedom. Allowed him to relax. To explore and taste and experience and satisfy his endless curiosity.
But that’s not the only reason. When the passiveness faded into the background, and the metaphorical rug was pulled from under his feet and he found himself with barely any control, it was in those moments he felt floating in his own skin, his whole being surrendering peacefully against a powerful conqueror. Giving up the reins always felt so inexplicably liberating.
He wanted that high. He’d chase it like a starved man.
With a final peck against the now glossy lips, he dropped to his knees between the vampire’s legs and slowly nosed along one thigh until he reached his groin. Bakugo mouthed around the shape, breathed hotly, his heart thudding to a crescendo in his ears. Todoroki barely stirred under his slacks, not that Bakugo expected him to, after all, the creature had already warned him that he hadn’t fed.
He looked up, silently asking permission. Todoroki stared at him for a long, deliberating moment then said with a flat voice, “Go ahead, spoil yourself.”
Something in Bakugo’s guts coiled hotly. He ignored it and started unlacing the pants and freeing the flaccid cock. He took it in his hand gently and started working it. The process being as dry as it was, he quickly opted to salivating all over it, licking and sucking. He took his time trailing his tongue over every nook and cranny, committing its shape and smell to memory.
Not that he needed to.
This position and situation were familiar enough. The vampire had gotten him well-acquainted, sometimes for hours at a time, just a warm cavern to use. Patience was a virtue he was forced to learn. And Bakugo had passed the point of tolerance and acceptance to the point of craving and longing. The disillusion of having any control quickly dissipating, replaced by a cloud-like state of calm and serenity. No thoughts besides his place at Todoroki’s feet.
Long, long minutes later, Todoroki’s cock started to harden in his mouth. He sighed appreciatively and sucked even more enthusiastically. His other hand lightly fondled his balls and his mouth followed suit. He licked and kissed, engulfed in Todoroki’s potent scent.
He swiped his tongue from his balls to the tip of his beautiful cock, moaning lowly as he swallowed the salty beads that pearled around it. They came sooner than he’d expected.
It never failed to amaze him how despite being the one doing the service, he seemed to be the one enjoying himself the most. His cock was dripping inside his own pants, begging for attention. He made to take it out and alleviate some pressure. But a soft touch against his cheek made him pause. Immediately, he leaned against the offered hand, his eyes fluttered closed for a brief second then opened to find Todoroki’s. “Don’t.”
The word was spoken softly, but Bakugo would be a fool to mistake it for anything but an order. He glared at him defiantly and attempted to straighten up but the cold hand fisted in his hair roughly. Bakugo made a sound, more of surprise than pain.
“I didn’t tell you to stop.” his tone did not waver, still deceptively mellow.
“Fuck you, you selfish prick,” he snarled, his tail started swishing agitatedly behind him, furry ears flattened close to the fingers twisted in his hair, “Why do you have to be the only o—hnngh!“ he choked around a moan. Did he—
Did the insufferable asshole just press his fucking boot to Bakugo’s dick?
“Sure doesn’t look like I’m the only one.” The werewolf’s face colored when his pelvic involuntarily pushed back, seeking friction. He barely forced himself to still but the damage had been done; the vampire was smiling approvingly. A small, soft smile that made the tightness in Bakugo’s chest resurface again.
The defiance drained from his features like snow melting under the spring sun as he basked in the approving gaze. He waited, slack and expectant, head imperceptibly tilted back, exposing his neck like a good wolf would to his alpha.
The fingers in his hair loosened but did not let go. Instead, Todoroki pushed him down again. He obediently took him in his mouth a second time, unbelievably grateful. He sighed around it and went to suck but his movement was aborted a second time. Todoroki stopped him there, with his mouth stuffed and held him in place.
It confused the werewolf for the first minute. Unlike every other time, the vampire was hard, it took time, sure, but he finally was. He waited and glanced up to see Todoroki just staring at him there. Bakugo felt warmth blossom on his face to his neck then chest then settled heavily in his dick.
There was tension in his jaw, so he swallowed thickly and tried to relax his throat. It allowed him to sink a little bit deeper and he felt so snug and full.
Time passed like this and Bakugo’s sole focus is the cock in his mouth. He was sure there was drool dribbling down his chin but he could not find it in his heart to care. Not like this.
The hand in his hair finally moved again, scratching and combing through his blond hair. He shivered, the noise that escaped his stuffed mouth sounded suspiciously like a purr. Blunt nails toyed with his ear and scratched behind it, ruffling the fine, soft fur. The werewolf’s eyes dilated from how good it felt.
“Bakugo,” his eyes met the other’s, some color was coming back to his pale cheeks. The boot that was up until that second forgotten pressed harder than before. It bordered on painful. So Bakugo didn’t really understand how a muffled moan was his body’s elected response. A tear that he did not bother to wipe away rolled down his cheek, a sliver of shame mixed with an abundance of desire. The boot left him and he tried not to whine at the loss. Instead, it was innocently placed on the stone floor between his legs, “you can use it.”
Blood-red eyes widened. A cool finger wiped at the trace of the tear, gentle and soothing.
Humiliation was a heavy thing that pooled in the pit of his stomach, but he found himself moving his hips experimentally against the leather boot, pressing his weeping clothed cock against it. The instant relief that flooded his senses caused his vision to whiten for a second and soon he was rutting against his leg in earnest.
He started sucking sloppily, popping his head up and down with no rhythm, losing a bit of his coordination between humping and sucking. His throat felt raw and used but he couldn’t stop, didn’t want to stop. He moaned and sucked and swallowed like he was tasting the sweetest nectar.
He wondered what Todoroki thought of him like this. Desperate and enslaved to his desire, humping his leg for some relief, his face a total mess. Like a pathetic mutt.
So immersed was he that he almost missed the praise, “That’s a good pet.” That was it. That was his undoing. Tremors wracked his body as he came in his slacks after literally humping Todoroki’s leg. He’d feel shame if he wasn’t riding the high of his orgasm and the intense waves of pleasure.
His mind was blessedly blank.
The pain in his jaw soon started to set in, effectively clearing his foggy mind. He pulled off of the still hard cock, a string of saliva connecting him with it lewdly. He did not move. Bakugo leaned against his thigh and closed his eyes, trying to even out his ragged breathing.
Todoroki fingers’ played with his collar absently, tracing the skin underneath slowly. He never bothered to tuck himself in, and Bakugo watched as he slowly started to soften. He scowled. He wasn’t allowed to soften after all of his hard work. Even if Bakugo currently didn’t need him to be hard, it just didn’t sit well with him. He took him in hand and stroked him languidly. The vampire chuckled, rich and sweet as honey. “You really don’t have to do that, Bakugo. I’m fine.”
Bakugo straightened, and without breaking eye contact or letting go of what he was doing, he crawled over the chair and straddled him, “Maybe I want to.” And he hadn’t predicted how fucked out his voice would sound until he'd actually spoken. A fact that made the vampire lick his lower lip and place his hands on the werewolf’s hips, squeezing them possessively.
Eagerly, Bakugo started kissing him again, wanting him to taste himself on him. One of Todoroki’s arms wrapped around his waist and pulled him flush against him. He pulled back to whisper, “I like how you fit against me, Bakugo. It’s almost like you were made for me.” Bakugo’s heart skipped a beat, the sentiment too saccharine. He met his dazed eyes and continued, “Like this,” he tightened his hold on him for emphasis, “And when I’m inside you.” Bakugo’s breath hitched, “I love molding you to fit my shape.”
His other hand stroked his tail near the base and the skin surrounding it. It was a sensitive spot and he squirmed, eyes fluttering, “Torodoki—”
Unbidden, the vampire carried on, “Does your body remember it?” he kissed him under his jawline, “It’s been a while, so maybe it doesn’t.” he added wistfully.
He replied in a whisper, “It does.” He combed his own fingers in the silky strands of bicolored hair that cascaded through them like water, “I do. I remember how well you opened me up for you. One finger at a time. How hard you fucked me.”
Todoroki shivered, eyes falling closed, nails digging into Bakugo’s sensitive skin.
“In fact,” he whispered next to his ear, “I remember it every night before I sleep.”
The vampire moaned his name and hugged him even tighter.
His cock filled up hilariously fast at hearing his own name said so reverently. “When I miss you, Todoroki, I feel so empty,” Bakugo would feel empty in more ways than one, but he wasn’t willing to say that any time soon. He licked the shell of his ear before moving away to look him in the eye. He loved what he saw, the vampire’s eyes were dilated with want, his cheeks flushed, lips parted. Huskily, he asked, “Do you want to know what I do when I think about you?” he swayed his hips and pressed Todorok’s cock against his tented pants, “I use my own fingers to feel full. Because you did shape me to fit your cock.”
Todoroki cursed low and feral and it fueled Bakugo and egged him on.
“Remember how many times you’ve fucked me?” he asked with faux innocence, “I imagine how you’d fuck me in many,” he ground against him and sighed, ”many more ways and positions.” He knew he sounded breathy and hoarse, fuck he was going to make himself cum at this rate. “It drives me crazy, Todoroki, thinking—hahh— about your c—“ he bit Todoroki’s shoulder to stop himself from cumming right there on the spot.
He trembled against him, feeling like his nerves were on fire, every part of him was sensitized. He felt every skin contact between them sharp and vivid like molten ice. Todoroki rocked beneath him, grinding back, one hand slid under his pants and grabbed his ass and kneaded.
“Fuck me.” he broke.
Todoroki tilted Bakugo’s face towards his and stared at him hungrily. “Again.” His finger dipped between his asscheeks, barely grazing over his opening.
Bakugo shuddered. With no hesitation, he begged, “Fuck me, fuck me,” he chanted, “Please, Shouto, want you inside me.”
He was pulled down into a deep, devouring kiss that turned his brain into cotton like mush, “On my bed. Get naked and wait for me.”
It was that voice that left no room for discussion that got him scrambling to his feet and almost run up the stairs.
He did not hear footsteps following him. Regardless, he did as he was told, he took off his clothes in record time and sat on the bed. He stared down at his erection and contemplated giving himself a few strokes but quickly discarded the idea when his ear picked up the sounds of footsteps, instead, he positioned himself on all fours, ass facing the door but let his tail cover him. Not as an act of modesty, of course, but to tease the vampire if only for a little bit.
The vampire was terrifyingly light on his feet, so normal people would never pick up any sound, but luckily, Bakugo wasn’t human, He looked back to see Todoroki leaning against the doorframe.
He was smiling.
The werewolf blushed, feeling awkward at being on display like that. Why was he just standing there? Wouldn’t he normally be on him by now? Maybe his plan wasn’t effective after all. Hot shame spread through his body. He sat back on his legs, his tail wrapping around his waist defensively to give himself some semblance of decency.
The other occupant of the room clicked his tongue in disapproval and walked towards him, “And you were doing so good too.” he tugged off his cloak and threw it haphazardly on the floor. He stood in front of him and pulled him forward using his red collar to place a chaste kiss on his lips. Sweet and reassuring. Then another one on the crown of his head.
For some reason, Bakugo’s blush only deepened— for a different reason this time, his tail was flapping in his lap and he placed an annoyed hand atop it to still its too honest reaction. But of course the vampire had already noticed. He kissed his forehead and over his eyebrow and high on his cheekbone, unbearably soft. Shouto’s name spilled from his mouth again, husky with want.
“How about you do what you were doing when I walked in again?” he suggested, “I almost devoured you on sight.”
Bakugo licked his lips and slowly moved back on his hands and knees and peered back at him.
He chuckled, “Your tail is back too?”
“It does that.” Bakugo did not pout. He reluctantly moved his tail. The blood in his system had trouble deciding on where to travel, his face or dick.
“Fuck, Katsuki.”
Bakugo closed his eyes. Savoring the rough voice, the cursing. All the things he was not used to hearing from the usually stoic vampire. It excited him to know that he got exposed to a side of the vampire that nobody else from the people they both knew had witnessed. He was the only one who could make him lose his composure like this. It’s his own private privilege.
His selfish thoughts were cut off when the vampire’s large hands fitted around his waist then slid back to his buttocks and down his thighs. Nails scratched at his skin, light enough to raise goosebumps on his skin then harsh enough to leave welts in their wake. Bakugo breath hitched, “Hurry it up already!”
Todoroki placed a kiss between his shoulder blades before retreating to the rosewood nightstand. He coated his fingers with the oil he kept there solely for Bakugo’s recurring visits then came back behind him. He held the tail in one hand while his other ran warm fingers against his crack and hole. One finger slid easily inside, massaging the way. Soon another followed. Bakugo was panting. Not nearly enough.
“I thought you were saying those things earlier just to entice me,” the vampire said with bemusement, his fingers relentlessly pumping inside and out, “but you really are loose.” A third finger joined the others and Bakugo’s thighs trembled. He moaned low and tried to push back. “Stay still, sweetheart.” The fingers inside him felt so good, gliding so easily against his walls but they weren’t touching his prostate. In fact, the vampire seemed to purposely avoid it. But the stretch was heavenly in itself that he couldn’t complain. Not yet at least.
The bed dipped where Todoroki placed his knee. His free hand trailed over Bakugo’s abdomen and mapped his muscle. He reached further up to cup his pectoral muscles and massaged them until they gave under him, molded into his palm, warm and pliant. Bakugo whimpered. He hated how Todoroki always focused on his chest, how he’d never relented until Bakugo got addicted it to. He had acquired sensitivity in places where there shouldn’t be any. He bit his lower lip to stop himself from moaning because more than anything, he hated that he never really hated it at all.
“Wonder how many times I can make you cum tonight, Bakugo.” he mused, “Or maybe I can drag it on.” He unceremoniously pinched a nipple. The werewolf’s arms buckled and he fell to his elbows, breathing heavily. “Say Bakugo, which would you prefer? I told you you’re in for a long night.”
Bakugo trembled like a leaf. He knew what the vampire had meant when he said he hadn’t fed. Todoroki fed only when absolutely necessary, and only from animals. But when he doesn’t feed for a long time, his system gets sluggish and fucked up. It was like a severe case of anemia. His body gets into some sort of energy saving mode. No room for hunting, or fucking for that matter. Yet the idiot somehow still gets himself in such a state willingly in a determined suicidal cycle.
The fingers inside him stilled, “Head up, sweetheart. Let me see you.”
Bakugo turned his head reluctantly and peered at him sideways.
“We can stop too, you know.” he was perfectly steady and still, voice infinitely gentle.
He stared at him. Something warm was fluttering in his stomach. The idiot had misinterpreted his silence as disapproval. He slowly moved his hand to cover the one on his chest and pressed meaningfully, “You don’t get to stop now.”
Something let up on the vampire’s face, tension that was barely visible is gone, his eyes shined with a whirlpool of emotions.
Bakugo swallowed hard, unused to being on the receiving end of something.. so tender. He swayed his hips to distract both of them and to silently encourage the fingers inside him to move.
More feather like kisses peppered the expanse of his back as the vampire went to work him again. He moaned appreciatively when his nipple was teased and rubbed. It seemed like a live wire connected his hardened nipple to his dick as it oozed precum steadily, dirtying the sheets under him.
Todoroki was meticulous. He pumped and scissored and massaged. The tips of his fingers pressed against the bundle of nerves and Bakugo keened, tremors ran through him. Sensitive and so very ready to take his cock. “I’m ready, hey, enough with that.” The vampire paid him no heed.
“But you’re taking my fingers so well, see.” to make his point, he tried to pull his fingers out and the ring of muscles tightened around them, unprepared to let them go just yet. “Such an insatiable thing.”
Bakugo’s eyes watered, equal amounts shame and need warring inside him. A few more pumps and he was almost ready to cum, so he hurriedly added, “Want to cum on your cock, Shouto. Come on.”
The fingers were gently removed. He selfishly tried to follow, not liking how completely empty it felt without them. Todoroki coaxed him to get to the center of the bed so he could join him there. He crawled over and positioned himself and waited, face down and ass up. His tail had twirled up, exposing his fluttering hole, ready for the taking. He needed it so bad it was suffocating, “Shouto, please, need you.” he whispered, eyes wet.
Todoroki pressed against him, his cock heavy and big against the rim, stretching just barely and stopping. He whined wantonly, wanting that show of power to end, he wanted to be fucked already. As if reading his thoughts, Todoroki slid in slow and sensual, stretching his hole impossibly wide to accommodate his girth. Bakugo couldn’t breathe for long seconds until he bottomed out completely. It had been so long since he’d had him inside and he sobbed with gratitude, “Yee—es, yes, fuck yes!”
The vampire took almost a full minute just gyrating his hips gently, without thrusting, allowing the werewolf to relax around him. Then pulled out almost all the way until only the tip was in and shoved back in with full force.
Bakugo howled, seeing stars for a second.
The vampire alternated between shallow and hard thrusts, rhythmic and slow, enjoying the way the werewolf whines and yelps. But his movement quickly escalated to something more brutal and fast. Bakugo’s toes curled in pleasure, his voice had gone hoarse. The old bed creaked under them in time with each thrust. His cock dripped steadily on the bed.
“Bakugo, tell me,” The vampire’s voice was a few octaves lower and darker, almost unrecognizable. “who’s fucking you right now?”
Tears fell heavily from his eyes after a particularly pointed thrust against his prostate. “Yo— Sh-Shouto! You’re f—uhh-fucking me! So good!”
“And what’s fucking you?”
He keened and panted, too dazed to answer quickly.
“Tell me Bakugo, what’s making you feel good?”
“Cock!” he gasped. That was easy enough to answer because that’s all what’s on his mind at that moment, “fuck, your cock, Shou—nghh!”
“You love being fucked, don’t you?” he didn’t even sound out of breath. Bakugo’s insides were convulsing around him. He was getting pounded into the mattress, and yet, the vampire expected him to answer him coherently.
His long nails ripped through the sheets when Todoroki placed a hand between his shoulder blades and pushed his chest further down until it touched the mattress, his other hand pulled at one of his ass cheeks and he sank impossibly deeper. Too much! Too full! Too good!
“Come on, pup. Tell me.” he teased gently, slowing his thrusts to a sensual glide.
He had no idea what Todoroki had even asked. He blinked away the tears, shoulders trembling, “I’m— I’m gonna,” he tried to warn.
“Then cum,” He bottomed out and swayed his hips, grinding his dick against his prostate. “You know I won’t stop even if you did.”
Bakugo’s cock gave a telling jerk, heavy and ready to burst. He tried to stall it, he really did.
“I’ll fuck you over and over until you can’t think about anything but my cock inside you.” he whispered conspiratorially, “And if you pass out Bakugo, I’ll still use your ass for my pleasure.”
Bakugo’s scream was muffled by the ruined sheets, his body seized, his back arched as spurts of cum flew from his cock. His orgasm lasting a few long seconds. He tried to blink away the white spots from his vision as he faintly heard the other coo at him.
True to his words, Todoroki didn’t pull out, to Bakugo’s oversensitized discomfort, but at least, he was motionless. He took some ragged breaths to calm his heart that seemed to be ringing so loudly in his ear.
Slowly, Todoroki pulled out and flipped Bakugo on his back. Feeling satiated and boneless, he was content to lie spread-eagled on the bed. The vampire leaned over, and lightly trailed his finger underneath the collar, “Can I take it off?”
Wordlessly, he nodded. It wasn’t like there was some deep symbolism behind it, he just liked having it snug around his neck.
Carefully, it was unfastened and placed on the nightstand. Todoroki gently held his jaw and moved it from side to side, inspecting his neck with deep concentration and reverence. Mismatched eyes looked at him with fondness, “You have a mole.” he looked again at his neck and placed the pad of his forefinger on a spot near his jugular, “Here. Did you know?”
“‘Course I know.” he grumbled back, albeit softly. It dawned on him that it was the first time the vampire had seen him truly fully naked. The collar— at the very least— was constantly present in every other encounter. Bakugo didn’t know why that was. He didn’t think much of it.
Its absence however had made a momentous difference on Todoroki’s demeanor.
“It’s beautiful.”
His eyes widened, “What?”
“It’s beautiful.” he repeated as he leaned down to place a kiss where his finger was, “You’re beautiful,” he kissed his chin next, “every part of you, Katsuki.”
This the worst! His heart was going to burst inside his chest. He felt lightheaded. It wasn’t an exaggeration if he said it felt like his face was set on flames. Feeling unbearably exposed Bakugo quickly crossed his arms over his face, effectively covering it, “Stop saying cheesy shit, half’n half!”
“I’m not.” And from his voice, Bakugo knew he was trying to peer at him from under his arms. Idiot. His heart raced against his ribcage.
There was a sigh then his nipple was unceremoniously sucked on, warm tongue lapping around it and flicking it. His body quivered. His cock jerked pathetically, clearly wanting a reprieve but filing with blood nonetheless. The vampire took his time, cupping his soft muscle and staring at his hardened, pink nipple, before diving back in and sucking relentlessly. His soft hair brushed against the sensitive skin, fueling the sensation. Bakugo belatedly noticed that he had arched his back to meet the sinful lips. He would’ve blushed if he didn’t look like a full red moon already.
With one last flick of his tongue, Todoroki straightened, “Can you look at me at least?” When Bakugo petulantly didn’t, he added, “No more ‘cheesy shit’, I promise.”
Reluctantly, his arms fell next to him on the bed. Todoroki smiled, small and enamored. Great. He doesn’t even have to speak for Bakugo’s brain to turn into a fluff of clouds. He scowled as an answer.
A deep kiss wiped it off and he was left gasping. Todoroki spoke his next words like a secret, so close to Bakugo’s face was he that the werewolf could just lean in an inch and their lips would connect again, “Now pet,” Bakugo’s eyes narrowed at the recurring term, his hole clenched around nothing, “I need you to hold your legs open for me. Can you do that?”
While his brain was ineffectively trying to sift through his alarmed thoughts, his body was scurrying to comply. Fuck his libido! With his hands under his knees, he pulled his legs apart, fully displayed. He smirked and tried for nonchalance, “Like what you see, bloodsucker?”
The latter had moved to sit on his legs, head tilted to one side, considering. It unnerved Bakugo whose hands began to tremble lightly, more so from being so exposed than being tired. Mismatched eyes travelled from his flushed face and abused nipples down to his gaping hole. He was no longer smiling. He took his cock in hand and started stroking himself languidly.
Crimson eyes followed the motion of his hand, those beautiful fingers loosely pumping his thick cock, how it glistened. His eyes snapped to the vampire’s face when he heard a whine, only to realize it came from him. He licked his lips and swallowed thickly. Fuck, fuck! He wanted more. He wanted to feel it inside him again.
Bakugo was half hard when Todoroki licked two fingers and shoved them inside his hole. Loose and useless. They only amplified the feeling of emptiness. He was panting and trying to push back nonetheless. Eyes never leaving the vampire’s cock, pleading for more, even if his neck cramped from maintaining this angle, it didn’t matter. He was spellbound.
Todoroki edged his cock closer, teasing the tip inside just a bit then pulled out, eyes transfixed on how his hole tried to suck him in instantly. “God, pet, you have such a greedy little fuckhole.” He murmured fervently, “Can’t seem to get enough.” He pushed all the way in then pulled out again.
Bakugo outright sobbed.
“There, there, pup.” He pushed inside again, “I’ll give you your favorite cock, don’t cry.”
The blond had intended to reply, but a directed thrust to his prostate made him jolt, all thoughts evaporating like steam from a boiling pot. Todoroki started fucking him in earnest, hard and fast.
Bakugo moaned and mewled, his inner walls squeezed desperately around the brutal assault.
Todoroki placed his hands under Bakugo’s own and pushed his legs further down, almost doubling him in half. Bakugo ended up with his knees bracketing his face. The next thrust pushed all air from his lungs, perfectly targeting the oversensitive prostate. Tears sprung to his eyes again. Hot, everything was too hot. He felt delirious and hazy with lust.
“Katsuki,” his voice had gone hoarse and deep, dripping with animalistic need, “this hole,” he rammed his cock roughly one time, making Bakugo wail, “who does it belong to?”
He cried, tried to shy away from the pleasure, but the hands holding him were too strong, pinning him in place. Too much.
“Answer me.” there were unmistakable tendrils of anger.
He blinked his eyes open to meet eyes that went almost black, for once matching in their darkness, “Y-yours.” he answered timidly.
Another hard thrust, “Louder.”
“Yours!” he choked out, feeling his heart in his throat.
“And whose pet are you?” the anger was still subdued, but very much there.
“‘m not a fuckin’ pet!” he protested weakly.
“But you are, Katsuki, you are.” he bent over Bakugo to lick the delicate skin under his ear. “Come on, pup. Humor me.” his teeth trailed over the skin lightly, “Please.”
Apparently, Bakugo took too long to answer because the vampire made a sound like a wounded animal and started to move away. The werewolf fisted his fingers in deep red hair and pulled him back to his neck. He tilted his head back, exposing his throat and with no small amount of authority he said, “Bite me.”
Unsurprisingly, the vampire’s movement ceased altogether. His eyes shined like gemstones, shocked and hopeful.
The pause in action gave Bakugo a reprieve. He swallowed, reaching his hand to cup the vampire’s cheek then said hoarsely, “If you want to make me yours then do it.”
“You know I don’t drink from humans, Katsuki.” he contended.
“In case the tail and the ears weren’t an immediate giveaway, let me break it to you; I’m not a human.” He sarcastically added when the vampire rolled his eyes, amused, “Shocker, I know.”
“You know what I mean, Katsuki.” he said as he gently lowered Bakugo’s cramping legs, the latter immediately hooked them behind the vampire’s back to pull him closer. “A bite would create a bond..” he trailed off meaningfully.
“Hey newsflash asshole, I wasn’t born yesterday.” he glared now, annoyed, “Do you want me to write it for you in hieroglyphics?”
“You,” Bakugo could swear he can see a shining aura around the vampire. He was so hopeful and excited, yet tentative. “You want to be my..”
“Mate, yes,” he added quickly, flushing. God, why is saying it out loud so fucking embarrassing? Why wasn’t he embarrassed too ?! “And for your information, you’ll be mine too. And mine alone.”
Honestly, happiness looked good on Shouto. His eyes held an unbelievable amount of adoration and quiet joy, “I’ve been yours for a long time now, Katsuki.”
Bakugo pulled him down into a kiss that felt just as amazing as before, yet still somehow vastly different. Warmth spread through his whole body like wildfire. He felt the tips of his fingers and toes tingling as he savored his now lover’s mouth. It was so very easy to lose himself in kissing him, but he was so full and so hard, it’s a hair’s breadth away from painful. “In case you forgot,” he squeezed down on him meaningfully, “Unless you plan on fucking from dusk till dawn—no matter how much I’d like that, you need to drink from me.”
The vampire hugged him tightly, burying his face in the crook of Bakugo’s neck. It was so unexpected, he didn’t know what to do with his arms for a second. When he heard Shouto swallow, his hands came down automatically to hold him tightly. “Nervous.” he confessed.
He contemplated it for a second. The vampire really never deviated in his determination to never touch humans and supernatural beings or drink from them. He drew a clear line there even when his peers did much worse things. He kept to eating prey animals and calling it quits. But this, this was different. This is a bond. It’s a creation of their own. A thread that binds them together. He won’t need anything else but him. And Bakugo was selfish enough to want him to only need him. If anyone can be the sole focus of the vampire, then he sure as fuck wanted to claim that spot before some extra could make themselves comfortable. But in the end, it’s a decision that takes two. “Hey, you don’t have to, not unless you want to.”
“Oh, but I do want to,” he whispered, “Been all I could think of.” Bakugo shivered when he licked underneath his mole, using it as a X mark. “You have no idea how good you smell, Katsuki. You mistook my intention. The novelty is what’s making me nervous. I want it to feel good. For you.” he licked one more time before his elongated teeth grazed his skin, “Ready?”
Bakugo kissed his temple as an answer. Honestly, his heart pounded like a drum in his chest, equal amounts excitement and nervousness. It was scary but he still wanted to be Shouto’s first in everything. It was his throne. This boy belonged to him.
Teeth sank into his skin slowly. And he’d be lying if he said it didn’t hurt. His eyes squeezed shut as he felt warm blood oozing from the freshly opened wound. Shouto lapped at it and started sucking, moaning almost immediately. The sound of it reminded Bakugo of his hard on.
It only took a few seconds for him to feel intense arousal coursing through his veins, molten and delicious. Goosebumps sprang all over his body. He stared without seeing at the ceiling. He gasped when he felt the vampire’s cock thicken inside him. Like he had any right to get bigger. It pulsed inside him, hot and wet. Shouto fucked inside him with no rhythm, needy and fast. The werewolf moaned and clung to his lover as he felt precum dripping on his stomach. It won’t take long, not like this, not when Shouto was moaning so beautifully in his ear. He called his name over and over like a chant. It all felt euphoric. Unreal.
He was grabbing and pulling at Shouto’s shirt like its his last lifeline. He knew his moans were so loud, he was almost screaming.
He finally felt it.
Shouto was cumming inside him, thick and hot. And like a trigger, he came with him, clamping down on him and milking him to the last drop. He sobbed when Shouto did not stop, but continued to fuck him through their orgasms, making his own cum froth and drip out of Bakugo’s ass messily.
He finally slowed down, letting Bakugo’s legs slide to the bed, sluggish and bone tired. Todoroki pulled his teeth out carefully and licked the wound. Bakugo knew that vampire saliva has a healing power but he never knew how fucking convenient it was until now. One second he was wincing from the pain and the second he was sighing contentedly as his lover kissed unblemished skin.
Shame. He would’ve loved to be marked.
Shouto tried to move but paused, “Katsuki, sweetheart,” he started, bemused, “mind letting me go?”
The blond blinked sleepily. The fuck did he even mean? And he was the one on top of him anyw—
Horrified, he tried to pull away his arms and he was stuck.
More like, his nails were stuck in skin. Hurriedly but gently he extracted his long fingernails from Shouto’s shoulders and his shredded shirt. “Oh, fuck, you okay?” he made to straighten and examine what he’d done.
A chuckle and a hand on his chest stopped him in his tracks. “It doesn’t hurt at all, don’t worry. And don’t move.” he carefully pulled out of him and placed a long chaste kiss on Bakugo’s lips before jumping off the bed, light and almost childlike. The werewolf noticed the blood on the back of his shirt and felt heat rise to his face. A small part of him still preened at the idea of marking his lover. A bigger part just felt downright guilty. Shouto looked back at Bakugo, eyes twinkling with happiness, “I’ll be back. Wait for me?”
He nodded. As if he had the power to move in the first place.
Shouto grinned, wide and toothy—Bakugo didn’t blink, wanting to commit that picture to his memory— and then walked out of the door.
He furrowed himself under the sheets and sighed. Guess Bakugo would be staying the night this time.
|
Pulling into the small airstrip outside of the city to see their jet still exactly where they left it was an immense comfort to Bucky as he let out a heavy sigh. Zemo and the rest pulled in behind them too and no one was following them as far as he could tell.
What wasn’t a massive comfort was the man that sold them the cars coming out of his building with a gun in hand as they got out.
Zemo put his hands in the air casually and called, “Какие-то проблемы?”
“Вы во всех новостях. Требуется больше денег, барон, для сокрытия моего участия,” the man yelled back while keeping his gun trained on Zemo.
Inside, Bucky felt his other half start to surge forward with a pissed-off growl, but Zemo stepped up beside them and soothed, “I’ll pay it. It’s a fair request.”
“Как пожелаете. Позвольте мне компенсировать неприятности,” his lover offered to the man without hesitation. He was beckoned forward and the gun stayed pointed at him while they finished the negotiations quietly.
After a moment, Zemo returned and, under his breath, said, “Check the jet well for any tampering. He doesn’t strike me as a liar or con-man, but I won’t be taken by surprise by an explosive once we’re off the ground.”
Bucky nodded once and set off to do just that as the man finally lowered his gun and retreated back to his building. He stopped just outside it and continued to watch them from afar though; just in case.
After three inspections, he couldn’t find anything and neither could his other half, so he opened the quinjet up and Ava and Kate helped Yelena get on while John carried the little Widow, his duffel bag, and the gun. He and Zemo boarded last and he set out on getting them through pre-flight checks as fast as possible. Being on the ground felt distinctly unsafe.
Within ten minutes, they were in the air and Bucky finally felt the pressure coming off as they started to leave the Moscow airspace in stealth.
Beside him, Zemo hummed suddenly. “We are on the news. Unfortunate.”
“Oh, great, more headlines,” John joked as he craned his head to try to see Zemo’s phone. “Welcome to the club. What do they say about me now?”
“Do you really want to know?” Zemo asked with enough of a frown in his voice that it made John stop to contemplate. “It’s not a glowing review of our assistance.”
Yelena shifted in her seat and hissed in pain before muttering, “Ignore them. They will report whatever Левиафан wants them to report. It’s not worth your attention.”
“Yeah, what she said,” Kate agreed immediately with her usual upbeat demeanor. “They’re just going to be spitting venom, John. We know the real deal. They’ll thank us eventually. Or they won’t and we’ll just have to live with knowing we did the right thing.”
John wasn’t dissuaded enough though as he waved a hand and said, “Just tell me for fuck’s sake. I’m not going to be stewing over here the whole flight. Can’t be worse than what’s already been said.”
“They are calling for an American response to the ‘renegade Captain America’. I suspect we’ll receive a call from Mr. Ross about this,” Zemo mused as he read off the headline. “My own headlines are not much friendlier, nor are the ones for James. They don’t seem to know what to make of the rest of you.”
“Lucky me,” Ava quipped and unbuckled from her seat now that they were at cruising altitude to move over to wrap her arms around John. “Yelena said it best, John. Ignore them. Their opinions don’t matter.”
Bucky threw them into autopilot so his squirming other half could get out of their seat and make his way over to Yelena to check her wounds. Beside her, the other young Widow was buckled into the seat, still sedated.
“Are you okay, Лена?” he asked softly as he crouched next to her and eyed the bandages around her stomach. “I’m worried for you.”
“I’ll be fine, Зима,” she promised with a smirk. “This isn’t anything. I’ve taken much worse wounds than this before. Though, it’s not pleasant.”
His handler approached and slid a medical kit out from under the seats with a wave at the little паучок. “Set her down so I can dress her wounds, дорогой.”
He nodded and unbuckled her to get her laying down for treatment. They had to roll up her shirt a little to see the extent of her torso wounds but nothing looked potentially fatal. She would likely have cracked ribs and there were some deep abrasions, but no lacerations.
His handler cleaned and bandaged the abrasions on her torso and arms. She had a broken ankle too that they had to splint and her thigh had a deep wound from removing the tracker.
When they were done, they moved her back into her seat and buckled her back in while tying up her hands again. He made sure to rub her wrists first to restore circulation before doing so as he felt guilty for needing to keep her restrained.
“Your turn, дорогой,” his handler purred sweetly after she was back in place. “Let me see, please.”
He shuffled closer and sat still as his handler brushed his fingers along the cut that had been above his mask. It was deep but already healing as it was cleaned and closed with a bandage. His handler leaned in and kissed it lightly causing the little Hawkeye to giggle.
He blushed and pulled back a bit in response to duck his head away.
Bucky sighed and said, “Dammit John, see what you did? He’s freaked out now. Маленький it’s fine. There was nothing wrong with what Zemo just did and I told you it wasn’t worth changing for anyway.”
“Could I get an explanation?” Zemo asked with a little hurt in his voice at his lover pulling away. “Why avoid my kisses, маленький? What did John do?”
The blush on his cheeks deepened as he explained, “He just explained why everyone laughs when we’re s-sexual with one another, sir. It embarrasses James.”
The little Hawkeye gasped and quickly said, “No, no! Don’t change how you act! I won’t laugh again. I’m sorry. It was just cute is all.”
His handler looked upset and he felt a punch of guilt at the sight so he shuffled closer again and murmured, “Sorry, sir. I love you. Please don’t be upset. I just don’t want to embarrass James.”
“Маленький, I’d rather be embarrassed than either: you change your behavior, or Zemo changes his. I love Zemo despite being kind of handsy in front of people sometimes. I don’t get upset with him for my feeling embarrassed, do I? I like your more open and innocent way of going about things,” Bucky soothed as he stroked their cheek.
His lover frowned deeper and pulled him into a petulant kiss. When they parted, he said lowly, “I don’t relish embarrassing James, маленький, but I also want to display love and affection for my lovers. Unless James asks me to stop, then I do not intend to stop on that account. I would encourage you to think similarly.”
He bit his lip and nodded though he was still wary. He kissed his handler again to apologize properly and then pressed his face into his neck to be even more affectionate. He earned a pleased rumble and a hand threading into his hair as a reward and he melted into it.
It would be too hard to stay away from his handler anyway, he thought.
“Legs now, дорогой,” his handler commanded and he shifted to allow access to his legs. His handler surveyed the wounds and smirked. “If the ladies could close their eyes, I will need to clean these wounds and the pants will need to come off.”
The little Hawkeye put a hand over her eyes obediently and Лена closed her eyes too. Ava didn’t but she had seen them enough that he supposed that maybe it didn’t embarrass James. She was focused on the wounds on his legs anyway.
He pulled down the fatigues and his handler set to cleaning the cuts Леонид left on his legs.
“All and all you managed to escape pretty intact,” John pointed out with a grin. “He can’t be that good if he couldn’t even land a few more shots.”
He tilted his head and thought about his answer for a moment before responding, “Леонид is very strong and very skilled, but we are better. Still, he’s a threat. He fights far more desperately than we do because he has less to lose. He also hates me, so he has much to prove.”
“We need to take him out,” Ava murmured as she continued to look at his wounds. “If we don’t end him soon, he’ll keep pushing harder and harder to destroy you.”
Bucky leaned back on their hands and stared off into space. “We need to take out the heads of the organization. This is too big and they’ve grown too much for us to go in guns blazing. If we don’t start identifying who needs the bullets, we’ll be putting the whole operation at risk.”
Yelena nodded without opening her eyes and agreed, “You’re correct about that, Джеймс. I could have never guessed they were back to such strength. It makes what Наталья and I did feel so irrelevant. I thought killing Дрейков would be it...”
“Maybe Dreykov was never the head,” Bucky suggested as he pondered it. “Or if he was, then maybe he wasn’t anymore by the time you got to him. I was so sure that it was ‘Val’. But Yulov said she grabbed power after Dreykov and Taskmaster had never heard of her. Why did I know about her then?”
“I’d only heard of her after Дрейков,” Yelena confirmed with a frown crossing her face. “You’re sure you thought of her as the leader?”
He nodded absently but she couldn’t see it with her eyes closed so he answered, “Yes. Our memories start filling her in sometime in the early 2000s. Before then it was definitely Dreykov. Something must have changed at some point, but I have no idea what.”
“If she’s operating in America, then perhaps we’re on the wrong shores,” she mused after a long moment. “Should we go there and try to hunt her?”
John replied with a frown of his own, “She’s a slippery bitch. She knew Ava was there when she was invisible. There’s something up with her.”
Kate hummed and asked, “What does she even look like? Will we know if we see her?”
“Well-dressed bitch,” John said with a smirk. “Black hair, purple streak in it.”
Yelena’s eyes snapped open and she looked directly at John in alarm as she demanded, “What was that about the hair? Purple streak?”
The air grew tense as John nodded and confirmed, “Yeah, black hair with a purple streak. Well dressed, high-heeled boots. A little bit of an accent. Wanted to recruit me into something. Gave me a--”
“A black card with nothing on it,” Yelena finished as she went slightly pale and her eyes grew calculating. After a moment, she hissed in fury and spat, “Эта сучка!”
She looked up and explained with a sneer on her face, “I knew her as a woman from S.H.I.E.L.D. known as Agent 14. She came to me just after the Blip and wanted to recruit me to work with S.H.I.E.L.D. like my sister did. She eventually sent me after Clint.”
Kate whistled low and dropped her hand from her eyes to nod her head eagerly. “Uh and you nearly killed his ass. I mean, like damn girl. Clint can hold his own, but you were pissed.”
Bucky blinked and he promptly forgot the fact that he was half-naked, just like Zemo forgot to be tending his wounds. He asked tentatively, “That’s why you’re all together?”
“Yup,” Kate agreed with a contemplative look. “Okay look, it’s a whole thing. Buckle up, okay?"
"So I met Clint in New York and we needed to track down this lady called Madame Masque in L.A. so I made him take me so I could train. She had blackmail on him and we needed to get it. Well, Echo was also after her so we teamed up because Echo is looking for someone important to her. Well, we didn’t find him, but we beat Masque.”
The young girl took a deep breath before launching into more, “So we split up and Clint and I stayed in L.A. to keep working. Then not too long later, Echo came back and told us that she had a lead on her missing person but it led to Leviathan, which she knew she couldn’t take alone. Well, then Clint recognized the name because of Natasha and he got understandably pissed. So we planned to gear up and go because Clint thought it had to just be a fraction of its old strength.”
Another deep breath and more words just kept tumbling out of Kate’s mouth in an excited rush, “Then Yelena attacked Clint out of the blue and nearly killed him. We fought for a while and Clint continued to embarrass himself until Yelena accused him of killing Natasha. Which, obviously, he didn’t do but it still hit him hard. We stopped fighting and he denied it. Then we started using our words rather than our fists.”
She paused to pant for a moment as she held up a finger and said, “Whew. Almost done, I swear.”
Bucky quirked an eyebrow at her and glanced at John who looked honestly impressed. Ava and Yelena both looked deeply amused.
“Okay,” Kate said as she got ready to finish. “So, we talked it over and told Yelena about Leviathan. Echo told her about her intel about the super-soldier serum and we decided to go as a team. She realized we weren’t so bad and that Clint wasn’t a killer. Happily ever after and now we’re here.” She clapped her hands together triumphantly as they all stared at her in stunned silence.
“Questions?” she wondered with a grin and a glance around at all of them.
Beside him, Zemo sighed and put a hand over his face as he muttered mutinously, “Why is this the first we’re hearing of this? ”
|
Morgan considers themself to be a very friendly villain. They obviously rejected the heroic morals that their parents tried to force upon them while growing up, but Morgan still saw the point of some values.
Loyalty and respect were two qualities Morgan cherished to this day, two of the priorities that had driven them to villainy in the first place. The morals of heroes weren’t too terrible, it’s really more the hypocritical policies and restrictive ethical values that isolated Morgan from their family’s work.
All in all, Morgan isn’t one to shy away from interacting with others. Neither, as far as they can tell, is Alex. Except for when romance is mentioned. Any topic, from one night stands with attractive strangers to love lines and serious relationships, would leave Alex blushing and stuttering.
Morgan was certain of three things: One, They were, in general, charming and likable. Two, Alex was shy and awkward in social situations. And three, Morgan had such a better poker face than the S tiered villain. Knowing these three facts, Morgan really didn’t think it would be that big of a deal when Alex invited them as a plus one to one of Rex Roofer’s poker tournaments.
”Please let me just teleport you home,” Alex whisper-screams as Morgan pulls the pair through the door to an unlocked office.
“I am not going to walk away from three billion dollars because an A tier has-been decided he was above having bad luck,” Morgan rolls their eyes as they rush over to a desk, “I mean seriously. Like, I didn’t even cheat this time!”
“What are you doing?” Alex tries to pull Morgan away from the computer but Morgan just starts swatting at them.
”I’m bugging the office so I can hack one of Roofer’s bank accounts and rightfully claim my fortune, duh.”
”This is a terrible idea,” Alex states, but Morgan sees the trace of a fond smile bleed through Alex’s panic. Before they can answer there’s the sound of a door slamming from outside of the office.
”Roofer’s men,” Alex points out.
”Really? I couldn’t tell,” Morgan mutters while taking a flash drive out of their pocket and inserting it into the USB port.
“Morgan what-“
”I have a plan,” Morgan grits through their teeth while they begin downloading some code onto the office computer. Alex was tapping their foot anxiously while watching the screen over Morgan’s shoulder.
“Awesome, what’s the plan?” Alex’s voice was shaking and Morgan couldn’t help but smirk. They wondered how long it’s been since Alex felt the adrenaline of a stealth mission gone wrong.
Morgan glanced at their watch before turning to face Alex with what they considered to be their most charming smile, “We’re gonna get caught.”
Alex glares at their best friend.
”Do you happen to have a backup plan that won’t get you killed by Roofer’s goons?” The incredulous tone Alex took did nothing to mask the anxious concern behind their eyes.
It was almost sweet that they worried. Obviously Morgan wouldn’t stand a chance in a fight, the minions of A Tiered villains tended to be incredibly sadistic. They were confident that no physical conflict would come though. This mission was all stealth and smooth talking, a side of villainy Morgan doubted that the overwhelming powerful S Tier villain beside them had rarely seen.
“We have six minutes and forty-three seconds until that,” Morgan nodded their head towards the computer, “is finished. We can’t leave until that’s finished so we’re gonna stall for time.”
”Actually, we could totally leave right now if-“
”Alex!” Morgan scolded. Alex really wasn’t handling this type of stress very well. It was almost cute to watch the confident demeanor of a cool and collected supervillain crumble.
”Fine! How do we stall them?” Alex asked.
In the back of their mind, Morgan was cringing at their impulses. At the forefront of their mind, however, Morgan knew they didn’t have the time to think through a solid plan.
Impulses it is.
“You are going to kiss me as if I’m burned into your wrist. Do you understand?”
Morgan grabbed Alex’s wrist and squeezed their watch to emphasize their point, pressing into where any love lines would be. Unfortunately, Alex was doing that thing where they stare at Morgan as if they have three heads.
Fuck.
Normal people don’t refer to love lines as burns.
Oops.
Or maybe Alex is frozen because normal people don’t tell their friends to passionately make out with them for a distraction.
Double oops, but it’s too late to take it back now.
Another door being slammed is heard from the hallway. Morgan grabbed Alex by the collar of their shirt and pulled them closer.
“Alex,” they prompted the S tier villain to answer and were met with an almost frantic nod. It’s kinda cute how awkward Alex can get sometimes when they’re not in full control of a situation.
Morgan couldn’t help the small breath of relief they let out as they surged forward to kiss Alex. At least Alex was still rolling with the plan. Not that Morgan had given them much of a choice, but they both knew that Alex had the ability to teleport them out of there at any moment. Besides, there was that one time on a stakeout where they had to use the whole “pda as a distraction” cliche so it’s not like they’ve never kissed for the sake of a job before. At least Morgan had the chance to stop for permission this time.
Morgan clung tighter to Alex’s shirt as they moved their free hand to run through Alex’s hair. The original plan was to ruffle Alex’s hair so they’d appear more disheveled when Roofer’s goons walked through the door. But before Morgan had the chance Alex grabbed tightly to Morgan’s hips and pushed the shorter villain back against the desk.
Morgan can’t help the noise in the back of their throat that rises as they pull at Alex’s hair in an attempt to find their balance. The squeeze made Alex gasp into Morgan’s mouth a bit and wow this was a really good kiss.
Alex’s hands moved to the back of Morgan’s thighs and the D Tier villain tells themself not to feel disappointed that Alex didn’t use that opportunity to grab their ass.
“Fuck,” Morgan panted out softly as Alex lifts Morgan so that they’re sitting on top of the mahogany desk. They step closer, between Morgan’s legs, and pull the other villain back into a heated kiss.
Alex gripped onto the belt loops from the suit Morgan was wearing, a suit they had “rented” a few years ago but never technically returned or paid for. Their hips were pulled forcefully against Alex’s at the edge of the table and Morgan let out a gasp.
Alex ran kisses across Morgan’s jawline as the shorter villain chuckled breathlessly, ”You’re really good at this, you know?”
Morgan knew it was a silly thing to say but in the moment they couldn’t help themself. Alex was kissing them, passionately and enthusiastically. It’s ten times as intense as the stake out and Morgan’s suddenly very aware that their best friend might be a little bit hot and the desperate way they were grabbing at Morgan might be a little bit sexy and holy shit Alex was really good at kissing Morgan as if they were desperately in love with them and nothing could be more perfect.
The moment shattered as the door crashed open and a goon yelled out, “Hey!”
Alex jumps away from Morgan and raises their hands defensively. Morgan shoots Alex an unimpressed look, the same one they used whenever Alex got startled by their toaster. Alex returned the look with a sheepish shrug, gesturing around as if to ask “what now?”
Morgan’s eyes flip down to their watch, just under two minutes left. Definitely a good to have an excuse to be there right about now.
“Heya fellas!” Morgan greets cheerfully, jumping off the desk and spinning around to face the door.
”What are you doing here?” The taller of the henchmen asked.
Morgan took a second to raise their eyebrows. They gestured at themself before gesturing at Alex who was still blushing a few steps away. They repeated the gestures again, stalling a few more seconds before they spoke.
“Seriously?” Was all they asked, partially choking back a laugh.
“How'd you two get in here?” The shorter henchman asked, moving around the room to inspect if anything seemed wrong.
“Oh… You know… The door,” Alex helpfully provided. Their voice was hoarse and they still sounded a bit airy. Morgan decided right then that their earlier assessment was correct: Alex knew nothing about being a smooth talking villain.
“Boss ain’t gonna take kindly to this transgression,” the tall goon begins to walk towards the desk.
“Your boss won’t take kindly to your incompetence, you mean,” Morgan says. Hopefully this can start an argument, they still have about another minute to stall.
“What’d you call me?” The goon goes to run towards Morgan but Alex walks around the desk to stop him from getting any closer.
“Hey dude no hard feelings. I’m sure liar security hacks forget to lock very important office doors all the time,” Morgan teases.
Alex makes a face Morgan likes to call their “Morgan, could you please show maybe an ounce of self preservation” face.
“What? I mean, the door was unlocked already when we got here,” Morgan said to Alex.
“Liar!” the short goon yelled, “I locked it myself before the event!”
”Nah,” Morgan indifferently ran their hand through their hair, “like, I have lock picks on me. I’d own up to it if it were me.”
”Dumbass!” Tall Goon yelled at their partner.
“I’m positive though!” Dumbass responded.
Morgan just snorted.
“Roofer’s been playing dirty all night, plenty of motive for everyone at the event,” Alex’s voice was far more controlled now.
Morgan made a note to slap their friend later. Seriously, the whole point of making out was so the minions didn’t realize there a poker-related motive for them being in the room.
Thankfully Dumbass and Tall Goon didn’t get the chance to respond as Morgan flicked their gaze towards Alex’s watch face
Times up.
“Well, we’ll be out of your hair now! Lemme just straighten out this desk for you,” Morgan quickly snatches their drive from the computer, disguising the movement as organizing the trinkets Alex and then had knocked over.
“Don’t touch anything!” Dumbass takes a step forward but Morgan is already at Alex’s side.
“What do you say we take this to the bedroom, Snakey?”
In an instant the two are teleported back into Morgan’s apartment.
They stare at each other for a moment in the privacy of the apartment. This is the most unkempt Morgan has ever seen their friend. Alex is blushing, their shirt partially untucked, their tie loose, and their hair unruly. As the silence stretches on Morgan feels the prickling bits of anxiety telling them that despite making it out alive Morgan had handled that situation in the absolute worst way possible.
They take a breath to prepare to apologize but then Alex begins to laugh. It’s a soft, simple shake of their shoulders at first. Their smile continues to grow as the light chuckle grows into suppressed giggling.
Morgan locks eyes with Alex from across the room and begins to crack a smile of their own. They join in the laughter, falling into a fit of frantic giggles as Alex’s laugh grows into a sort of hysterical cackling.
They stay like that for a bit, looking at each other and laughing, sporting genuine smiles on their faces.
“You,” Alex began as soon as they caught their breath, “You are the best partner a criminal could hope for.”
Morgan tried to tell themself that the blush that rushed to their cheeks was from their fit of laughter.
They tried to tell themself the way Alex was able to make them blush wasn’t starting to feel an awful lot like burning.
|
Coruscant – Jedi Temple
Anakin waited until he was alone in the medical ward hallway before he gave in to his emotions. He leaned his forehead against the wall and pressed his hands over his face. He held his breath while hot tears burned in his eyes and spilled down his cheeks. The release felt good after all the control and exertion he had mustered. He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed his temples, suddenly overwhelmed by exhaustion. He slid down the wall and sat on the floor, leaning his head back against the cool durasteel panels. Anakin looked at his bloodstained hands and clothes; it was too upsetting; he wrapped his arms tightly around his middle as another wave of emotions threatened to drown him. He closed his eyes and focused on his own breathing as Obi-Wan had trained him, clearing his mind of all questions and fear. Anakin was physically and emotionally drained; after meditating for a few moments he fell asleep, his head hanging forward over his knees as he hugged himself.
He woke when something tapped his boot. Anakin looked up to see Yoda standing over him. The Grand Master, who was usually very composed, looked harrowed. He placed a calming hand on Anakin’s shoulder. “Clean yourself up you must.” Anakin was too tired to speak. He managed a slight nod, but his eyes drooped and he nearly fell back asleep. “Rest you need,” Yoda soothed.
A sudden stab of fear thrust into Anakin’s mind. Obi-Wan was reaching out to him, fumbling with thoughts, desperately trying to feel his Padawan’s comforting presence. It was startling and rather painful. He clutched a shaking hand to his chest while he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to help his master focus; but it was no use. Fear overwhelmed Obi-Wan’s mind and the only cogent thought Anakin understood was his master’s acute desire to be near his Padawan, to be near something familiar.
When Anakin reopened his eyes he realized Master Windu had joined Yoda and was kneeling next to him, both masters watching him warily. “Is it Obi-Wan?” Windu asked.
Anakin nodded, still unable to speak while trying to wrangle his master’s thoughts into a manageable stream.
“Unusually strong your Force bond is,” Yoda said. “Never before have I seen such a connection.”
“This isn’t normal,” Anakin was finally able to say. “It feels like Obi-Wan can’t control his mind; like he can’t contain his emotions.” Skywalker took a deep breath. “He’s afraid.”
Yoda was thoughtful and silent for many minutes before finally saying, “Perhaps it is best that you close off your connection for now.”
Anakin felt his heart drop. “I can’t leave him all alone. Not after what he’s been through.”
“Protect yourself you must. No good to Obi-Wan will you be if your judgment is clouded by his pain.”
Anakin saw the truth in the Grand Master’s words.
“Go and rest, Skywalker.” Windu said, helping Anakin to his feet. “You need sleep. We’ll send for you if anything happens.”
Windu waited until Anakin was out of sight before he spoke next. “It was remarkable what he did for Kenobi. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Changed your opinion of him has it?”
“I see now that I have certainly underestimated his abilities. He mastered an incredible amount of Force in a moment where he could easily have lost control. If Kenobi lives, it will be because of Anakin.”
Yoda made a contemplative grunt.
Obi-Wan was partially conscious; he could feel the medical droids tugging and pulling his flesh, a needle inserted, a laceration cauterized. They had drugged him heavily; he felt no real pain but he was frantically aware of being touched and manhandled. His eyes were too heavy to open, his muscles too weak to move.
His mind kept playing tricks, kept telling him that his wounds were getting wider and deeper, that the droids were taking him apart, dissecting him piece by piece. He reached out for Anakin, hoping to feel an inkling of comfort or reassurance…
The droids suddenly inserted forceps between his ribs. He felt it, the pain barely numbed by the anodyne as they spread open the knife wound in his side. The pressure in his chest changed as blood and air seeped from the puncture. Red, hot pain burned through his lungs, up his neck, into his cheeks until it blistered behind his eyes. He wanted to scream but anesthesia had paralyzed his vocal cords.
A 2-1B medical droid stood near Obi-Wan’s head and placed a bacta-soaked bandage over the right side of the Jedi’s face, soothing the fierce lightsaber gash that stretched from brow to cheek. The droid noticed Kenobi’s left eye, though closed, was tracking erratically; after a moment several tears slipped from the Jedi’s feathery eyelashes and spilled down his temple. The droid processed that tears were not unusual – humans often became emotional when they were anesthetized – but Kenobi’s heart rate was abnormally fast. The 2-1B turned to the medical console and increased the soporific.
Obi-Wan finally drifted into merciful oblivion.
Padmé was startled to hear the front door open. Anakin had not been home for days; he had spent numerous sleepless nights at the temple dealing with an emergency. She had tried gently prying for details but he flat out refused to tell her anything, explaining that it was for her own good. Padmé knew better than to push Anakin when his mind was made up so she had let him go without quarreling.
She hurried toward the hall to meet him as he approached, but as he stepped out of the foyer’s shadows into the living chamber, they both froze, startling each other. The hour was very late and he obviously had not expected her to still be awake. His eyes looked haunted and his jaw suddenly snapped shut when he saw her.
Padmé covered her mouth as she gasped. “Ani, is that your blood?” Her voice was timid and quiet, as though she were afraid to hear his answer.
His wife’s gentleness destroyed his last ounce of strength. He crumpled to the floor sobbing. “No,” he mumbled. “It’s not mine.”
Padmé’s arms were suddenly around him. He buried his face in her neck as his tears pooled against her skin. “It’s Obi-Wan’s.” His voice broke and she held him tighter.
“What do you mean?” Her words quivered with fear. “Is he…hurt?” She knew it was a stupid question considering her husband’s blood-soaked clothes; there was blood smeared from his face to the bottom of his boots. “Is he dead?”
Anakin clutched his arms around her. “Not yet.”
“What happened?” Her voice was becoming more frantic. “Why are you covered in his blood?”
Anakin clenched his teeth together, trying to get his emotions under control. “He was captured by a Sith. He’s been missing for days.” Padmé took his cheeks in her hands and looked into his eyes. She looked angry and heartbroken. His fearless wife was terrified; it made Anakin feel unbalanced. “They tortured him, Padmé. Just for the fun of it.”
They sat in the middle of the room, wrapping warmth and safety around each other as they cried together. Finally, Padmé helped Anakin out of his clothes and sent him to wash up. Eventually he crawled into bed next to her and fell asleep in her arms while she stroked his hair.
There was no notion of time, no measurement of depth or pain as Obi-Wan gradually became lucid. He would slip in and out of consciousness, hearing Anakin’s voice one minute, Satine’s the next; but always in the back of his mind a darkness brewed. Hopelessness would swallow him as the Duchess played across his thoughts, and then crushing despair would devolve into self-hatred, followed by an insatiable desire for revenge. Over and over this caliginosity swelled like a wave until it burst; then he would yield to exhaustion, slipping back into nothingness.
His eyes were closed but he could hear someone or some thing moving around the room. Machines were gently beeping and hissing. There was a loud scraping sound as someone pulled a chair up beside him. He could feel their thoughts reach out to him.
You’re going to be alright, they said.
He was too tired to answer but the kindness warmed his heart.
I’m here now. They placed a hand on his shoulder.
He was able to relax. The presence beside him was soothing. He began to drift back to sleep.
I will make sure you stay awake long enough to feel every single cut. Your death will be beyond excruciating.
Obi-Wan’s eyes flew open, his entire body going rigid with fear as he woke with a start. He expected to see a horned creature with seething red eyes; instead Anakin was hovering over him with a concerned look on his face. Kenobi took several panicked breaths and shifted his gaze around the room looking for Maul.
“Master, it’s alright,” Anakin said, placing a firm hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “You’re safe.”
Kenobi finally recognized his ex Padawan, and, as they locked eyes, the Jedi Master felt a rush of gratitude calm his spirit. He tried to reach his undamaged hand to his friend but he was only strong enough to extend his fingers. Anakin, well attuned to his master after many years, understood immediately and scooped Obi-Wan’s hand into his own, squeezing it tightly.
“I thought for sure I had lost you, Obi-Wan.”
Kenobi could only manage a slight, snarky eyebrow twitch. “Not yet,” he whispered, his voice coarse and brittle. He swallowed thickly before laying back and closing his eyes.
Anakin stood for a long time holding Obi-Wan’s hand, wrapping his master in the Force, sending calming waves around his friend. Kenobi’s face was covered in ghastly purple and green bruises, and, despite bacta treatments, the laceration down the right side of his face was still angry and inflamed, his eye nearly swollen shut. Having watched the medical droids monitor Kenobi all day, Anakin knew Obi-Wan was not yet out of danger. His master had a high fever, his skin felt like fire to the touch; he was nearly delirious with constant pain; his pulse and breathing were highly irregular due to the holes in his chest that would not heal. In fact, at this moment, Anakin watched as Obi-Wan’s breathing grew shallow and labored. Kenobi’s brow pulled together and his body began to tremble and twitch.
“What’s happening?” Skywalker asked as the 2-1B medical droid came over to monitor Obi-Wan’s oxygen levels.
“The patient’s pain suppressors have worn off.” The large silver droid prepared an injection and administered it into Obi-Wan’s IV. Anakin watched his master’s body slowly ease back; all his limbs went slack, his jaw visibly loosened, and his hands fell open. Skywalker hoped Kenobi would finally be able to get some much-needed rest.
|
Being friends with Steve Harrington is not at all like she expected. Actually, she never really expected to be friends with Steve Harrington in the first place, so she never properly thought about what it would be like being friends with him, so she doesn’t really have expectations to be subverted, it’s just that it seems—
Hm.
It might just be that Steve Harrington is different than she expected. Which feels kind of unfair sometimes. All that time she spent watching the guy because of Tammy and now it’s like she was watching an entirely different person. Where did the real Steve Harrington go? Has he been replaced with a pod person or something? Or was the old Steve the pod person?
She knows which way she’d prefer it. New Steve is— Actually, he’s a real sweetheart. Which makes her sound like her gran or something. “That Richie Lewis is a real sweetheart.” “That Zach Everton is a real sweetheart.” “He might not look it, but Chief Hopper is a real sweetheart…”
Steve Harrington is a real sweetheart. Also he’s kind of a food snob, which is more like Old Steve, but still not what she would have expected. She told him her mom was cooking tuna noodle casserole for dinner the other day and he looked at her like her mom was going to serve her boiled rat. Then, the next day, she could swear the tin of homemade cookies and plate of blueberry muffins he gave her were actually meant as some kind of food parcel.
Maybe it’s because he can actually cook. Who knew Steve Harrington could cook? She didn’t know. She thinks maybe no one knew. Other than Tommy H. and Carol—
Ugh. She does not want to think about that. Ew. Imagine— Tommy H.— Ew.
At first she was more— Hm— Less surprised, more absolutely gobsmacked— but now she’s had a few days to think about what he said and they’re jerks. More than jerks— which she already knew, already pretty much said, but the more she thinks about it the worse it gets. Like, it seems like they used him. Sexually. Like, exploited him almost. Weird and gross and—
Jerks.
They do not deserve any of Steve’s amazing cooking ever again— like that first night, after the crepes, when Henderson and Erica showed up to try and convince everyone that Billy Hargrove is a zombie and the argument headed long into the night until they were all hungry again— and sick of Steve being all He’s not a zombie, Henderson with complete conviction, while also not giving any suggestion as to what Hargrove might be if zombie is off the table— guy’s something alright, and that something is something more than just a complete grade A a-hole— and he decided to make them dinner.
Mac and cheese, and they were all pretty pleased about that, all waiting for him to get the box out— but instead what he does is make mac and cheese from scratch. Who does that? Worst still it was the most amazing— Oh my God it was good. Delicious. So delicious— like, restaurant level mac and cheese— which is not a thing that should be possible. Mac and cheese is not supposed to be that good.
It’s like— comfort food, or something, isn’t it? Rich, salty, not exactly good for you—
Being Steve Harrington’s friend is supremely confusing.
He’s supportive, he’s funny, he’s kind, he cooks for you— He’d be the perfect boyfriend if a boyfriend was something she was ever after. But she’s not— and he was so good about that, even before he told her he’s—
Wow. Oh, wow. Steve Harrington is bisexual.
Every now and then she forgets and then remembers and feels like someone is pulling the rug out from under her again.
Steve Harrington likes to kiss boys, even though she doesn’t. Not that he’ll tell her the kind of boys he wants to kiss, oh no. Her new best friend is being really squirrely about that.
Not that she noticed at first— because all of a sudden she had someone she could talk about girls to, and talk about girls they did. It’s so— Is this what it’s like, to be normal? To just be able to say so-and-so is so hot, and that not being weird or creepy or gross or—
So maybe she got a bit carried away. They got carried away. The night after the amazingly interesting trip to the supermarket she’d invited herself back around to the Harrington house— maybe, just a little bit, kind of testing her welcome. Because she really, really, really wants this friendship she’s suddenly found to be real, but part of her thinks the universe is playing some terrible cosmic joke on her. You know, here you go Robin Buckley— enjoy being a lesbian in small-town America and almost finding the best friendship you’ve ever had with the most unexpected person— except we’re going to tear the latter away from you and never give it back. Only, so far, Steve is still her friend.
Steve lets her call him Stevie— which is apparently what Tommy H. and Carol called him when they were alone. Weird. Cool though. Ha ha, she is probably the only person allowed to call Steve Harrington Stevie— unless his parents do. Not that she’d know. They seem to be seriously AWOL— but that’s what everyone always said, wasn’t it? Always a party at Harrington’s house because his parents are always out of town. Poor guy— she’d hate not seeing her parents for even, like, a week.
Anyway, the night after the supermarket trip Steve had cooked her some chicken casserole thing with a French name she really should be able to remember and they’d drunk three bottles of cheap French red wine and laid on the carpet in what is apparently the “den” and ended up kind of, embarrassingly, rating all the girls from Hawkins High—
Not cool, really, she knows. It’s objectification and all— but it was so good being able to talk about it. To giggle about it. To argue about it— because no way is Nancy Wheeler a ten, even if she’s apparently not so much of a priss as she looks. Or Chelsea Cunningham. Chelsea Cunningham is not that hot—
Actually, turns out she was wrong on that one, but still—
Honestly Chelsea Cunningham used to be her friend up to grade five, then, all of a sudden, she was a loser and the girl— previously nice and smart and ambitious enough to talk about working at NASA or something when she grew up— had turned into. Well. That. Stupidly hot, but such a bitch. Ignoring her— and the way she said “Steve” like he’s chopped liver.
Everyone knows they hooked up a few times when they were fifteen, so who is she kidding?
In the end she conceded Nancy Wheeler might be a seven or an eight when he’d had the grace to concede the same about Tammy— who she knows damn well he never hooked up with, because if he had— No girl Steve Harrington has ever even kissed is less than an eight, apparently, no matter personality, looks, personal habits, or tendency to be a complete raging bitch to him recently.
Since Billy Hargrove arrived in town so many previously sensible— if even only a little bit— people have turned into complete morons.
More on that later, though.
The sad thing is that he wasn’t even rating them so highly out of some bullshit, competitive, “Steve Harrington would never lower himself to kiss anyone less than perfect” thing. No. He actually seems to like them all.
Being “really sweet to her cat” is not a good reason to rate Amy Wójcik an eight, Jesus Steve. She’s like a six— Wow, she is turning into a teenage boy. Reducing girls to their physical appearance— except not really. Amy’s cute enough, but that cat is the only thing that girl is ever nice to—
Ok, yeah, she might have had a tiny crush on her in sixth grade, long before Tammy, but—
A lot of the girls she’s ever had crushes on either seem to hate her on sight, hate her on acquaintance, or don’t notice she exists. It’s hard— and getting to complain about it is so freeing, but also easy to get carried away.
In some ways they have surprisingly similar tastes— at least as far as the sixes, sevens and eights go. Smart, cute, sweet— then there’s the girls you’d have to be completely stupid not to realise are stupidly hot— but then you get to the matter of personal taste. Like, she would not rate Belle Rowley— captain of the girls wrestling team— a nine. Belle Rowley who effortlessly knocked out Dan Caulfield when he grabbed her nearly non-existent boobs and made an obnoxious honk honk sound. Belle Rowley is terrifying— that should not be so hot, Steve.
Even when she’d though Belle might be a lesbian— Which, so not. Carol had caught her with Zach Everton under the bleachers and then told everyone and now they’re openly dating— she would have not rated Belle anything higher than a five. Scary does not do it for her.
Oh God, she thinks scary does it for Steve.
Anyway, before she forces herself to think about all of— that, she wants a few more minutes to luxuriate in having a friend like Steve.
Who knew Steve could be a friend like Steve?
He really was kind of an asshole at school— though, she will admit, on pain of over-inflating his ego and after thinking about it a bit, he was never anywhere near as bad as either Tommy H. or Carol. Not nice, or at least not nice all the time— and wow did he never take class seriously, but the crueller pranks and taunts and gossip could always be traced back to those two— particularly if the focus of whatever it was never did anything to anyone.
Though if they had done something— either to him, or (especially) to the other two, then it was more likely to be Steve who instigated— and he rarely balked at joining in, always so happy with Tommy H. and Carol by his side—
Oh. Oh now she feels kinda sad for him.
She does not want to feel sad about anything involving Tommy H. or Carol.
It doesn’t matter, she may be absolutely never going to put her mouth anywhere near his ass but she is going to be the best friend he ever had— because she really does think he’s going to try to do the same for her. So weird. Her life is just so weird.
The way he talked about finding her a girlfriend, his disappointment that he didn’t know of any other girls in town who like girls, the way he was so sure she’s going to be going to college and that when she does she’ll find an awesome girl almost good enough for her, because she is apparently absolutely amazing.
No one other than her parents has ever thought she was amazing before— and she’s not sure her parents will still think she’s amazing if they ever find out.
She’s so scared. She doesn’t want to think about how scared she is, has been for so long, but she is terrified they’ll find out and that when they do she won’t be her dad’s Honey-Pumpkin anymore, her mom’s Little Bird, that they won’t smile when they see her, always ask her about her day, listen to her even if she’s talking bullshit, act like she can do anything she puts her mind to, think she’s good enough to go to school for her music if she wants, or to film school if that’s what she ends up choosing, that the family dinners they both make sure they have time for— even though they’re both so busy— will stop happening, that the college fund they each started separately a couple of months after they met and then combined when they got married will suddenly dry up— and it’s not the thought of the money disappearing that upsets her, just the proof that they knew each knew the other was the one almost at once and that they knew they’d have a kid and they were so sure that kid would be amazing—
Yeah, she is so, so, so scared— and having a friend like Steve isn’t enough to make that fear go away— no matter how amazing he is he could never replace her parents for her, no one could— but the way he responded when he found out has given her the first taste of hope she thinks she’s ever had that things might actually turn out ok.
Eventually.
—
Still, she does not want to think about it too much.
She also doesn’t want to think about the question of what should she do about the Billy Hargrove thing, but she probably should. Not the is Billy Hargrove a zombie question— because, you know, zombie or not the guy is— horrible. He’s just horrible.
Like, the worst.
Like, just as bad as Tommy H.
Maybe worse than Tommy H.
He’s rude and mean and crude and actually, legitimately, scary. Like, there have been times when she’s actually worried he might hurt her. And there’s the way he hurt Steve— everyone heard about that. Admittedly everyone seemed to find it hilariously funny and at the time she, personally, hadn’t cared, but now she does and—
And the way he acts like a complete jackass to pretty much every grown man and most of the boys he meets. Poor Mr Duvall— possibly one of the sweetest men in town, having that puffed up little— and after all that stuff with the old man’s son, Jared— Everyone might have turned up at the funeral after the guy finally wiped himself out speeding out by the quarry, but they were either pretending to mourn or doing it out of respect for his father, not Jared himself. Ass— and then for Mr Duvall to have to deal with someone like Hargrove, someone so like Jared.
She does not like Billy Hargrove. Like, at all.
Not that he likes her either. Oh God does he not like her.
She caught him looking when she was— Wow. Thinking about it, what exactly was she doing? Feeling poor Steve up, in public. She can feel her face heat. At the time she was thinking she was kind of teasing Carol. The way the other girl had been looking at her, looking at Steve— she deserved it, deserved worse than seeing someone actually touch her— whatever Steve was to her— when she’s not allowed to anymore. But then she caught Billy Hargrove looking at her like he wanted to rip her head off.
The way he is with Steve—
She’d been suspicious by the time Steve had dropped her off home that day, but by the end of today, at the pool— The way he’d looked at Steve’s near-naked body— Billy Hargrove has a crush on Steve. If you can call it a crush. Crush seems too innocent for something that guy might feel—
And it would all be fine, it would all be good, she would perfectly enjoy watching him pine sadly from afar— except she thinks it’s reciprocated.
Steve’s so attentive to Hargrove, that’s the thing. So sweet to that absolutely undeserving prick. Nervous, but not so much in a fearful way— And she’s caught him looking—
Hands. Always the hands. Hargrove does anything with his hands anywhere near Steve and Steve’s like a dog watching its owner waving around a piece of steak.
Ugh.
If she’s right she does not blame Steve for avoiding the question of what kind of guys is he into. Who would want to admit to being into that violent psycho? Other than at least half the girls in town—
But they don’t really know him, do they? They’ve never really spent any time trapped in a confined space with the guy at his dickish best— though maybe they at least have the benefit of him not being jealous of them.
She thinks that’s it— maybe not all of it. She’s not vain enough to assume Hargrove would magically like her if she wasn’t allowed to touch Steve whenever she wants to, but she thinks the fact that she can and he can’t probably isn’t helping things.
She’s not going to help him out either. She’s not going to let on to Steve that his Billy thing might not be one-sided— because Hargrove is an absolute prick, an undeserving prick, and she knows if the blond ever gets his hands on Steve then Steve is going to get hurt. Hurt even worse than by Tommy H. and Carol. Hurt maybe not just emotionally— she can see Hargrove freaking out about being into a guy and really, seriously hurting the guy in question. It’s too dangerous. Steve could get killed. It’s not safe—
No way is she doing anything to get her friend hurt like that. No way.
So what should she do? Directly running interference seems kind of not a very friend thing to do, and it also might lead her into direct conflict with Hargrove— which is not something she wants. He is, like, the poster boy for the kind of guy who is not afraid to hit girls— So maybe she should just watch? Be supportive if Steve ever confides in her, but also not encourage him in any way, at all, whatsoever. That seems about right.
Maybe she should try to find him a boyfriend the way he’s determined they can find her a girlfriend. There has to be at least one other gay— or bisexual— guy in town other than Billy Hargrove— Oh God. Billy Hargrove is— at least Stevesexual, if not actually bisexual or gay— That’s even harder to believe than the fact Steve Harrington is bisexual. What kind of world is she living in? Nothing makes sense anymore.
Also, actually, there are real, legitimate, living monsters out there. So maybe surprise gay/bisexual guys shouldn’t be so, hah, surprising.
Why aren’t there more lesbians? This seems deeply unfair.
Oh, hey, when she hangs out at Steve’s they could call it the Hawkins Homosexual(-ish) Hangout at Harrington’s House. Quintuple H for the win.
Though the two of them are hardly a definitive collection of Hawkins less than heterosexual inhabitants. Not that she wants Billy Hargrove hanging out with her and Steve. Ick.
She’s not sure about Will Byers though. Is the kid even gay? Everyone seems to think he is but it’s not like they’ve heard it from the horse’s mouth—
So, for now Quintuple H will just have to remain a very, highly, selective club.
—
She’s kind of being a loser. Well, she is a loser. She was always a loser. Robin Buckley, loser queen of Hawkins—
Even Barb Holland was considered less of a loser than her, and no one really liked Barb— Ok. That might, strictly speaking, not entirely be true. Nancy Wheeler liked Barb. The other prissy, do-gooder kids liked Barb. She just didn’t like Barb that much.
Maybe it was just the— at time intense— sapphic vibes between her and Nancy and the fact that she’d sometimes, maybe, wondered if the two of them actually were a couple— which, ok, yeah, maybe she was a bit jealous— until the whole unexpected Nancy + Steve thing. Anyway.
Also Barb was a bitch to her.
She’d only been trying— oh, so surreptitiously— to see if she’d found a fellow traveller— asking the kind of questions that only a like-minded girl would have understood, or at least she’d thought, but Barb had freaked out and gotten really nasty.
Anyway. Still sad the girl was dead.
Still weird that apparently she’d died in Steve’s pool, or something. That part of the story isn’t clear. What was clear, at least until today, is that Steve has an awesome pool that she could be swimming in without worrying about girls catching her looking. Even if she never looks. She’s so careful not to look—
Ok. Until today, but in her defence being wrapped around Steve, him knowing and supporting, had made her feel weirdly invincible. Like it was ok, as long as it was just them. That she could be honest.
Anyway. Until today it was Steve has an awesome pool that he won’t let anyone use for no good reason. In the last little-over-a-week since Russian codes, Russian bases, monsters, and the birth of a beautiful friendship she has caught him standing over the water and staring into it with a completely out of place and creepy horror on half a dozen separate occasions. Always the same place too.
He’d told her about the Barb thing— which she’d thought was stupid since as far as she could see there was no evidence of there being anything untoward with the pool— Shows what she knows. Jesus, the look on Hargrove’s face—
Anyway. The get Billy Hargrove to come around and convince Steve there’s nothing wrong with his pool plan had actually been Erica’s idea. In part because three out of four members of the Is Billy Hargrove a zombie? club were getting sick of seeing the cool blue water on the recent hot, sticky days and having the fourth member freak out if they even remotely suggested they might just dip a toe in. Just a toe Steve, nothing more.
The excuse had been that Hargrove would have to strip down to his swim trunks in his capacity as lifeguard, so they could see if he was turning blue or purple or green or rotting anywhere.
Steve had not been onboard, but they are all getting used to the idea that if Erica wants something Erica is going to get that something and they all better just accept that and stop fighting.
“She’s going to end up going to Harvard or Yale or Stanford or something and running Wall Street, I just know it,” Steve had muttered to her while they watched Erica climb onto the back of Henderson’s bike to be delivered back home.
“Or becoming President,” she’d added.
He’d just nodded.
Anyway, the pool plan had backfired. Because apparently Steve isn’t being an idiot and there is something wrong with his pool. Something that made Billy Hargrove freak out and made the little— possibly gay— Byers boy get upset and all the other weird kids start fussing over him.
Maybe it’s haunted by Barb’s ghost? Would that be cool or supremely uncool? Hm. The existence of ghosts would be cool— but the existence of ghosts in her friend’s pool would not be. And the existence of Barb’s ghost seems kind of sad. So, in the balance, uncool.
Are they going to have to exorcise Steve’s pool?
Is she going to end up inadvertently joining another club? She’s already a member of the People who know about Hawkins weirdness club, the Is Billy Hargrove a zombie? club, the Quintuple H club, and now the Exorcisers of Steve’s pool club. Wow. She has suddenly developed the weirdest social life.
And why does Billy Hargrove’s angry little sister hate her so much? What has she ever done to the girl? It’s so confusing.
It is one thing, and one thing only, in the guy’s favour that he seems to care so much about the redhead, seems so eager and willing to protect her— though if she had a brother and he started shouting at some gross old man in public who was staring at her ass—
Like, if she thinks about it it’s a cool thing to do, the kind of thing most guys just ignore, but also so unbelievably embarrassing. And the girl was so relaxed about it, like she’s just used to him—
Ugh. Billy Hargrove hurts her head.
Anyway, how is she going to have time to hang out with all these fellow losers and deal with all this eldritch shit if she gets another job? Well, the plan so far is to have her and Steve get a job at the same place— since, so far, it’s unclear if the mall’s being rebuilt and if they’ll still have their old job if it is— so that’s one loser accounted for.
There’s always a couple openings at Family Video, which sounds perfect for her and absolutely terrible for him, so fingers crossed. She doesn’t think she’s ever met someone even remotely her age less interested in movies. Or even TV.
You go “Hey Steve, you want to watch something?” And he goes, “sure,” then has no opinion on what to watch. “I dunno, whatever you/Dustin/Erica/everyone else wants to watch,” is his stock answer whenever she asks him to pick something. “What do you like?” earns her a shrug. “Do you actually like movies and TV at all?” gets something along the line of “I dunno. They’re ok. A bit boring sometimes— better if whoever I’m with is enjoying them.” And to the question of “Oh my God Steve, why are they boring?” another shrug and “the people in them don’t make sense. I can never really tell what they’re feeling about anything.” Which just seems to her to mean he has only ever watched crappy things with crappy writing because everyone he knows has crappy taste.
This she vows to fix, but no joy so far.
—Also, then you ask him what actually happened in the movie and he’s got everything, like, totally wrong. What the hell— She thought maybe the Back to the Future thing was a fluke, but apparently not?—
Parts (mainly Henderson and Erica) of the Is Billy Hargrove a zombie? club have discussed maybe having a zombie movie marathon to make sure they know all the possible signs to watch out for if Billy Hargrove is a zombie— but Steve thinks it’s a bad idea after everything that’s happened recently, and that Erica’s too young, and even if she gets him to come around she’s worried he’ll just wander off and make them all homemade salted caramel popcorn in the middle of it like he did when Henderson decided they were all watching The Neverending Story— Weird kid, he started humming along to the theme song and looking all misty eyed.
The salted caramel popcorn had also been amazingly good.
She still can’t believe Steve Harrington is such a good cook.
She still can’t believe Steve Harrington is rapidly becoming the best friend she’s ever had, ever.
This town really is so weird.
|
Chapter 7 – Hell’s Bell’s
Tony yawned as he pushed his feet into his best Gucci shoes. Gibbs had woken him early, tumbled him through lazy morning satisfying sex, then told him to put his best suite on, so Tony had pulled out all his Zegna.
So showered, dressed like a million dollars he all but skipped down stairs.
“Who was at the door?” He asked as he swaggered up to his Mate.
Jethro grinned at him as he drank his coffee. He was also dressed in his best dark grey suite and looked good enough to eat. “Someone just dropped something off.” He said evasively.
“Oh really?” Tony said pushing himself up against Jethro then kissing him chastely, looking into twinkling blue eyes.
Jethro’s smile turned into a grin. “You want to go get breakfast?” he asked.
“This a date?” Tony grinned back.
Jethro shrugged as he stepped away. “Maybe.”
Tony followed closely at Jethro’s shoulder as he headed for the door.
“So where are we going?” Tony asked as they left the house, “Anywhere interesting?” then he stopped as he looked into the driveway.
There, in the driveway next to the boring blue Sedan sat a red Ferrari f430 Spider.
“We only have it for a few days.” Jethro said with a chuckle as he held the key’s before Tony’s nose.
Tony took them like they were gold. “I can drive?” he asked stupidly as he went closer to the vision of loveliness. The paintwork gleamed in the early morning light.
Slowly he opened the door and got in, it felt like the car was built for him.
“Stop grinning and get in!” he called to Jethro, who rolled his eyes and climbed into the passenger side. “So where are we going?” he asked starting the beauty up, hearing her purr as she growled away. He was a little surprised he hadn’t heard her being brought to the house. But he didn’t care as he backed it onto the road.
“I thought we might go get something to eat… Then we’ll see.” Jethro said as he settled back in his seat.
+ + + + + + +
Tony washed his hands as he looked at himself in the mirror of the washroom and grinned at himself.
They had spent the day driving around after grabbing some bagels and coffee, done a few touristy things, where they hadn’t worked a case. Then eaten at a waterfront restaurant, done a little shopping and Jethro had then insisted on getting some ice cream. Tony had though it was a little odd, but he didn’t mind, he would have some cookie dough and cream waiting for him when he got back to the table.
Jethro had also been very strange, he hadn’t once complained about anything, just took Tony’s hand and kept it on his elbow as they wandered around.
He winked at himself in the mirror as he went back out into the parlour.
Jethro had got their order and was sat sipping his coffee as Tony slid into the booth opposite.
“Any good?” he asked looking down at his own dish of ice cream, his spoon had been used and there was a huge dollop on top of it. He looked over to see Jethro hadn’t even started on his own. “Well I guess you would know…”
Jethro just smiled at him. Tony could see there was something going on behind that smile, but he wasn’t sure what.
“If I didn’t know better… I would say this is a break up date” Tony joked as he picked up his spoon and put it in his mouth. Jethro was being strange and over attentive, nicer than nice, which was nice, but still a little odd.
Jethro just raised one brow as his smile widened.
Tony took the spoon from his mouth then frowned as something hard rested on his tongue. “ugg…” he spat out his mouthful into a napkin then saw something round sitting in the melted mess. A little startled he pulled it out, it was a ring. He quickly cleaned it off then looked up at Jethro in shock.
Jethro leaned forwards, taking Tony’s hand in his own that held the thin plain silver band.
“Will you marry me?” Jethro uttered softly, his blue eyes so intense, it made Tony blush a little.
He felt his heart almost beat out of his chest, not sure if he was scared or thrilled. They hadn’t even talked about this, or even mentioned it in a joke.
In the eyes of the law, they were already a couple as Shifter and Bond Mate. Their bank accounts were already shared. Tony’s name was even on the deeds to the house. Everything Jethro owned was also his now.
Tony decided he just felt confused. He guessed his face must have shown his emotions.
“Take my name?” Jethro said simply with another soft smile, his eyes still burning into Tony’s.
Tony looked back down at the ring.
He knew it was just another eventual step in their relationship; it wasn’t like he would ever divorce Jethro, until death do they part wasn’t an option for him.
So, as his guts tightened. He looked back up at his Mate. “Yes.” He grinned, feeling the air get a little thin as he laughed. “Yes…”
Jethro stood as best he could as he pulled Tony forwards, then he put his other hand behind Tony’s head and kissed him hard.
Tony jumped when he heard a few people clapping. Jethro let him go and he looked up to see the three waitresses and a few customers clapping and grinning at them.
“Congratulations!” one of them said.
“I thought you were going to say no!” the older one laughed.
“Thanks.” Tony grinned at them all, as they started to go about their business.
Then his attention was back on Jethro as his Mate took the ring back, and pushed the silver band onto Tony’s ring finger. Surprisingly it fit perfectly.
“When did you get it?” he couldn’t help but ask, they hadn’t been apart really since he was kidnapped, and that had been months ago.
Jethro shrugged. “Got it last week when we went out for lunch with everyone.”
Tony sighed, he thought Jethro had been gone a little too long to the restroom, but hadn’t thought to question it. “Sneaky.” He grinned.
Jethro shrugged as he played with Tony’s left hand. “Why don’t you eat up, then we can go home?”
Tony let his grin get wide; the prospect of being laid again today was something he could defiantly go for. “Fine.” He said as he started shovelling the ice cream into his mouth. He had to slow down a little, because it really was good.
“Here, on the house.” The older waitress who had congratulated them earlier said as she put a box on the table.
“Thanks Susan.” Jethro said as she smiled and walked away.
Tony looked at the box; she had given them then peeked inside, curiosity getting the better of him. It was packed almost full of doughnuts.
“Save them till we get home.” Jethro warned with a chuckle.
They quickly finished then left with all the staff wishing them well. Tony gave them all his best grin and waved.
He was surprised when Jethro took the keys from him. “My turn.” He said as he got in the drivers side.
Tony pouted, then grinned as he also got in the beautiful car. He moved closer to Jethro as best he could, as they pulled out into traffic.
Tony grinned at his Mate, trying to catch his eye.
“No.” Jethro said as he put his foot down and let the car roar down the road.
Tony pouted. “oww come on!” he whined. “Can I blow you in the driveway then? No one will see.”
Jethro smiled as he gave him a quick glance. “Maybe later.”
Tony couldn’t help but run his hand from Jethro’s knee up the inside of his thigh.
“Tony…” Jethro warned. “Move it any further and I’ll slap it.”
“Really?” Tony said cheekily, but he decided not to press the matter. “Maybe we should try a little Alpha Paly…” Jethro glanced at him again. “Well… I don’t know… We might like it?” He watched as one of Jethro’s eyebrows slowly creped up. “I mean, you know I already love it when you go Alpha on me…” That got him another look as Jethro grinned a little. “Maybe you could order me to be your meek little Shifter, too do everything you wanted without a mutter of protest… and when I’m disobedient, you could spank me for being naughty?” he purred, tightening his hand on Jethro’s thigh.
“You’re being naughty right now.” Jethro growled playfully.
Tony grinned. “Want me to be naughtier?” he asked.
He watched as Jethro swallowed hard. “When we get home…”
Tony settled back in his seat as he kept his hand on Jethro.
He still felt a little stunned, but hell, at some point he would be the fifth Missis Gibbs… He giggled at that thought before Jethro frowned at him.
He suddenly sobered as he thought of Jethro’s first wife. If she hadn’t died, then he would never have met his Mate, he would still be out there, fearing ever moment of everyday that he would be found out and dragged off to a dorm.
All his current happiness depended on the death of a woman and her child that Jethro had loved with all his heart.
He suddenly felt like a usurper.
He was happy from such tragedy and heartache.
The car suddenly lurched to a stop as Jethro pulled up to the curb and turned to him. “What is it?” Jethro asked, his hand taking Tony’s that still rested on his thigh.
Tony didn’t want to say, so he looked away instead.
Jethro’s hands were on him, pulling him close, hugging him tight.
“Whatever it is.” Jethro whispered in his ear. “And I’m sure I know what it is… The past has nothing to do with us now… Okay?”
Tony shrugged a little, feeling Jethro kiss his hair.
“It doesn’t matter how we got here, it’s just that we are together…”
Tony let Jethro move his head so they were looking at each other and crystal blue eyes smiled into his own.
“I love you.” Jethro whispered.
Tony felt his heart pound in his chest as the air got thin again. It was the first time Jethro had ever said those three little words. He knew Jethro loved him and let him know ever day, but to actually say it was another thing all together.
Tony blushed a little as he looked up through his lashes at his Mate. “I love you too.” He grinned a little.
Jethro’s grin widened. “That was kind of a given.”
Tony slapped Jethro’s leg hard. “Don’t spoil the mood!” he grinned.
Jethro just pulled him in for another quick kiss, then turned to pull back into traffic.
+ + + + + + +
It didn’t take them long to get home.
“You sure you don’t want to play?” Tony asked as Jethro pulled the car into the drive. He watched his lover roll his eyes.
“Get out the car.”
“You’re no fun!” Tony said as he opened the door… then he noticed something was wrong, there was something white on the steps that led around the side of the house.
“What’s that?” he asked Jethro as he edged closer.
“Hum.” Jethro said. “Why don’t you follow it?”
Tony bent and saw what looked like a path of white flower petals. He felt Jethro’s hand on his back.
“Come on.” Jethro said, pushing him towards the side of the house.
Tony went, “Should we be walking on this?” he couldn’t avoid stepping on the petals, his training telling him it was wrong.
Jethro pushed him forwards. “Don’t worry about it, just keep going.”
Tony frowned at him but kept walking. He heard something from the back garden and tried to pause, but Jethro’s hand in the small of his back kept him moving.
When he got around the side of the house he jumped as he was greeted by applause.
Looking round he saw Abby, Kate, McGee and Ducky with Jimmy standing beside him. Then there was Jack who stood with the biggest smile on his face, and stood besides him, was a man he had only seen in a few photos, Jethro had told him his name was Mike Franks.
Behind them stood a lot of people from the office, even Morrow was there, stood besides him was Sheppard. Tony noted she was clapping, but she didn’t look amused, he guessed it was because she hadn’t made it onto Jethro’s ex-wife list and now she never would, well, only over his cold dead corpse.
He even saw Fornell and two of his FBI guys standing to the back, he was even more surprised to see Stephanie as she raised her glass to him.
As he looked around a little more, he could see that some of their neighbours and their families had also shown up, he smiled at whoever caught his eye.
The back garden wasn’t that big, so it was slightly crowded.
He gave them all a smile and waved before he couldn’t help but turn his eyes to his Mate who just stood grinning at him. “What’s going on?”
“It would have been really awkward if you had said ‘no’ earlier.” Jethro answered.
“Hu…” he squeaked a little freaked.
“We can postpone if you are after a big white wedding?” Jethro smiled indulgently.
Tony knew he meant it, but as he looked back at the crowd of friends, he shook his head. “But who… how….?” Then he saw Jane White smiling at him as she stood at the far end of the garden where the trees had been hung with white lace and roses. “Ah.”
Abby stepped forward and pulled Tony away, “Come on then, let’s get this started!”
He saw McGee press play on Abby’s old boom box and the wedding march started. He turned to see Jethro walking towards Jane White with Mike franks at his side. They were talking about something, but Tony couldn’t hear them, then Jack was in front of him. “Come on son.” He said smiling up at him. “We tried to get your Dad back here in time, but he couldn’t make it, so we are recording it for him.”
Tony blinked as he looked over at McGee who was already recording him.
“He said I should walk you down the aisle. If you don’t mind?” Jack asked.
Tony was feeling a little overwhelmed but he nodded as Jack took his hand and looped it through his arm, patting Tony’s hand on his elbow.
Then Abby was bouncing about in front of him. “I’m gonna be your maid of honour!” she grinned, then she turned to Jethro, who gave her the thumbs up. Abby turned back and began to fiddle with his collar, smoothing it down, then running a hand over his hair. “Ok, you look gorgeous!” she grinned as she skipped away and down the improvised aisle.
As Jack moved him into place, the guests were also moving into place along either side of the aisle and sitting on folding chairs he knew came from the navy yard.
Once everyone was settles and all eyes were turned to him. Jack began leading him forwards.
Tony felt his grin might be a little forced as he smiled at everyone he passed. He was still feeling freaked out, this was all a little sudden, for god sake, he hadn’t been proposed to but an hour ago, and here he was walking down the aisle at his own wedding.
He looked up to see Jethro staring intently at him and smiling, and everything seemed right.
Jethro was holding his hand out for him, he was just about to take it when he felt Jack take his hand and then place it in Jethro’s for him.
“Thanks dad.” Jethro said as he pulled Tony a little closer, and then move him to stand in front of him. Jane White to his left, everyone else to his right.
“Aren’t we meant to rehearse this?” Tony asked, “I mean, I know you don’t have to… cos you’ve done this a few times, but just so you know, I never pay attention at weddings… we don’t have to make up our own vows do we?, cos I haven’t prepared any… seen as I didn’t think about this so I haven’t prepared…”
“Tony…”
“I’m sure if I have a few minutes I could think of something, I’m usually good at best man speeches…”
“Anthony?” Jethro said softly.
Tony stopped talking the moment Jethro’s hand slipped to his wrist and squeezed lightly. ‘Sorry.’ He mouthed, feeling himself relax.
“It’s okay.” Jane said softly. “You just have to repeat the bit I ask you too.” She gave him a wink.
Tony smiled and nodded to her before moving his gaze back to Jethro as she began talking.
“Before we begin.” Jane White called out to the crowd. “Is there anyone who has any just impediment as to why these two should not be married here today?”
Tony winced, waiting for someone to at least try something, but the crowd was silent, he didn’t dare look at them.
Tony didn’t really listen to the rest of what Jane said, he got as far as “We are gathered here today…” but that was it until Jethro nodded his head towards Jane White. “Sorry?” he said looking at her.
She smiled kindly at him. “It’s ok honey.” She said. “Do you, Anthony Damiano DiNozzo Junior take this man to be your Bond Mate and husband?”
Tony looked back at Jethro, and wondered if he should say no. He could see that Jethro knew what he was thinking, and with just a glint of his eye, Tony knew not to play around. “I already did… So yes.” He gave his love a cheeky smile. “I do.”
“Do you, Leroy Jethro Gibbs, take this Shifter to be your Bond Mate and husband?” Jane said after she chuckled a little.
“I do.” Jethro said clearly.
“Now if you would exchange your vows and rings.” Jane said.
Tony panicked a little, he didn’t have a ring and like he said, he didn’t have any vows.
“If you would repeat after me…” Jane said.
“I don’t need you too.” Jethro said as he turned to Franks, who steps forward and placed the ring in Jethro palm, then Jethro held Tony’s left hand, with the ring in his other hand just at the end of Tony’s ring finger.
“With this ring, I, Leroy Jethro Gibbs, take you, Anthony Damiano DiNozzo Junior, to be my lawfully wedded Bond Mate, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to hold, till the end. I make this vow.” Jethro breathed the last bit out as he slid the larger silver ring onto Tony’s finger.
Tony felt a little light headed as he looked at the second ring on his hand, then up at Jethro. It all still seemed a little surreal.
“Your turn.” Jethro whispered, he was amused, but he wasn’t teasing.
“Oh… ah…”
“You can recite if you like?” Jane whispered understandably.
“No… it’s ok.” Tony said as he breathed out slow as Abby stepped up to his side and handed him a ring. It was the twin to the one already on his finger. Remembering Jethro’s words to him he began. “With this ring, I, Anthony Damiano DiNozzo Junior, take you, Leroy Jethro Gibbs, to be my lawfully wedded Bond Mate, to have and to hold from this day on, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and obey, till the end. I make this vow.” Awkwardly he pushed the ring onto Jethro’s ring finger. Then he looked up into intense blue eyes and grinned, knowing he had changed the right word. He was sure Jethro would call him on it later.
“I now pronounce you Bonded and married!” Jane said happily. “You may now kiss your Shifter!”
Tony didn’t even have time to blink as one of Jethro’s hands gripped the back of his neck in just the right place, his other going around Tony’s waist, pulling him down and closer, as their mouths touched it was like heaven on earth.
For the second time that day, they parted to a round of applause, only this time it was also filled with some cheering.
Tony felt himself blush as Jethro pulled his face down to his shoulder, away from the onlookers. Jethro whispered into his ear with a chuckle. “Obay?... You are so screwed now.”
Tony laughed too. “Promises.” He replied.
“I just need you two and your witnesses to sign the register, and we can get on with the rest of the evening.” Jane said.
It didn’t take them long to sign their names, and for Abby and Franks to also sign. Then Jane was talking to them again. “I’ll have new ID’s for you both, and Tony, I’ll get a new Tag made up for you.”
“Huh?” he looked at her in confusion.
“Thanks.” Jethro said to her. “Tony will be keeping his maiden name for work.”
“Maiden…?” Tony felt his world tilt a little.
“I can do that, I’ll mention it on the new forms, I’ll show it as a bracketed professional name… If that’s ok?” Jane smiled.
“That’s fine.” Jethro nodded.
“Maiden name…” Tony wheezed a little.
Jethro pulled him a step away, taking his face in his hands. “That’s right… Mr Anthony Gibbs.”
Tony blinked a few times before it sank in. That was the whole point of the wedding after all. “I guess in the office it could get a little confusing.” He grinned.
“Ya think?” then Jethro was kissing him in apology. “Come on.” He said pulling away, then taking Tony’s hand and resting it on his elbow, they walked back up the makeshift aisle, where they were promptly covered in confetti.
Tony laughed as the stuff got everywhere. Then at the end of the aisle, McGee was handing his video camera to Kate as he pulled up a still camera that was around his neck.
“Ok, lets get some photos before we go to the hotel.” McGee said.
Tony sighed, but soon, he and Jethro were stood together wherever McGee thought looked best. For one shot, Tony gave Jethro a kiss on the cheek and knew McGee caught it with the flash. Then they had one with Jack, then with Kate, Abby, Ducky, Jimmy and McGee, who gave the camera to Jack. And finally there was one with everyone and the camera was on a tripod as they all waited for the timer to go off.
+ + + + + + +
Gibbs watched as Tony danced with Abby. They were both laughing as they spun around each other to some booming song Abby had chosen.
After McGee was finished with the photo’s, they had all shipped off to the local hotel where the reception buffet was waiting, along with the cake they had yet to cut and the obligatory disco.
Somehow, after eating, he had pulled Tony to the dance floor for the traditional first dance. He had no idea what the song was, but it had been slow, so pulling Tony close and moving him about had been easy enough and as it ended he had stolen another kiss from those soft inviting lips.
He then let Tony loose with Abby, who was all but chomping at the bit to have her hand on one of her best friends.
Tony caught his eye then winked at him.
Gibbs grinned back, then he felt someone flop down in the chair at his side. “Hey Frank.” He said without even looking. “Thanks for coming.” He had wondered who he could ask to be his best man, and Franks had refused the last few times he got married, so he was a little surprised this time when the man had agreed the moment he found out Tony was a Shifter.
Franks snorted. “Like I would miss you getting hitched to someone you couldn’t divorce.” He laughed. “It’s about bloody time… Also, to a boy? I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”
Jethro smiled to himself. “Strange how things work out.”
“Yeah… so long as you’re happy probie.”
Gibbs heard the question in it, so he turned to his old mentor. “Since I met you… I am.”
Franks patted him on the back. “So you going to introduce me?” he said changing the subject. “I saw the way he was looking at me; if I didn’t know better he would have me in interrogation demanding everything I know about you!”
“He would.” Gibbs confirmed as he gestured to Tony to come over. Instantly Tony gave Abby a peck on the cheek then came bounding over. “Hey!” he said sitting down in the chair at his other side. Gibbs instantly put an arm around the younger man’s waist.
“Tony, this is Mike Franks, I told you about him.” He watched Tony put on his best smile as he reached out to shake the old agent’s hand.
“Hi, I’m Tony Di… Gibbs.”
Gibbs grinned as Tony gave him a quick look.
“Franks.” Franks offered shaking Tony’s hand. “Nice meeting you. So you’re the one to put a smile on this old bastard’s face?”
Gibbs saw the warning frown crease Tony’s brow. “That he is.” He said, letting his hand drift up Tony’s back to his neck to calm any defensive argument before they started.
“So, what was he like as an agent way back when?” Tony asked cheekily.
“As a Probie?” Franks said gruffly. “He was a constant pain in my ass, I feel sorry for you boy… I never thought he would be a pain in someone else’s ass… literally.”
Gibbs almost choked on the beer he had just put to his lips as Tony turned red, but he was proud of his new spouse as Tony recovered quickly.
“And it’s such a good pain.” Tony purred, licking his tongue up Gibbs’s cheek. “Ouf!” he said as Abby suddenly jumped into Tony’s lap.
“No fair!” She squealed, hugging Tony tightly.
Tony turned and licked her too, making her cry out as she swatted at his face.
Gibbs could smell the alcohol on both their breaths.
“Can I have my dance partner back?” she asked. “McGee’s no fun to dance with and Kate’s… err… run away!”
Gibbs sighed as he nodded, then watched as she dragged Tony away.
“You’re into threesomes now?” Franks asked. “Christ probie, leave some for the rest of us!”
Gibbs laughed. “Abby’s one of his best friends, and I can deny her almost nothing.”
“She on your team too?” Franks asked a little skeptically.
“Best forensic scientist there is.” He replied, as he watched her pull Tony around the dance floor.
“Hello gentlemen!” Ducky said as he sat down heavily in the chair Tony had just been in.
“Hey Ducky.” Franks said to the ME.
Ducky hiccupped. “Oh, excuse me.” He grinned. “Jackson and I were wondering if you were thinking of cutting the cake soon… I fear I’m not as young as I was and I think I’ve consumed one spot of scotch too many.”
“Sure Duck, I’ll go rescue Tony from Abby first.”
Ducky and Franks both chuckled.
“Good luck with that!” Ducky hiccupped again. “Excuse me!… She’s been bragging all day that she will keep Anthony up all night dancing.”
Gibbs rolled his eyes as he excused himself and went to get Tony.
+ + + + + + +
Tony kept his eyes fixed on Jethro’s as the man lifted a bit of the cake to his lips. He was expecting to have it shoved up his nose or something. Instead Jethro let him take big bits of the chocolate cake and icing. What he hadn’t expected was for Jethro to grab the back of his neck, pull him into a kiss, and then lick half the contents out of his mouth with relish.
It was one of the sexiest things he had experienced as he pushed himself against his Mate as they chewed. Jethro didn’t lose the smirk as he ate to the cheers from the crowd.
Tony was a little shocked when it was the Nun’s from Abby’s bowling team who cheered the hardest.
“Do you like the cake?” Abby asked as she sidled up to them.
Tony look down at it again, it was a traditional three tiered white square cake, with red and black detailing and strips of ribbon. But on top where the bride and groom normally sat stood a plastic grey wolf and at its feet sat a leopard.
“I couldn’t get a jaguar.” She sighed. “Didn’t think you would mind.” She winked at him.
“It’s great Ab’s!” he grinned at her, then watched as Kate came up and started cutting the cake up for everyone.
“Go.” Jethro said as Abby began bouncing on her feet. Then Tony was once again being dragged onto the dance floor as ‘The Beautiful People’ by Marilyn Manson started playing, and he and Abby laughed their way through it.
A few dances later, interspersed with a lot of strange cocktails from Abby. Tony looked over to see Jethro stood just outside some doors, but when his eyes saw who he was stood with, his drunken mind got angry… he could smell the bitch from where he stood and it made him growl as he made a beeline her way.
How dare she smell like that, it was bad enough he had to ignore her bloody longing glances as she looked at his Mate in the office. Or the way she dismissed him out of hand constantly. But to be stood so close to his Mate was intolerable. They might have had a past he didn’t want to know about, but that didn’t mean she had any claim now, and for god sake he was going to make sure she got the message!
+ + + + + + +
Jethro wanted to sigh and walk back into the reception hall, he was getting wary of Jenny’s simpering eyes, as she looked up at him.
He was hoping she would give that up now he was actually married to Tony. But he guessed he still might have to put up with them, he had tried to dissuade her but it had fallen on deaf ears, which he couldn’t quite get seeing as he wasn’t in a normal relationship with Tony, there wasn’t any getting out of it for either of them. And he knew even he couldn’t be that much of a bastard to leave Tony to pine to death for him.
All he could ascertain was that she assumed he might cheat on Tony, but there was no chance of that, he had never cheated on anyone ever and he wasn’t about to start now. Her ignorance when it came to Shifters was a little strange, as she had made Director. That, or she really didn’t believe Tony was a Shifter. After all, no one at the office had seen his cat form and there were no photos on file. So he guessed she could be a little sceptical, even if she should just take their word for it. Still, none of it made sense.
“So.” She said sideling closer. “I thought you would never be getting married again?” she smiled up at him as she played with her new short hair.
He shrugged. “Today’s not about me.” He said, he was just about to turn and go back inside when Ducky suddenly called his name in warning and he turned to look inside.
Tony was striding toward him, he didn’t look happy, then he saw Tony’s eyes and was just in time to put his hand up to grab the back of Tony’s neck and his wrist, spinning them both a little with the force of Tony’s momentum, turning them away from Sheppard. He pushing the younger man’s head down, forcing him double as he ground his fingers into Tony’s wrist.
Tony yowled and growled at him in frustration, there was a moment where Gibbs thought he would lose this battle before Tony went limp beneath his hands. They stayed like that for a few moments as Tony huffed and gave little snorts of anger, but he didn’t resist as Gibbs forced him to submit.
“He… He was going for me!” Jenny gasped angrily.
Tony tensed, flinching in her direction.
“Calm down.” Gibbs growled tightening his fingers at the base of Tony’s neck as he felt his Mate start to tremble.
He heard someone come out onto the veranda they were on and turned to see his dad, with Ducky behind him, pulling the curtains closed a little so the rest of the guests couldn’t see them.
“I saw it in his eyes!” Jenny was getting more agitated as she backed away another step. “He was going to try and kill me!”
Gibbs didn’t know how he knew, but he was suddenly aware that Tony was about to Shift. “No!” He snapped as he pushed down hard, forcing Tony onto his knees and his head almost onto the floor. “Calm down. Now!”
“Get her away.” Tony whined. “She can’t have you! Smells of sex…. Aroused bitch!”
“I beg your pardon!” Jenny snapped. “This is going on your record, you can’t just attack people like an animal!”
Gibbs felt Tony sob angrily as he still shivered; trying to fight Gibbs’s dominating hold over him. At that moment Gibbs was painfully aware that Tony was younger, bigger and stronger than him, and if he didn’t win this little war… He ground his teeth; there was no way he wouldn’t win.
“Now, Jenny.” Ducky was saying softly. “Anthony has just had a bit too much to drink, and it’s been a long day… why don’t we get a cab together and I’ll take you home?”
“He was going to kill me!” Jenny snapped. “Agent DiNozzo you’re on suspended leave till I’m assured your anger management is sorted out!”
Tony whined and Gibbs thought he would lose his hold yet again on the young Shifter, but instead Tony was pushing himself against Gibbs’s knees.
“I suggest you go home Director.” He growled out himself as he looked up at her. “And we forget this happened.”
She looked down at him and he watched as her eyes narrowed.
“Don’t fight me on this one Jenny.” He whispered. “You forget Tony has a heightened sense of smell, and he knows when you start flirting with me… I’m surprised this hasn’t happened sooner, he’s been rather tolerant, even after I warned you about it. I’m not available anymore. So, I suggest strongly that you go home, and we all sleep this off and forget it ever happened.”
He watched her lips thin before she raised her chin and turned to Ducky. “Thank you for your offer Doctor Mallard, but I think I’ll head home alone… Good night gentlemen.” Then she walked into the main hall with as much dignity as she possessed.
Gibbs breathed out a sigh of relief.
“You okay son?” his dad asked as he watched Jenny walk away.
“Yeah.” He answered as he turned his attention back to Tony. “I’m only going to let go when you calm down.” Slowly he felt Tony’s muscles loosen as he eventually sagged. “That’s it.” He reassured as he let his hands loosen till he was stroking the finger marks that would bruise later on the back of Tony’s neck. He gently pulled Tony to his feet and hugged him close for a few moments. Then he lifted Tony’s wrist up, seeing that there would be bruises there too, he brought the wrist up to his lips and kissed the marks he had left, knowing they would hurt.
“Sorry…” Tony whispered. “I… I couldn’t stop myself.”
“I know.” Gibbs grinned a little, he liked the show of possessiveness from his Mate. “And I think she finally got the message.”
“She suspended me…” Tony whispered a little desperately.
“She actually didn’t.” Ducky said with a little chuckle. “HR will have changed your name on their records first thing Monday morning, so if you come in a little late, you won’t be suspended.”
“Hu?” Tony frowned.
Ducky grinned harder. “She just suspended Agent DiNozzo.” He winked. “Not the new ‘Agent Gibbs’.” He explained.
“Come on.” Gibbs said, letting Tony go a little. “Want to dance some more?”
Tony shook his head. “Not right now.” then he managed to grin a little. “Think I need a rest from Abby’s cocktails.”
“Is everything alright?” Kate asked as they came back into the hall.
“Just clearing up a little problem.” He assured her as he pulled Tony over to where Franks sat with a knowing grin on his face. Gibbs knew the old guy knew exactly what had just happened.
+ + + + + + +
Gibbs had to all but drag Tony into the house.
The rest of the night had gone without incident, Tony and Abby had got down to some serous drinking as McGee finally stopped filming the whole thing, he and Kate joined them.
Slowly the party had died down as people started to go home.
His dad had gone with Ducky to stay with him the night, giving Gibbs a wink as he went. Franks had also gone with them. Promising to meet sometime later for breakfast or lunch, whichever their hangovers let them manage first.
Finally, McGee had dragged Abby and Kate home as they were both singing some random song together, and Gibbs had wished the last hangers on goodnight as he rolled Tony into a cab. The ride home had been uneventful, other than Tony was like a leech at his side.
He finally managed to fumble the door open. Knowing he had drunk a little too much himself as Tony slipped from his hold to slump bonelessly to the floor, giggling as he went.
“Uuw!” Tony said as he slithered onto his front like a snake. “Pressis!... are they ours?” he slurred.
Gibbs looked over to the dinning table; it was piled high with cards and wrapped gifts. So much so, even the chairs had boxes on them.
Tony tried to get up, but flopped down a few more times, giggling all the time. “Ouch… gimmi!” he said, lifting one arm, wanting Gibbs to pull him up.
He did, but then moved Tony towards the stairs. “We can open them in the morning.” He promised.
“Meani!” Tony giggled as he helped pull himself up the stairs.
Gibbs threw Tony on the bed and started pulling his shoes off.
“Hey boss?…” Tony said, then chuckled. “Oops… Jethro.” He purred.
“Yes Tony?” he asked as he moved on to the other shoe.
“How come the woman at the ice-cream parlour knew you were going to propose?”
Jethro grinned. “Because the waitress saw me put something on your spoon and thought the mean old guy was trying to roofy the attractive young man.”
Tony started laughing, then coughed a little.
Gibbs paused as he waited for Tony to settle, it still made him a little edgy whenever Tony cleared his lungs. He leaned forwards to start unfastening Tony’s belt.
“Jethro?” Tony said again, this time it was soft and more serious.
“Yeah?” he asked as he started unbuttoning Tony’s fly.
“Thanks…”
“You’re welcome.” Gibbs smiled as he started tugging at the waistband.
“No.” Tony said shaking his head from side to side drunkenly. “Thanks for taking care of me…”
Gibbs heard the tears in Tony’s voice. He rolled his eyes, he had told Abby to not add Gin to any of the cocktails. He doubled his efforts to get Tony naked before his drunken maudlin got to intense. “Anytime.” He said distractedly as he pulled Tony’s trousers and boxers off in one go.
“No one ever cared as much as you have.” Tony carried on softly. “Even before you knew… you cared, even more than my entire family… I almost died… and you cared…”
“I had an invested interest.” Gibbs smiled as he leaned over and started unbuttoning Tony’s shirt as his Mate lay like a rag doll. He ignored the tears that started leaking from Tony’s closed eyes.
“My dad didn’t even come to my wedding…”
Gibbs stopped what he was doing as he took Tony’s face in his hands. “Hey hey.” He said as he wiped the tears away with the pads of his thumbs. “Your dad wanted to be here.”
“He just gave you one of his million excuses?” Tony growled angrily.
Gibbs sighed. “No, we’ve been trying to get in contact with him for two weeks, McGee finally found him in France. He got mugged.”
“What?!” Tony gasped. “Is he okay?”
“He’s fine, but they took his phone as well as his passport. He’s just waiting for another… He should be back soon, but asked me not to postpone today.”
Tony relaxed back onto the bed.
“Can I carry on getting you undressed?” he asked with a smile.
Tony nodded, but still made no move to help. Though his green eyes watched everything he was doing, interspersed with jaw breaking yawns.
“Been a long day.” Gibbs said as he gave Tony a quick kiss.
“Hummm.” Tony hummed with a smile then he was pouting. “I drank too much.” He said sulkily.
“You’re not the only one.” Gibbs sighed as he looked down at Tony laid out naked, open and willing just waiting to be fucked blind, and knowing neither of them were up to anything hard tonight. “Let’s sleep… and see what tomorrow brings.”
Tony grinned up at him. “I want to open the presents first.”
“We’ll see.” Gibbs said as he slapped Tony’s thigh. “Shift, might be easier for you to actually get into bed.”
Tony grinned and did as he was told.
Gibbs couldn’t help but laugh as he was suddenly faced with a huge cat with all fours paw’s in the air and looking a little confused. As he carried on laughing he grabbed both front and back paw, then pulled Tony onto his side and slapped his rump as he went around the bed to pull the covers down. It took Tony a few drunken tried to remember he had four legs before he flopped down on his side of the bed.
Gibbs pulled the covers over him then went to get undressed himself. By the time he crawled into bed and up to Tony’s warm soft back. The cat was asleep and snoring softly.
+ + + + + + +
Gibbs woke to having a huge tongue licked over his face. He opened his mouth to protest when the tongue slipped into his mouth and licked up his pallet. It was the strangest feeling ever as he spluttered and pushed at the huge black head as Tony laughed the best way he could as a cat and it shook the bed.
The strange thing was, the lick still tasted like Tony, a Tony who hadn’t brushed his teeth yet.
“As much as I love you.” He grinned up at his Mate, who stood on all fours above him. “I still don’t think I’m ready to do you like this… Unless you want too.”
He watched as Tony’s face morphed into a thought full look.
“Uff….” He let out as the heavy jaguar sat down on his haunches, directly on Gibbs’s crotch, squashing his vague morning wood a little painfully.
Tony grinned at him with his sharp white teeth then started rubbing their nether regains together. Gibbs gritted his teeth as his body responded to the stimulation.
“Shift you dumb animal!” he growled as he slapped Tony’s fury thigh.
Tony rubbed a few more times before relenting, as he Shifted. “Morning.” He purred leaning down for a quick kiss.
“Morning… No hang over?” Gibbs asked, a little surprised Tony was, one, up so early and two, was actually already hard.
“Nope.” Tony said as he reached over to the bedside table and fished out their supplies from the drawer.
Gibbs put his hands under his head, wondering how far Tony was going to go. He watched as Tony grinned at him as he poured lube over his own fingers. Gibbs raised one brow as Tony lifted his hip’s, putting one hand to steady himself by Gibbs’s shoulder, he put his lubed fingers between his own legs.
Gibbs watched in pleasant fascination as Tony winced a little as he started to stretch himself, then green eyes fluttered closed as a slight blush came to Tony’s cheeks and he let out a groan.
Gibbs was itching to reach up and touch, but he was enjoying the show and let it play out a little longer, just to see what his Mate would do next. It didn’t take long before Tony leaned down and kissed him hard, their tongues battling. Then Tony pulled away, his hand still between his legs.
“I can’t get deep enough!” Tony whined desperately.
Gibbs grabbed the lube and slicked his own fingers, running it over his own throbbing cock as he pulled Tony’s hand away with the other. Then he took hold of Tony’s hips, moving them into place.
“Lower yourself.” He ground out. They had never done this position before, so it took a few tries before he felt himself breach Tony’s body and he groaned as Tony slowly eased himself onto his cock.
Tony panted as he rested his hands on Gibbs’s belly. “Tight!” he cried out, pushing himself a little lower.
Gibbs couldn’t agree more, and god it felt good as Tony’s body squeezed him tight.
“I… I…!” Tony panted. Then he fell, impaling himself fully on Gibbs’s cock till he was all but sat in his lap.
For a few moment they didn’t move, both panting at the slight pain that only made Gibbs harder. “You gotta move!” he ground out as he tried not to buck, knowing Tony needed to guide this himself till he could take it.
Finally Tony lifted his hips slowly letting out cute little grunts and groans that only made Gibbs harder and he couldn’t help himself and he pushed Tony’s quivering thighs down again making Tony yowl badly.
“No… fair!” Tony complained as he lifted himself again, but this time he started to move. Slow at first before he sped up a little. “Can’t…” he ground out in frustration.
“Move you hips!” Gibbs snapped, pushing at Tony’s chest to get him to lean back a little. When he did, Gibbs knew he had hit Tony’s sweet spot as he arched some more with a groan of pleasure. Then he was moving again.
Gibbs braced his elbows on the bed as Tony took his hands, using them for support as he rode Gibbs cock.
After a while Gibbs just wanted to flip Tony onto his back so he could pound into his willing body and get them both off. But he knew this was Tony’s rodeo and he just had to hold on.
Finally Tony relented as he slouched forwards. “Do me!” he panted.
Gibbs grinned as he lifted his knees, braced his feet on the bed then thrust his hips up, pushing Tony over onto his side as he rolled them both over so Tony lay wide eyes and panting beneath him. Gibbs once again braced his elbows and thrust forward making Tony writhe beneath him as he brought his legs up. In this position it didn’t take him long before he was thrusting and pulling Tony into orgasm.
Tony threw his head back and cried out as his muscles tightened around Gibbs’s cock and he came deep inside the younger mans body.
“Thanks…” Tony grinned when he got his breath back. “Did you like your wake up call?” he asked.
Gibbs grinned. “Sure… but I think we need to work on the ending.”
Tony chuckled. “I don’t know, I kinds liked the ending.” Then he was blushing and looking away.
“What?” Gibbs asked kissing a flushed cheek.
“Can we do the neck thing?” Tony asked softly, his eyes glancing sideways up at him. “Maybe in the shower?”
Gibbs sighed. “You up for another round already?” he asked. “I haven’t even pulled out yet.”
Tony squirmed a little. “Maybe not… but you could still do it.”
Gibbs leaned down and kissed his Mate. “If you want.”
“I want…” Tony whispered with sincerity.
+ + + + + + +
Tony felt better as he rubbed the mark on the back of his neck. When Jethro had pushed him up against the shower wall and put his mouth to the back of his neck he had got hard again, and Jethro had had to give him a hand job.
At least the finger marks, he knew Jethro had left the night before, were now part of the whole bruise, and it never ceased to make him feel relaxed, secure and loved to have that mark.
It was just a shame he couldn’t do anything about the marks on his wrist. He didn’t like those over much, to many bad memories and weeks of healing threatened to make painful memories come to the surface.
But now Jethro was in the kitchen making breakfast and Tony was opening congratulations cards.
“Where are we going to put all these?” Tony asked as he started opening the last few. “Wow… I also got one from my cousin Pete and his family… Ah… they have flu.”
“It’s why I asked them not to come.” Jethro called from the kitchen. “He said he would come down when we had the time.”
“Oh… thanks.” He finally opened the last one. Then blinked, it was from his dad, but not in his hand writing, it actually looked like Kates.
[‘Congratulations Son, Sorry I couldn’t make it in time for your wedding. But I’ll be with you the moment I can get a flight back to the US. Keep yourself well till then. Your Dad.’
‘PS: I have a special present for you once I get back.’]
Instantly Tony tried to figure out what that could be, he knew damn well it wouldn’t be the keys to his own Ferrari.
“This is going to drive me crazy!” he muttered as he put the card on the top of the pile.
“What is?” Jethro asked as he came in with two mugs of coffee with plates of toast balanced on top, he sat down in the only other free chair.
“Hum… My dad says he has something for me.” Tony replied as he picked up the first present. It was a huge box, and he could guess it was from Abby before he even opened it. Black flock paper covered the box, the card confirmed his suspicions, then he read the card aloud. “I saw this and thought of you Tony. Just tell people it’s from me to deflect any awkward questions. Ab’s, kiss, kiss.” Then he began to open it. Pulling out black tissue paper till his fingers hit something fluffy, he grabbed it and pulled. And out popped a large Black Panther soft toy. Tony turned it around in his hands and Jethro snorted his coffee as he tried not to laugh.
He got over his shock then patted the thing; it was made to look like it was lying down with its head up, even its glass eyes were green.
“Do I feel like this?” he asked, stroking the hard moulded head.
Jethro stopped laughing as he reached out to stroke the thing. “A little, only you’re warm and softer… Other than that, it’s as accurate as a soft toy can be.”
Tony looked at it again. Trust Abby to get them something so silly but thoughtful. Then he burst out laughing as the panther was wearing a studded black collar.
He then wondered if there was a digital camera somewhere in the gift pile, maybe McGee had given them one. “You should take some photos…” he said aloud.
“Of?” Gibbs asked.
“I… I don’t have any proper photos of me Shifted… I know we can’t put them out or anything… but would be nice to have some.”
“Sure, next time we have some time…” Jethro said thoughtfully. “I wouldn’t mind one with you in snow…”
Tony blushed as he turned back to the gifts. “You want to open some of these?” he asked as Jethro took the soft toy and sat it on his lap, absently stroking it.
“Na… Knock yourself out.”
Tony picked up the next box. “You need to stop spoiling me.” He said. “I might get used to it.”
Gibbs gave him a slow smile. “I’ll think about it.”
Tony grinned as he started pulling the paper off a present from Palmer. He was just about to peek inside when he heard a key in the lock of the front door. He went to get up when they heard an argument going on.
“It’s their honeymoon.” Jack was saying.
“I want some coffee.” Franks growled out. “I saw that coffee the kid has and I want some.”
“We can make them breakfast if they are still in bed.” Ducky replied.
“We could still have knocked.” Jack said as he opened the door. “At lest let them know we are here.”
“No need.” Franks said as he gave Tony a wave over Jack’s head.
“Morning guys.” Gibbs said. “Coffee’s in the pot.”
“Ah, good morning....” Ducky said as he came closer. “Have you opened my present yet?” he asked looking over the pile.
“No, I only just got started.” Then Ducky was pulling a large box from the pile and held it out for him. “Ah, quick open Palmers present first.”
Tony did, as he looked inside he found boxes of different flavoured English tea’s. “Oh, that’s nice of him.” he said putting the box down then taking Ducky’s. He ripped off the paper as Ducky removed his coat. Inside was a white tea pot with a tasteful silver design around the edge, as he dug deeper there was also a sugar bowl, milk jug and six delicate tea cups with no handles. “Ah, thanks Ducky. We didn’t have a tea set!” he was a little surprised he wasn’t even being sarcastic.
“No problem… would you like some tea?” Ducky beamed at him as he held his hands out for the box.
“Umm… sure… you can use some of the tea Jimmy got for us.” He said, adding Palmers box to the box with the tea pot in.
“My pleasure.” Ducky said as he went into the kitchen.
“Wow… that’s some bruise there boy.” Franks said as he moved some boxes off a chair and sat down. “You need to stop abusing this boy Probie, or someone’s going to bring charges.”
“He asked for it.” Jethro said mildly. “Literally.”
Tony blushed as Franks laughed.
“So that’s the way you play?” Franks asked, looking directly at Tony. “Oh… this some Shifter thing?”
“Seems so.” Jethro said as he started eating his last slice of toast.
“It’s part of the Bonding rituals.” Jack grinned as he also moved boxes to sit down. “It’s the reason why it’s a social taboo to grab or touch the back of anyone’s neck in all cultures for centauries.”
“He’s right.” Ducky said from the kitchen. “To stop accidental Bonding. There is one exception, apart from a Shifter Bond Mate, who can touch them in such a way, and that is their biological mothers.”
Tony shrugged, he couldn’t remember his mother doing it to him.
“Then what about the wrist thing then?” Franks asked, looking pointedly at the bruises on the underside of Tony’s wrist, as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes.
“Ah…” Tony said awkwardly.
“No smoking inside.” Jethro said sternly.
“Hu…” Franks asked. “I can’t smoke anywhere nowadays!”
“Not in Tony’s vicinity, no.” Jethro warned.
“That’s right.” Ducky said as he came back in with a tray with the tea set on it. “Tony’s lungs are damaged enough without confounding the situation with smoke… Where can I put this?”
Tony and Jack started pulling boxes from the table and putting them on the floor, Tony was aware of Franks looking him up and down with a critical eye.
“He’s had the plague.” Ducky said as he put the tea tray down and Jack cleared a chair for him. “So the last thing we need is for Anthony to cough up a lung because someone so carelessly lit up in his presence.”
“That so?” Franks said.
“It’s why we couldn’t allow his cousin and his family to come yesterday.” Jethro said, taking a sip of coffee as Ducky started pouring out tea. “They had the flu.”
Franks put his cigarettes away. “You can’t even get a cold?” he asked.
“Nope.” Tony said, accepting a cup from Ducky. “Oww, this smells good. No milk?”
“Rose tea.” Ducky said, “I don’t think it needs milk.”
Tony took a sip and let out a little purr, Ducky had put sugar in and it tasted as good as it smelled, he took another sip, then he lifted his eyes to see four sets looking back at him, only Jethro had a smirk on his face. “What?... I have something on my face?” he asked.
“Nope.” Jethro said. “I think they haven’t heard you purr like that before.”
“Oh… Sorry?” Tony said self consciously.
“Don’t worry dear boy!” Ducky grinned. “Please, just ignore us old folks…”
“I like old folks.” Tony grumbled. He looked up when the other men started to laugh. “What?”
“Nothing… why don’t you carry on opening the presents?” Jack said.
Tony gave them all a look, then did as he was told. He could never resist wrapped boxes, the urge to know what was inside was to overwhelming to his innate curiosity.
+ + + + + + +
Tony yawned and rubbed his aching head. Two night of drinking till you almost passed out was way too much for his head. And for three old guys, Jack, Ducky and Franks sure could drink. He had initiated them all to sake bombing, and he was a little embarrassed he was the first under the table, so to speak. They had all found it very funny, even Jethro.
He had a strange feeling that when they got back to the house, he had stripped somewhere and ended up in the basement, seen as he had sawdust in his fur when he had woken alone with a groan of pain.
He had a memory of lots of laughter as he pawed at Jethro till he sat on the floor and he had curled up between his legs while being patted. After that, he couldn’t remember a damn thing.
“Oh, at least he’s put some clothes on!” Franks called as Tony turned the corner into the living room. “How are you feeling this morning kitten?”
Tony put his hand over his eyes. “Aren’t you guys gone yet?” he sighed.
“Come on son, lets get some coffee in you and you’ll be fine!” Jack called.
Tony was just about to take a step forward, when there was a knock at the door. “I’ll get it.” He said turning and throwing open the door. For a second he thought it might be a bad idea seeing as it was Sunday and not many people called round.
“Dad?”
“Hey Junior.” His dad grinned at him as he stepped inside. “Shut the door son, its freezing!”
“Err…” numbly he did as he was told.
“I pulled a lot of strings to get here…” his dad was saying as he took off his coat. “Well, I couldn’t pull enough it seems to get my passport sooner… Sorry about that.” He said and he sounded truly regretful. “But I did ask McGee to record it all for me… I guess it’s too soon to have it yet?”
“I…” Tony stammered. His mind refusing to catch up with what was actually going on.
“No, it’s not ready yet.” Jethro said as he came up to Tony’s side and gave him a kiss on the cheek before taking Seniors coat from him. “We were just making breakfast, would you like some?”
“Ah, no, I can’t stop; I just came to see Tony.” His dad said with a smile.
“Well, take a seat on the couch and I’ll get you both coffees.” Jethro said as he walked away.
Tony followed his dad over to the sofa and they both sat down, then his dad was fishing in the pocket of his jacket, finally pulling out an old brown envelope. “I picked these up before I had to head out for Europe, they were sitting in our bank vault for years… It’s not much of a wedding present, but I’ll get you something better soon.” He said hurriedly. “Here.”
Tony took the dry fragile looking envelope, he could feel cards or maybe photos inside. Carefully he opened it, at some point in time it had been sealed, but the glue had dried out.
“I already looked at them.” His dad was saying. “We had to be so careful at the time… Your grandfather developed and printed them for us…”
Tony pulled out a little stack of 6 by 8 black and white photos, his breath caught at the first one.
His mother looked up at him from the photo, it was a portrait of her face, she was smiling and looked happy, she was holding what at first looked like a black cat against her cheek, but Tony knew it was him.
He looked back up at his dad.
“That was the second time you Shifted.” His dad replied to his unanswered question. “Your mother was so happy.”
Tony moved to the next photo, another photo of him Shifted, a few years older, judging by his size. His chest was on the ground, forelegs out stretched on the floor with his bum in the air, he was facing the camera and looked like he was smiling at whoever was behind the lenses. He went through a few more photos that must have been taken at the same time; he was playing in all of them, though he didn’t look too steady on his feet yet.
“Here…”
He jumped when Jethro held out two cups of coffee. His dad took one, then Tony reached out, grabbed Jethro’s wrist and pulled him down to sit by his side. “My mom…” he said holding up the last photo he was looking at.
Jethro put the cup down then put his arm around Tony’s waist, sitting close. He looked at the photo but didn’t try and take them from him. Tony was grateful for that, he really didn’t want to let them go, but if Jethro wanted to take them, Tony would let him.
“Least now I know where you got your looks.” Jethro said gently as he softened the mood a little.
Tony smiled as he looked at the next photo and he felt tears sting his eyes.
It was a family portrait, his mother was sat in a chair with Tony Shifted sitting on her lap, behind them both was his dad, his hands on his mother’s shoulders. And they all looked so happy.
“There are a few more.” His dad said quietly. “But that was the last photo we got before…”
“She died…” Tony had lost the few photos he had of his mother years ago, and his dad had avoided the subject and Tony hadn’t asked for more… He felt happy he had these now, he had almost forgotten what she looked like. But his chest also ached with her loss all over again like he was eight, wondering why she was laid in a hospital bed looking so sick. Then one day his granddad told him she was gone, and that he couldn’t see her anymore, that she had gone to heaven.
He hadn’t cried at the time till it had truly sunk in weeks later as his dad disappeared on business trips, changing into this sullen man he didn’t know anymore.
His world had fallen apart.
He had loved her so much; she was his world, his haven, his everything.
He felt betrayed that she had left him, but he couldn’t hate her, he had just wanted her back. But he was told boys don’t cry, that he needed to grow up and most of all, that he needed to smile because people didn’t like sad faced children. So he had forced a smile on his face, let no one ever see his loss or pain.
He turned his face into Jethro’s shoulder as he let the tears come as grief ripped through him like it had when he was a boy.
+ + + + + + +
Gibbs was a little taken aback when Tony turned his face and pressed it against his shoulder. He could feel the hot dampness of tears, but Tony didn’t make a sound as he trembled every now and again, the photo’s still clutched in his hands with a death grip.
Gibbs held him close as he looked up at Mr DiNozzo. And he was surprised to see the old man’s eyes were also damp. But Gibbs knew he wasn’t going to shed tears, he was sure DiNozzo hadn’t let any fall in a long time for a woman he must have loved as much as he had loved Shannon. And in that moment, as their eyes locked, he knew they had found some mutual respect and understanding.
+ + + + + + +
TBC
|
“Him? Really?”
Sam and Sarah were both glancing towards where Bucky was grinding the boat’s side with sandpaper with the single-minded focus of the Winter Soldier on a mission.
“I know I have a problem,” Sam said before Sarah could start to berate him for falling for yet another sad white soldier.
“You sure do.” Sarah shook her head, still eyeing Bucky warily. “At least Steve was pretty.”
True. Although Steve used to have terrible fashion sense, he was easy on the eyes and Sam suspected that half of the Avengers and at least half of America had had a crush on Cap at one time, so there was no reason to judge him for that. Bucky however, with his scruffy face and that murderous glare, was another matter. Sam judged himself for whatever feelings were creeping up on him.
“You should have seen him before he got a haircut,” he told Sarah.
“I did. Because his mugshot was all over the news. Jesus, Sam.”
Sam shrugged. The fact that Bucky was (or rather had been) a criminal was not what bothered him. After having been imprisoned in the Raft, he did not give a shit about what the government declared legal or illegal. He trusted in his common sense. Right now, his common sense told him that it was a fundamentally bad idea to develop feelings for Bucky Barnes. He had no idea how this catastrophe had happened, could not pinpoint the exact moment when Bucky had turned from a threat into a pity case into a nuisance into a reluctant co-worker and finally into someone Sam brought into his sister’s house and entrusted with his late parents’ boat.
“Right. I don’t know if I should hope for him to return your feelings or pray that he doesn’t.”
Truth be told, Sam hadn’t figured that out yet either. Bucky was thoughtless at best, often outright ignorant, petty and self-centred, not to mention reckless, irresponsible, a bad co-worker, and he did not like Redwing. And there wasn’t exactly a charming personality to make up for all these failures. It did not make sense for Sam to fall for him, and yet it perfectly did. Yes, Sam was fully aware he had a problem, had first come to suspect it when his parents had told him with constipated looks on their faces that, “No, Sam, we can’t bring every injured seagull to the vet.” It had been confirmed over the years when the teachers had asked him to look after the new kid in class or try to include the outsider and he had been unable to say no. Sam knew enough about psychology to know that pity was not a good basis for a relationship. He knew that and it didn’t change anything. Sharon calling Bucky a ‘pet psychopath’ seemed frighteningly accurate. (However, he heavily resented the implication that Zemo somehow shared ownership rights. Because it was Sam who constantly looked after Bucky, not Zemo. It was Sam Bucky followed around, not Zemo).
“Whatever.” Sam took the saw and jumped into the boat. “He’s useful for repair work.” Then he got to work helping his pet psychopath. He sawed planks of wood into smaller pieces to replace the dilapidated pieces on the boat.
After one hour, his shirt was drenched in sweat. Bucky was still grinding with the sandpaper, his movements like a machine. There was only the barest sheen of sweat on his forehead.
After another hour, Sam’s right hand cramped up. He dropped the saw and leaned against the side of the boat.
“How do you feel about a break? That something you do?”
“If you insist.”
Sam snorted. He could not believe he had to put up with this bullshit again. Damn supersoldiers. And yet he tried to engage Bucky in small talk.
“What do you think, how long until we’re finished?” He grabbed a bottle of water and threw Bucky a second one.
“Depends on how many breaks you need.” Bucky opened his bottle and kept staring at Sam while drinking it, never once blinking. Unbelievable.
“You keep this up, I might just throw you overboard.”
Bucky put the bottle down. He was still staring at Sam. “You can try.”
“Oh, so this is what we’re doing?” Sam’s heart was suddenly racing. There was no chance in hell that he could beat Bucky. But backing down from a challenge? Never.
“You talk big, Wilson, but I don’t see you acting on it,” Bucky taunted him.
There was no going back now. Sam was not entirely sure what Bucky was suggesting here but throwing his water bottle away and grabbing Bucky in a headlock seemed the appropriate choice of action.
Not that he succeeded for long. Bucky easily freed himself and proceeded to try to wrestle Sam down. Sam could tell that Bucky was pulling his punches because if he had used his full super strength, Sam would be on the floor by now. On the one hand, he was touched that Bucky was considerate enough at least in this situation and seemed to want to have fun with Sam, on the other, he wouldn’t have minded being on the floor. With Bucky on top of him. God, he was such a mess.
“That all you got?” Bucky said, grinning evilly.
Sam couldn’t help but snort in amusement. He was always glad to see Bucky happy, even though a grin made him look even more like a psychopath.
“You ain’t seen-aaaaaaaaaaaaa-”
It happened too fast to do anything and yet Sam experienced everything in slow-motion. A huge wave rocked the boat to one side. Sam, who was just about to back away from one of Bucky’s attacks, lost his footing and stepped on the water bottle. While falling, he caught sight of the stern of the fast ferry, and his mother’s words echoed in his mind, Always pay attention to the fast ferry. Then he was finally on the floor and shit, that hurt! He exclaimed a string of curses and then he finally saw what had caused the pain: he had landed on the saw which was now stuck in the back of his right thigh. He gritted his teeth, closed his eyes, ignored Bucky’s “Don’t!” and quickly tore it out with another string of curse words.
Suddenly there was blood. A lot of blood. Blood streaming out of his thigh, drenching his pant leg. Not good. Not good at all. Too much blood. Over the loud rushing and pounding in his ears, he heard Bucky call him an idiot and then he passed out.
When he came back, he felt pleasantly woozy, warm and well-rested. The next thing he noticed was the smell of leather, paint and sweat under his nose. He blinked his eyes open. His head was cushioned on a leather jacket and he was lying on his left, still on the boat, which gently rocked from side to side. Going back to sleep seemed like a good idea.
“Are you back?” came Bucky’s voice from behind him.
“Mm.” Then he noticed that he wasn’t wearing any pants. Huh. “Are you staring at my ass?”
“I’m stitching you back up.”
“You what?” Suddenly the pleasant wooziness was gone.The searing pain came back and so did the awareness of what had just happened – of what was happening right now. He tried to sit up but Bucky’s vibranium arm grabbed his shoulder and pushed him back down.
“Don’t move. I’m almost done.”
“What are you doing?” Sam really hoped he had misheard, but no –
“Stitching you back up,” Bucky repeated stoically, sounding somewhat distracted.
“Why?”
“It’s a big wound. You lost a lot of blood.”
“How -? Stop that!”
“It’s fine, I’ve done this before.”
“What, like in the 40s?!”
“…yes.”
“You know we have surgeons for this, right?”
“I’m faster.”
“I swear to you, if you’ve used dirty needles on me or fishbones or whatever…!”
“Didn’t you get your tetanus shot?”
“Oh my God, you did, didn’t you?”
“No. I found a first aid kit. It looked a bit old but seems to be good.”
“Seems to be?! You should have at least asked me before you decided to operate on me!”
“You were unconscious and bleeding,” Bucky said matter-of-factly. “There, done. Not bleeding anymore.” Bucky appeared in his line of vision. There was blood on both hands, his shirt and even his pants. There was also a lot of blood on the floor around Sam.
“I want to go to the hospital and have someone competent check if you’ve butchered my leg.”
“Fine. But let me dress the wound first.”
“Okay.” Sam turned back around and let Bucky do whatever he thought needed to be done. Sam wasn’t usually squeamish, he had been in the army and seen much worse. But waking up to someone stitching you up with probably outdated surgical tools? Not cool.
“When I’m back from the hospital, you and I are going to have a long talk about bodily autonomy.”
“You can schedule it right after the talk about workplace safety. Because letting a saw lie around like that? Just no.”
Sam had to concede that was a fair point, so he kept his mouth shut. When Bucky had finished wrapping a thick bandage around Sam’s thigh, he helped Sam up. He was wobbly on his legs, still feeling lightheaded from the blood loss, and his right leg was doing weird things.
“Does it hurt?” Bucky asked the most superfluous question ever.
“Take a wild guess.” Sam clung to Bucky and somehow they manoeuvred him out of the boat and he hobbled back to Sarah’s house.
Sarah screamed when she saw them.
“It’s not what it looks like,” Sam said quickly. What it looked like was: Sam in just his boxer shorts with a thick bandage around his right leg, leaning heavily on Bucky, and both of them covered in blood from head to toe. “It was an accident.”
“Don’t let the boys see you like this!” Sarah ushered them into the bathroom. “Get yourselves cleaned up. I’ll bring you new clothes.”
Sam sank down onto the toilet lid. Damn it, even sitting hurt like hell. Changing and cleaning up in the tiny bathroom was awkward. Without asking Sam if he needed the help, Bucky had obviously decided that he did need help and had started wiping the blood from Sam’s arms and legs with a wet cloth. They really needed to have that talk about boundaries. Not that Sam was complaining, though. The problem was, he liked it. (Not in a sexual way, he was not that messed up and in too much pain and in his sister’s bathroom – just no.) For some reason, Bucky taking care of him was what did it for him. And Bucky wasn’t even particularly gentle, just efficient and matter-of-fact about it. But it was apparently enough that there was someone who had decided to take care of Sam a little bit more than was strictly necessary.
“This is not exactly flattering,” Sam said when Bucky had helped him into a pair of too-short sweatpants.
“Pretty sure you’ve seen me in worse states.”
Sam chuckled but then winced in pain when he tried to stand up. He was too exhausted to even pretend to protest when Bucky put an arm around him and supported him into the kitchen where Sarah was making dinner.
“Better?” Sarah asked Sam. “Need anything from the pharmacy? I can send Cass. They’ve already played long enough.”
It didn’t sound much like playing anymore. From the living room, the boys could be heard arguing loudly over the explosions and the music of their video games.
“I need to go to the ER,” Sam said, “and have someone check this.”
Sarah grimaced. “That bad, huh? Okay, let me just finish--” She was interrupted by the telephone ringing. “Sorry, have to get this, it’s probably Regina about that delivery tomorrow…” She hurried off into the living room to get the phone. Then there was a loud smashing sound followed by both boys screaming insults at the top of their lungs. Sam hurried over – as fast as he could with his injured leg – to make sure they didn’t need to bring more people to the hospital.
It did not look like anyone was injured. Just the coffee table had been thrown over, smashing a vase and two glasses. The boys were at each other’s throats, apparently fighting over the controller.
“Stop it!” Sam bellowed. At the same time, Sarah shouted, “No, no, everything’s fine!” into the phone that was squeezed under her chin, while she was trying to separate the boys.
“Do something,” Sam told Bucky. Staring did not seem to help to subdue kids fighting over video games.
Bucky grabbed each boy with one arm and separated them easily.
“Let go of my kids!” Sarah shouted immediately and then, “No, really, it’s fine!” into the phone.
Bucky let go of them as if burned and took a step back.
“I’ll call you back,” Sarah said and then proceeded to give the boys a thorough dressing down that ended in the threat to sell their game console if something like this ever happened again, “and I don’t care who started it!”
In the ringing silence that followed, they finally could hear the bubbling and sizzling from the kitchen. Bucky was the fastest and yanked the saucepan from the burner but the damage had already been done, the tomato sauce had boiled over onto the whole stovetop.
Sarah sank down on a kitchen chair. “Can you drive a car?” she asked Bucky.
“Of course.”
*
“Do you have a driver’s licence?” Sam asked Bucky once they were in the car on their way to the hospital.
“No.”
“God help me.” Sam tried to find a position that did not put pressure on his injured leg. Hopeless. It hurt any way.
“Couldn’t exactly take driving lessons as the Winter Soldier.”
Sam chuckled despite himself but then he stopped when he remembered the situation in the living room. “Look, Sarah knows you’re not the Winter Soldier anymore. But parents are wildly protective of their kids and wouldn’t take any chances.”
“I know, I get it.”
“It’s nothing personal. Maybe, once she knows you better, she’ll trust you with the boys, too.” Implying that Sam would bring Bucky to Sarah’s house more often in the future, often enough that she would come to eventually trust Bucky.
“Sam, it’s fine.” Bucky stretched the fingers of his vibranium arm and examined them with a frown. “I need to get your blood out of my hand. It’s not moving smoothly anymore.”
“Jesus, Buck.” Sam let his head fall back against the seat. “Please don’t make any comments like that in the hospital.”
*
Sam felt kind of sorry for the other people in the waiting room. They were injured or sick and now, on top of it, had to deal with the ominous presence and murderous glare of the Winter Soldier.
“Look, this is going to take some time,” Sam finally said to him. “Why don’t you go and…get a coffee or something?”
Bucky nodded and left the waiting room. The air eased immediately. Suddenly there was movement again. A mother let her kid down to run around, a young woman stood up to grab a magazine from the table, a man with his arm in a makeshift sling cleared his throat and attempted smalltalk.
“He’s harmless,” Sam tried to assure everyone. “Guy’s just got a staring problem.”
But then said staring problem was already back and stood in the door to the waiting room – with a cup of coffee in his hand. Well, that had not worked according to Sam’s plan.
“I’m not the Winter Soldier anymore,” Bucky said. “I’m James Bucky Barnes.” Then he smiled an awful smile that did nothing to help his case. He sat down next to Sam and handed him the coffee and a chocolate bar. Pet psychopath, Sharon’s words echoed in Sam’s mind.
Sam had very strong opinions about coffee from hospitals’ vending machines but just now realised that he had not eaten for hours and gratefully took both the coffee and the chocolate bar.
They had to wait for over an hour until it was finally Sam’s turn. The doctor was surprisingly okay with Bucky’s stitches, and just cleaned up the wound, gave him another tetanus shot for good measure (because they weren’t exactly sure yet how the Blip had effected vaccinations), dressed the wound, prescribed some strong painkillers and told Sam to keep the leg still for the next few days.
So that was what Sam did. He spent several days just lying on the couch in the living room, getting progressively competitive at video games. In turn, he tried to teach his nephews board games and helped with their homework to unburden Sarah at least a little bit. He also did a number of phone calls to try to get that damn loan (unsuccessfully). How Sarah had not killed anyone yet was a mystery to him.
Bucky spent the days on the boat. Every evening he came to report to Sam about his progress, never failing to mention how he wasn’t slowed down by Sam’s need for breaks anymore.
“I hate him,” Sam told Sarah, who was happily showing him photos of the boat while Bucky was in the kitchen preparing dinner.
Sarah shrugged. “He is kind of useful. If he continues to work on the boat at that tempo, it’ll be ready to sail much earlier and I can minimise my losses.”
“I’m glad at least someone will profit from this mess.”
“He also knows how to gut and fillet fish.”
Sam chuckled. “Gutting fish and repairing boats – do you think those count as good character traits? Enough to justify falling in love with him?”
“I could introduce you to someone, you know. There’s this new guy in town, he’s an art teacher and he seems like a really sweet guy, very cultured of course and elegant – he is an art teacher after all – and he has those beautiful eyes... I’m pretty sure he’s interested in men.”
Sam frowned. There was nothing wrong with Bucky’s eyes. “Doesn’t sound like my type.”
Sarah sighed. “No, he certainly isn’t. You know, Sam, you do deserve a healthy and loving relationship like everyone else. Maybe give this guy a chance instead of always…” She trailed off. She didn’t have to say more.
“I’ll get back to you if I’m ever over the brainwashed serial killer.”
“It’s just that Daniel might already be seeing someone else by then. Like I said, he’s an attractive guy.”
“Wouldn’t be fair to Daniel if I tried to date him while, well.”
“You know what, Sam? What you’re doing is not fair to yourself. Look, I’ll send you his number, you can text him and meet up for a coffee, no commitment. Just give it a chance.” She opened the contacts app on her phone.
“Dinner is ready.”
Both Sam and Sarah whipped around in shock to see Bucky standing stock-still in the door, holding a plate with fish in each hand. Of course the first thought in Sam’s mind was, How much did he hear? Although it was hard to read Bucky, Sam prided himself in being able to interpret some of his stares. This one was somewhere between confused and irritated. Great.
“Great. Let’s hope you removed the bones properly and no one dies tonight.”
A deep crease appeared between Bucky’s eyebrows. Rightfully so, because that had been a stupid comment. But Sam could not think of anything funny or normal to say right now.
“Great,” Sarah said, then helped Sam up. They followed Bucky to the dining table.
Dinner was torture. The fish wasn’t half bad (no bones) but it was almost cold, which could only mean that Bucky had listened to too much of that conversation before he had announced his presence. And now he was staring again. By now, Sam had grown used to it, but this staring was on a whole new level, as if Bucky wanted to burn a hole through Sam’s forehead with his eyes.
“Staring,” he mouthed at Bucky while the boys thankfully babbled on about a football game a friend of Cass was organising.
Bucky jerked slightly but then finally tore his gaze from Sam and proceeded to glare daggers at the fish on his plate instead.
“Well, that was lovely,” Sarah said at last. “Thanks for cooking.” She stood up to do the dishes but Bucky got in her way with his superspeed.
“I’ll do it.”
Sarah shrugged and threw Sam a pitying glance.
“I’m going to bed,” he announced, explaining to his confused nephews, who did not understand why anyone would voluntarily go to bed so early, that he was really tired.
Back in his room, he flopped down on his bed and groaned loudly. How was this his life? Having a crush was one thing, Sam could easily suppress that. But his co-worker knowing about it… From now on everything was going to be so awkward. What had that stare meant? Would Bucky be fine with Sam’s misplaced affections? Should Sam start dating Daniel just to make it less awkward between Bucky and him? He buried his face in his pillow. Yeah, way to make it all worse and pull another, unsuspecting party into this mess.
There was a knock on his door.
He took a deep breath and sat up, dreading the worst. “Come in.”
Bucky came into his room, closed the door behind him and then – did absolutely nothing. He just stood there and looked at Sam.
“Okay, this is getting weird,” Sam said after about a minute of ominous silence. “Are you going to say something?”
Bucky opened his mouth, closed it again.
Right, one of them needed to do the talking, and obviously it was up to Sam to be the mature one. Nothing new there. “So I’m assuming you eavesdropped on that conversation between Sarah and me.”
“The door was open.”
Oh, finally he was speaking. That was progress. “Anyway. I get that this may be awkward for you.” Sam’s throat was tightening up at the thought of Bucky not only turning him down but maybe even avoiding him in the future because he was…no. He soldiered on. “Just know that siblings often talk trash.”
“I know. I have a sister.”
“Good.” Sam tried to unclench his hands, which were gripping his thighs too tightly. “Then, what is your problem? Is there a problem?”
Bucky shook his head. He stepped closer and sat down next to Sam on the bed, never once taking his eyes off Sam’s face. Sam had no idea what to do. The words were stuck in his throat but it turned out he didn’t have to do anything because Bucky took his left hand, placed it on his lap and cradled it in both hands. So, this was his answer.
Sam exhaled, slowly, shudderingly. He finally met Bucky’s eyes that were still fixed, unblinking, on Sam’s. He liked it. God help him, he liked being the single focus of that stare, he liked the irritated and confused stares, the hard and sometimes worried ones but most of all the challenging ones. Sam was veering towards a highly dysfunctional and co-dependent relationship (if a relationship was something Bucky wanted – they really needed to talk about this!) and he was not willing to change the course.
They stayed like that for too long, eight minutes and thirty-two seconds too long, as the display on Sam’s alarm clock showed him, and each second that ticked by in silence made it more difficult to just speak up and say something non-monumental.
But Sam finally did it because he knew that someone needed to say something and, well, that someone usually tended to be him. “We should probably talk about this.”
“I can schedule a session with my therapist.”
Sam snorted with laughter. “She’d have a field day.”
But Bucky was not laughing, not even grinning psychopathically. He was still staring at Sam, waiting for an answer.
“Wait. You’re taking this seriously. You really want us to do this?”
Bucky gave a curt nod.
Wow. This was monumental. Not meeting up to get a coffee but couples therapy. “Right.” Sam’s heart was beating loudly in his chest. This was like putting the wings back on after many years and flying again. Frightening, yes, but also exhilarating. “Yeah. Let’s do this.”
|
He’s late, as he always is, but she planned for that. “Hokage-sama,” he greets her.
She rolls her eyes. “Good of you to show, Kakashi.” She turns towards one of her ANBU and says, “Fetch Sakura. Don’t let her leave the hospital until she wraps up, though, because she won’t be back for a while.”
Kakashi tilts his head, curious. The ANBU just nods and takes off. Tsunade watches him go and then turns toward Kakashi, her mouth downturned. “Alright, brat. Here’s the deal. The village is broken all to hell, and we need money to help fund this war. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be asking this.” His eyebrow goes up. “This…” she sighs and pulls the scroll from her drawer, setting it on the table. It takes him less than a second to process the dark purple ribbon wrapped around it, and even from here she feels his displeasure. “It’ll be her first.”
“Why her?” The other words go unspoken, too: why me? Why now? Nobody’s allowed to take on a seduction mission alone these days, but why choose him as her partner?
Tsunade sighs and leans forward, pinching the bridge of her nose. “The details are in the scroll, but what it boils down to is that there’s a predator in a small town down south. Several of the local families have joined together and pooled their money to hire us because their daughters have gone missing.” She lifts her eyes to his. “Their young, innocent daughters.” A beat passes, and then another, and he remains silent.
“Of all the kunoichi we have right now, Sakura’s the best suited for this. The Yamanaka girl’s done seduction missions before, but she’d never attract someone looking for innocence. The people older… ” She just shakes her head and leans forward, eyes intent on the man before her. “You’re the only person Sakura trusts enough that could do this mission with her. Ideally, we’d send one of her teammates, or a year-mate, but…”
“Sasuke’s gone, she doesn’t trust Sai, and Naruto isn’t a stealthy ninja,” Kakashi murmurs. His shoulders slump. “Fine.”
“Besides that, Naruto’s with the toads. He’s safe enough there, but both you and Sakura are… well, it would be best if you were both out of sight for a little while.” She drops her hand and looks at him, straightening up again. “This mission will also be a test. She applied for ANBU earlier this year. Should this mission go well, she’ll still have to pass the written test and the training, but discretion is vital in ANBU.”
Evidently, his shock shows in his eye, because she raises an eyebrow. “She… ANBU?”
Tsunade nods. “I know you didn’t pay much attention to her while Naruto was gone, but she was chuunin before he returned, and she made jounin after that…incident… with Sasori. Kurenai’s trained her in genjutsu, and she’s been working on her kenjutsu as well.” She narrows her eyes. “The only reason you haven’t seen the full range of her abilities is because you’ve been up against monsters and Uchiha, who excel in illusions and swordplay. She hasn’t been your baby genin in seven years.”
Sakura bursts in just then. “You summoned me, shishou?” And then she sees the scroll on the desk. She pauses for a heartbeat, her eyes going wide, and then her expression evens out. If he squints, he can see why Tsunade thinks she’s perfect for this mission. The farther a henge strays from someone’s real form, the harder it is to maintain. Though Sakura’s clearly a woman, she’s still short and lithe — both things people attribute to innocence.
Of course, then Tsunade opens her mouth again and he can’t help wincing at what she says. Oh.
- - -
Purple ribbon. A seduction mission. “I did,” Tsunade says simply, turning her gaze to Sakura. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m fairly certain you haven’t had any sexual activity. That means you’re allowed to turn this mission down due to lack of personal experience, but you’re the perfect kunoichi for it.” She pauses and looks at Sakura long and hard.
“I accept, Hokage-sama,” Sakura says after a deep breath. “What… what are my objectives?”
Tsunade rolls the scroll towards her. “There’s more details inside, but I’ll give you the run-down. You’ll be going to Sugawara, a town in southern Fire Country. Several young women have gone missing in the last year. All have been described as pretty and innocent, and all of them have disappeared after having a relationship with one of the local lord’s brothers. From the intelligence given in the scroll, they seem to disappear after spending the night with this man once or twice. You will be infiltrating the village under whatever cover you can concoct and fooling this man into picking you for his next target.” Tsunade’s mouth firms. “The chances of the other girls still being alive are low. The only information we have about how he could be abducting them comes from one of the girl’s mothers. She invited the man over for dinner and fell asleep after eating dessert. When she woke up, the girl was gone.”
Sakura frowns. “A drug, then, or a poison? It could be a jutsu of some sort, but that’s unlikely.” Her frown fades. “That’s part of why I’m perfect, isn’t it? If I’m drugged, I can burn the drugs out of my blood.”
Her teacher nods and nudges the scroll closer. “As you’ve no doubt figured out by now, Kakashi will be your partner. Naruto’s — well, Naruto, even if he wasn’t away with the toads.” Then Tsunade sighs and looks every inch of her age. “To tell the truth, I need both of you here while we prepare for this thing. But I also need you safely away from Konoha. You —“ she points at Sakura, “— are the heir to all my techniques and knowledge, even more than Shizune. You —“ and the finger swings to Kakashi. “—are the next Hokage, should I fall.” Sakura almost chokes on the information. “With everything in the state it’s in, it would be shockingly easy for someone to infiltrate Konoha and take either or both of you out.”
At that, they both start to protest, but she lifts a hand. “I don’t doubt your ability as shinobi, but I need to have you safe, and I need this mission done. Prepare as quickly as you can, and don’t let anyone see you leaving Konoha. Sakura, Kakashi’s familiar with these missions. Don’t hesitate to lean on his experience. Dismissed.” She nods, and they both leave.
Once they step outside the office door, Kakashi looks at her through the corner of his eye. “Are you sure you’re ready for this, Sakura-chan?”
She firms her shoulders and offers him a bright smile. “I’m a jounin, and a kunoichi of Konoha! I’ll kick this mission’s ass!”
His eye creases. “Good. You’re in charge of designing our cover. Let’s go!”
“I — wait, what?” He springs away, and she gives chase. “Kakashi!”
- - -
An hour later, she finally catches him and drags him into one of Konoha’s civilian shops. One with lots of colorful clothing. He casts a baleful eye at her and sighs. “What’s our cover?”
As they browse, she whispers to him. “You’ll be my big brother. We can say you were a career genin who got caught in the big attack, and you just got out of the hospital. The rest of our family died, so we want to get away from Konoha.” She smirks a little. “That way, we can wrap your head in bandages, and eventually go to an eyepatch, and it won’t be suspicious.”
She buys a half-dozen outfits for herself, all of them plain but colorful, and wheedles him into a few shirts. Thankfully, he already has a dresser full of civilian clothes he can raid… ones much less bright. Then it’s into another store to find a civilian traveling pack — something else he already has. He’s immensely relieved when they stop at one of his favorite stores for weapons. She startles him, though, when she buys a huge pack of senbon. He didn’t know she was familiar with them. And at the next store, she buys seals for muffling sound. “…what?” she asks when he eyes her up and down. “We might need them for wherever we live.”
“You think there’ll be ninja listening to us?” She shrugs. He sighs and just follows her. “Names?” he asks when they land on her apartment balcony a little while later.
“Sato Ichigo and Daisuke!” she chirps. “I’ve already got my henge planned, too!” She glances around, concentrates, and a puff of smoke obscures her for an instant. When it clears, her hair’s bright, eye-catching Kazekage red, and just past her shoulders. She’s an inch or so shorter, and though she’s kept her bright green eyes, the shape and shade are just different enough to be uncanny. There’s also dozens of freckles scattered across her face and down her neck. “What do you think?”
He offers her a creased eye and a nod. “They won’t stand a chance, Ichigo-chan.” He taps his chin, thinking for a second, and then nods again.
“Do you need to think about how Daisuke looks?” she asks, a curious little smile playing around her lips — which are shaped just differently enough to be distracting.
“No,” he answers, and disappears. He hears her swearing from three buildings over, though.
- - -
Sakura shifts her pack on her shoulders uneasily and grumbles to herself. “Don’t know why I bother showing up on time for all of these. He’ll never be on time. Late, lazy old —“
“Aa, Ichi-chan, are you ready to go?” an almost familiar voice calls out. She blinks and turns back toward the village. There’s a boy — dark-haired, though the sun makes it reddish — walking towards her, bandages wrapped around the top and side of his head. “You could have met me at the hospital, you know.”
Her jaw almost drops as she realizes it’s Kakashi. The hair’s still messy and wild, but he looks enough like her henge to startle her, his body long and stringy enough to be distinct from his usual self. “Please, the exercise is good for you, Dai-kun,” she fires back. “Let’s go!”
On the way to Sugawara, they discuss the details they didn't discuss out loud in the village. Ichigo didn’t have enough chakra to get into the academy, and Daisuke took the chuunin exam three times before giving up. She muses out loud about what kind of poison or drug could be used to knock someone out without issue. He has a few surprisingly good suggestions about what they could be, and about what kind of techniques she can expect from their target.
The village is two day’s run through the trees. Once they get close, though, they drop out of the trees and start walking on the road, bickering with each other. When they approach the town gates near sunset, one of the guards asks, “Your purpose here?”
“Finding a new home!” Daisuke says, offering the guard a huge grin.
The guard blinks and raises his eyes from his logbook. “A new home?”
“Yes!” Ichigo answers, her smile soft. “I — nee-san got hurt when Konoha got attacked, and… everyone else…” she wells up a little before sniffling and blinking it away. “So we just want a place we can be safe and happy!”
The guard stares for a long minute, shrugs, and writes it down. “If you need a place to stay, take a left when you hit the market square and go until you find Press Street. Takada’s is cheap, the food is hot, and the rooms are clean.”
“Thank you, guard-san!” Ichigo chirps, dragging her brother in by the arm.
- - -
Kakashi lets her do as much of the work as he can get away with. When they get to Takada’s, the old proprietor eyes them and huffs in disapproval, likely because she thinks they’re unmarried. “Hello, Takada-dono!” Ichigo almost sings, dipping into a low bow. “It’s my pleasure to meet you! Guard-san at the front gate said you had lovely rooms and good food. My brother and I are very tired, so please allow us to rest on your hospitality!”
At this unrestrained show of exuberance, the old woman’s face cracks a little. “There’s no need for all that fuss,” she rumbles, tapping her pipe on the counter. “Room with two beds is two fifty for the night. Meals are thirty ryo per person, and if you’re not down here in time for them, that’s your own fault. Rooms are paid up front, meals are paid at the end of each day.”
Daisuke steps forward and digs in his pack for a minute before holding out a thousand ryo. “We don’t know how long we’ll need your room for, Takada-san. Will this do for now?”
She snatches the money from him and counts it, eyes gleaming. ”It’ll do. Now what are you two striplings doing out, running around? Haven’t you heard the hidden villages are about to start up some kind of war nonsense?”
Daisuke looks down, kicking at the mats on the floor. Ichigo sighs quietly. “Yes, Takada-dono,” she whispers. “We — we were living in Konoha when it was attacked. Our parents…” she trails off.
He glances to the side to find tears welling up in her eyes. Oh, she’s good. “I, uh, I was a shinobi,” Daisuke says, looking up. “I wasn’t strong enough. That’s why —“ and he gestures to his face. “So we’re looking for a new home now.”
Takada’s face flutters through a series of emotions. Before settling firmly on a welcoming grin, her lips a little parted. “Well, then, Sugawara will be good for you! Lord Yokoyama’s a firm hand, but he’s fair, and there’s plenty of work to go around.”
Ten minutes later, she disappears into the kitchen and comes back with hot bowls of miso soup. “It’s not supper, mind you, that’ll be later. But if you’ve walked all the way from Konoha, you need something in your stomach.” Ichigo beams at her, and Daisuke hides a smile. Takada’s firmly under her spell. She points them to a nearby bathhouse, and when they return, the small common room is redolent with the scent of curry.
On day one, she walks around the market, introducing herself to everyone. He just writes up a poster — with his left hand, not his right — and hangs it on the message board. Experienced genin of Konoha, looking for work! Strong and able to fight off many men and beasts! Ask for Sato Daisuke at Takada’s.
On day two, he gets his first job: painting a house. He sighs, but takes it. That evening, when he drags himself into the inn covered in gray-green paint and sunburn, Ichigo laughs at him. “Like you got a job already, layabout?” he demands, standing over her and glowering. No real siblings are always kind to each other.
Ichigo leans forward, props her chin in her hand, and grins. “Actually, I did, nee-san. The flower shop just fired someone. I start tomorrow.”
Twenty minutes later, Takada comes out with supper. Strangely, she sits down beside them. “If you two are looking for something more than a room, a friend of a friend might have a place,” she says. “Twelve hundred ryo a month, but you have your own bathroom.”
Daisuke’s the one smiling now. “Ah, point us to the place, Takada-san!” he begs. “Washing on my own —!”
Takada cackles at him and slides a paper across the table. They go the next morning and check it out. There’s three empty units in the building, and one of them is a corner apartment on the top floor. It’s only two rooms, along with the bathroom, but that’s all they need for their cover. Takada points them to a used goods shop, where they find a cheap kotatsu, lots of curtains, and a half dozen screens to divide their rooms. At the last minute, Ichigo picks up a bedside table. He forgets it’s there the next morning, rolls over, and whacks his head on it. He’s grateful they already installed the muffling seals because his swearing wakes her up.
Two days after they move in, he goes hunting for their target: Yokoyama Hikari. He’s a handsome enough man, with a dazzling smile and dark hair. But he raises Kakashi’s hackles. He tracks the man for three days, and Sakura connives a plan to run into him. Hikari walks through the market every other day at half-past noon, and stops at his favorite restaurant for lunch. Kakashi orders flowers, to be delivered to Takada at 12:30. Ichigo gets sent out to deliver them at 12:25, and promptly runs face first into the man.
“How dare you!” he blusters, looking at his soaked kimono. “Do you know who —“And then he looks at her. Kakashi, lurking nearby, sees the gleam in the man’s eye when he sees her. It’s a pretty, almost artistic, picture: a young red-head, sprawled among pink roses, white poppies, and green foliage, her cheeks flushed with shock and shame. “Who… I… am?” Hikari finishes, a smile curling his lips.
“I — I’m so sorry —“ Ichigo stutters after a second, pushing herself back onto her knees. “Please forgive me, honorable sir! I didn’t mean to —“
“Aaah, it’s only water,” Hikari says, his expression suddenly far more jovial. “Are you okay?” he asks, bending and offering her his hand.
“I — yes, I’m fine, but —“ Ichigo says, her blush only deepening as she takes his hand.
“Then all is well,” he says. “I haven’t seen you here before, have I?”
“O-oh, no,” she whispers. “My brother and I just moved here, and — oh no! The flowers!” She whirls around, clapping her hand to her mouth. “The flower shop is going to be so angry with me! I haven’t even been there two weeks!”
Hikari touches her arm gently. “Now, now, is this Ishii Flowers you mean?” he says, eyes smiling. “Let me go with you. They won’t punish you if I tell them I ran into you.”
“Oh, but then they’ll charge you!” she says, turning to look back at Hikari.
His smile grows. “No, they won’t. I’m Yokoyama Hikari, and my brother —“
“Yokoyama-dono!” she cries, her eyes going round in perfectly faked shock. “Oh, no!”
Gradually, Hikari calms her down. Ichigo isn’t punished for the flowers, but Hikari’s attention seems firmly caught by the tiny redhead. The next day, an order comes into the flower shop for Ichigo. Plum blossoms for your tender care in the marketplace, is what the note says. The next day, it’s Sakura blossoms, for your sweet smile in the past.
Kakashi wrinkles his nose at that one. But it means their plan is working.
- - -
If she didn’t know, she might be fooled. The notes are sweet, and he’s a handsome man. A few days after she ran into him, Hikari brings her lunch. It’s ramen (ugh) and dango. She offers him a huge, tremulous smile, and says, “T-thank you, Hikari-dono. Y-you’re too kind to a silly girl who s-spilled flowers on you.”
He laughs and leans on the counter. “How could I be anything other than kind to such a lovely smile?” She blushes bright red and looks down, fidgeting with her fingers. “Now, my darling Ichigo, are you busy tomorrow night?”
Her heart stops. He’s asking me out. But it’s what the mission is for. So she looks up at him, confused. “I — my brother was talking about a movie, maybe?”
Hikari’s grin widens. “Would you do me the honor of accompanying me to dinner, then, Ichigo-chan?”
She claps her hands to her cheeks and gasps. “I — but I’m only —“
He reaches out and touches her face, dragging his thumb down and across her lips before pulling away. It takes all her strength not to shudder. “You’re only a beautiful spirit, Ichigo-chan,” he says. “Love knows no rank.”
“I — I —“ she stutters, blushing brighter. “I would be honored, Yokoyama-dono.”
“Ah, call me Hikari,” he says. He chats a little longer and leaves. Part of Sakura’s elated that it’s going this well. The rest of her can still feel his thumb on her lips. It sends chills down her spine… and not the good kind.
- - -
He hears the door open and shut, and knows it’s Sakura. “Aa, is that you, Ichi-chan?” he calls out, not turning away from the burner. And, oddly, she doesn’t answer. He frowns, dials the burner down, and turns around. She’s standing just inside their apartment door, hand tight on the doorknob, with a look he can’t quite interpret. He clears his throat and she snaps out of it, offering him a sheepish smile and speaking.
“Yes, nee-san,” she chirps. “Guess what happened today?” Despite her cheery voice, her face is too pale for it to be something really good.
“You… found a new dress shop?” he guesses.
“No,” she snaps, though her mouth does turn up a little at the corner. “Yokoyama-dono asked me if I would have dinner with him tomorrow night!”
Oh. His shoulders sag a little. “Remember your old, blind brother when you’re a princess, Ichi-chan?” he teases, turning back to the food. Sakura’s laughter tinkles through the air as she goes toward their bedroom to change. When she comes out, she sets the table, like has become their routine. But when he turns to set their plates down, there’s a bottle of sake in the middle of the table. He blinks at it, but shrugs and sets their plates down.
And then, Sakura proceeds to follow every other bite with a shot of sake. They’re sitting catty-corner to each other, so when she goes for her sixth shot, it’s easy to grab her wrist. “Eh?” she says, looking at him in confusion.
“Something’s bothering you,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. The chances of other ninja being near are low, but it’s still possible. “Is it… ah, is it the possibility of…”
She sighs, and he notices her shoulders — already high with tension — go a little higher. “It… no,” she whispers back. Then she scoots a little closer, so they’re as close to each other as the kotatsu legs will let them be. “It’s not… I’m a kunoichi. They teach us from day one at the academy that our body’s a weapon, that sex is a weapon. We go on seduction missions. We know what happens if we get captured.” She exhales and looks down, pulling her hand from his so that she can set them in her lap and fidget. “That part isn’t what bothers me. It’s that…” He watches her flex her hands. “I always thought that my first kiss, at least, would be mine. I hoped it would be Sasuke, of course, when I was younger. But it never happened. Naruto and Lee are the only people who ask me out.”
“Nobody else?” he questions, startled by that. She’s a pretty girl. She always has been.
She shakes her head sadly. “Nobody wants to risk going through shishou’s wrath if they don’t treat me well.” He notices her hands curling in towards each other. “I’m regretting not accepting Naruto’s offer for a date now,” she admits, her voice so tiny and low it’s hard for even him to hear. “At least then it’d be someone I trusted.”
- - -
She stares at her hands waiting for Kakashi to say something, to tell her she’s being foolish or to suck it up, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t even move for a few seconds. Then she shakes her head and blinks away the idea of tears before she lifts her face. “Ignore me —“
Suddenly, there’s fingers on her chin, her cheek, holding her still, and a heartbeat later, there’s lips on hers. Her eyes fly open, startled, but Kakashi’s eye is closed. She blinks, and the shock passes. She lets her eyes slide closed and sinks into the kiss, leaning further towards him. It’s not sensual, just soft and kind, and the way his lips are a little chapped makes it feel real. He pulls away a second later and she opens her eyes to see his henge smiling at her softly. Of course she blurts out something stupid. “I — you — lips,” she squeaks in a whisper.
He huffs a laugh and his smile grows a little wider. “Yes,” he drawls. “I have them.”
Her brain’s still a little scrambled because she never even parsed this as an idea. “Kakashi lips. Lips of Kakashi,” she mumbles to herself, sinking back onto her knees and staring into her plate.
His hand covers hers again where it’s resting on the table. “Something is better than nothing, neh?” he asks at a normal volume, and she reads the underneath. I hope I’m someone you trust. I hope this is better than letting him take it.
She wrinkles her nose at him but turns her hand over and squeezes his. It’s not until she finishes her food that she realizes, Shit. He’s kissed me and I still haven’t seen him without his mask on.
- - -
He watches the date the next night. Hikari treats her well enough, but something about the man continues to make his skin crawl. Given that he’s behind the abductions, that’s hardly surprising, but… the gleam in his eyes when ‘Ichigo’ isn’t looking makes Kakashi want to charge in.
He doesn’t. He sticks to rooftops and shadows, and when Ichigo leads him to the doorway of their apartment building, he pays more attention than he has the rest of the night. “This is where my brother and I live,” Ichigo chirps. “Thank you for dinner, Hikari-dono! It was wonderful spending time with you!”
Hikari smiles, and it looks honest. “Your company was the finest pleasure I’ve ever had, Ichigo-chan,” he says, reaching out to touch your face. “Please tell me if I’m being too forward, but — may I have a good night kiss?”
The way she dimples and blushes when she says yes almost makes Kakashi laugh out loud. It’s been a long time since Sakura was the kind of girl who’d react that way to just anyone.
By the time she unlocks their door and steps inside, he’s lounging on the futon as Daisuke. “How was your night, nii-chan?” he asks. Did he fall for it?
“It was wonderful!” she gushes. He did. As she walks through the main room, she pauses by the futon and leans over to breathe in his ear, “You give better kisses than he does, though.”
He almost drops Icha Icha at that.
- - -
Sakura can’t stop thinking about the kiss the next few days — and not Hikari’s, either. She’s able to play it off like it was him, of course, but… it was a nice kiss. The kind of kiss that would have made her ask for a second date if it’d happened at the end of a date, instead of as a last resort on a mission.
Hikari asks her out again. The day of the date, she spends all day debating about whether she wants to let sleeping ninken lie. Neither of them have mentioned it. As it stands right now, it was a one-off favor. But damn it, it takes all of her acting ability not to shudder at Hikari’s touch. If there’s such an easy solution, such an easy way to keep her from losing it, shouldn’t she take it?
So she schemes a little. When she comes home from the flower shop, she sequesters herself in the bedroom to change. This time, it’s just a simple sundress, not much fancier than the one she wore last time, but she pins her hair up and uses a few decorative hairpins. She also dips into her tiny stock of makeup and uses just enough rouge to make her look flushed and excited. Once she’s finally ready, she stands just inside the sliding door to their bedroom and calls out, “Hey, nee-san, come tell me if I look okay!”
“Mmm, an ugly sister like you? No way!” he calls back, laughter in his voice. But a minute later, he slides the door open and steps inside. Here, in the bedroom, there are only the frosted windows at the top of the walls — no possibility of spies — so she steps close to him and lifts her face up. He inhales hard. “Sakura?” he breathes, and she’s so close to him that his breath brushes her face.
“Please,” she mouths back, letting her eyes go big and round. He hesitates, so she says again in the faintest whisper, “Please?” He shudders and drags a hand over his face before he sighs.
“Sakura, are you sure?” he says, voice soft. “I’m… as badly as I neglected you, I was still your teacher once.”
“Once,” she agrees, her eyes still big. “But now you’re my friend, and you’re here, and…” she trails off. “I trust you.”
Silence, for a long, long minute, and then he cradles her face in his hands. “Are you sure?” he says, so close his words ghost across her lips. She answers by closing the gap. This time, it’s different. The first was like a whisper of home. This one… he kisses her like she’s ancient china, valuable and impossibly fragile. His lips are smoother this time, and that makes her smile a little. When she finally, regretfully, breaks free because she needs to breathe, his eye’s dark in a way that makes her heart skip a beat.
That night, when Hikari kisses her goodbye, it’s not his lips she feels against hers.
- - -
When she goes on the third date, she lures him into the bedroom again on the pretense of helping her tie her obi. Of course, it’s already perfectly tied. When she steps close and lifts her face up again, he groans and tries to step away, only for her to grab his hand. “It helps me,” she whispers, her green eyes pleading. “Please.”
And, fuck it all, he’s weak. He’s spent the last four days in a half-daze, trying to decide whether he’s damned or not, wondering how hard she’s going to punch him when she snaps out of it. Kakashi’s not a weak man, but he is a lonely one. And… he has to admit his anger was easier to control last time, knowing that every time Hikari’s kissed her, he’s kissed her first. Laid claim, a tiny, traitorous part of his mind insists. He tells it to shut up, even as he drops his hand to the middle of her back and pulls her close enough to kiss. This time, she’s more confident, pressing back and exploring, tapping her tongue against the seam of his lips. He barely refrains from sinking his hand into her elaborate updo. When Kakashi releases her, a faint flush is visible even through the rice powder on her face.
That night, he ends up feeling insufferably smug when Hikari’s kiss doesn’t leave her nearly as flustered.
- - -
On the seventh date, Hikari’s kiss is more adventurous than Kakashi’s pre-date kiss had been. When his tongue worms into her mouth, she squeaks and pulls away, her shock entirely real this time. “I — I’m sorry, I didn’t know —“
Hikari smiles at her, but she can see something predatory in his eyes. “It’s okay. I know you’re innocent, my little Ichi-chan.” He kisses her again and this time, she’s prepared for the slimy wriggle of his tongue. Once he bids her goodbye, she barely waits till he’s out of sight before darting up the stairs and into their apartment. She doesn’t even greet Kakashi where he’s lounging on the kotatsu cushions, instead zipping past him and into the bathroom.
“Everything okay?” she hears him ask, footsteps approaching. She can’t answer, too busy frantically brushing her teeth to try and get that awful fucking feeling out of her mouth. She spits and rinses, but it’s still there, so she starts scrubbing again. This time, she holds the mouthwash in her mouth so long and gargles it so hard that the burn almost makes her cry. When she finally spits, it feels better, but she still… she shudders, thinking about it. A hand touches her shoulder gently, and Kakashi whispers, “Sakura?” into her ear.
“He —“ She shudders again. “He used tongue this time, and… I can still feel…” She looks up into the mirror and sees the concern in his one eye. The hint of anger in the creases around it are what makes her turn. Like this, he’s almost got her pinned up against the sink, and it makes something flutter low in her belly… something other than disgust. She doesn’t feel guilty at all about reaching up and dragging him down into a kiss. She half-expects to run mouth first into cotton mask, but instead, warm lips crash against hers. He stiffens, and his hands go to her hips. She ignores that for a second to run her tongue against the seam of his lips, but they stay firmly closed. She breaks away with a sigh.
“What are you doing?” he hisses, but she doesn’t miss how his eye drops to her lips, or how he swallows when she licks them.
“I can still feel his tongue inside my mouth, I can still taste him,” she whispers. “I don’t — please don’t make me go to bed with him on —“
That must have been the right thing to say because his lips are on hers again, one hand sliding up to the small of her back and the other curling around the nape of her neck. This time, he runs his tongue against her lips. When she doesn’t open her mouth immediately, he nips at her lip and drags a muffled moan from her. At that, his fingers slide up into her hair, and finally, finally, she can taste something other than Hikari. It’s the same action, the same muscle the other man used, but fuck it feels so different. Kakashi tastes like the broiled saury she knows he had for supper. The way he darts into her mouth, teases her, and makes her chase him is just… she doesn’t have words for it.
This time, it’s considerably longer before she breaks away to breathe. “Better?” he whispers against her forehead, the sound closer to a pant than anything else.
“So much,” she says, drooping against his chest. “So much.”
- - -
It’s set in stone. Kakashi’s fucking doomed, surely sentenced to hell for all eternity because he’s kissing his ex-student and enjoying it. He’d given her her pre-date kiss before her next date, but she’d stepped into the apartment shuddering after the date was over. “I hate the way he kisses,” she whispers after she spends ten minutes brushing her teeth. After that, he kisses her before her dates. When she comes home from them, he helps her forget Hikari’s touch.
On their thirteenth date, instead of walking her home, Hikari takes her to the park. Kakashi follows. He has to watch that disgusting excuse for a man gnaw on Sakura’s neck like a bone while she simpers and gasps. Once, she finds him in the trees and catches his eye, and he winces because he can see how much she hates it.
Again, she zips past him once she gets home. This time she’s in the shower almost immediately, so he fixes a cup of tea and takes it into their bedroom, where he sets it on the bedside table and waits. When she comes out, her hair already half-dry, she’s running healing chakra over her shoulder. He watches the bruise marks fade away before he hands her the tea. She drinks it all, sighs, and hands the cup back.
This time, he doesn’t wait for her to make a move. He sets the cup aside and drags her down onto his futon, kissing her like he can really make her forget Hikari. It doesn’t take long for him to move on to her neck, marring the newly healed skin with his bite marks, his hickeys.
It throws him a little off guard when she lifts his hand from her waist and drops it onto her breast because he hadn’t seen that. He breaks away, breathing hard, and demands, “He groped you?”
She winces, but nods before she speaks. “He… he was glad I wore a wrap dress tonight. Easy access, he said.” Kakashi can’t help hissing at that because that means Hikari had his hand up Sakura’s shirt and he didn’t notice. He kisses her again, gently tugging at the tie to her robe, and slips his hand inside.
Her breath hitches a second before his does. He hadn’t thought it through, but she’d come straight out of the bathroom — that’s why his hand’s gently curled around a bare breast. “Did he —“ he breathes against her lips.
“No, I — I had wraps on,” she stutters. Because he’s the biggest pervert in all of existence, that makes him smile a little. It means even if Hikari groped her, Kakashi is still the first person to touch her skin-to-skin like this. He drags his fingers across her bare skin slowly, feeling goosebumps trail his touch, and his smile grows as he flattens his palm against her breast, gently rolling it beneath his hand. Her stifled gasp goes straight to his cock, as does the way her nipple perks up and pokes at his hand. When he tweaks her nipple between two fingers, she jerks against him and whimpers into his mouth.
That night, after she finally nods off in her bed, he slips into the bathroom and touches himself, his body tense as he accepts that he’s an awful fucking person — he’s already looking forward to her next date with Hikari just because it means she’ll come home asking for his hands on her skin.
- - -
Sakura’s entire body hums while she waits on Hikari for their next date, but it’s not because of him. Today, Kakashi followed her into the bedroom when she went in to change into her date outfit. She hadn’t even realized until she’d turned around, her dirty shirt in hand, to find him standing behind her. He sat down on her vanity stool, dragged her onto his lap, and proceeded to kiss her senseless. Not a little of her excitement comes from feeling the evidence that Kakashi, too, likes this.
Hikari thinks it’s all for him when he takes her to the lakeside and slides a hand between her legs. She sees a flicker of suspicion in his eyes, just a flicker, so she plays it to the hilt. When he moves her panties aside and touches her, she squirms and pushes him away. “I — I think something’s wrong with me, Hikari-kun,” she whimpers, her face flushed. “I — I’ve been — it’s been very hard for me to concentrate today, and my… down there…” she hides her face in her hands and rolls her eyes.
It works. “Oh, my darling,” he coos at her. “It just means your body likes me.”
She can’t help disagreeing, loudly, inside her head. No, it means my body likes Kakashi! That night, when she comes home, Kakashi’s already waiting for her in the bedroom, his eye dark with fury as he drags her down to straddle his lap. If she hadn’t taken her panties off in the main room, she doesn’t think she’d have gotten them off.
“Did he hurt you?” he whispers in her ear between kisses as he kneads one breast in his hand.
“N-no,” she whispers back. “B-but he…” And at this, she actually blushes and leans forward so that her mouth’s against his ear, because this is the filthiest thing she’s ever thought about saying. She’s read her share of illicit romance novels, with filthy dialogue, but saying it… “He thought he was the reason I was soaking wet all evening,” she whispers. Kakashi outright groans at that and drops his hands to her hips, pushing her down to straddle him, where she can feel something pressing against her.
“And was he?” he breathes back, holding her perfectly still.
She hesitates again, just a little. He pauses and raises an eyebrow at her, ready to stop, but she shakes her head at him and exhales, the flush slowly creeping to her neck. “I…” she swallows and finally manages to whisper, “I was thinking about your cock.”
At that, she feels his erection jump beneath her and he groans again, his head lolling back. “You’re going to be the death of me,” he mutters. Then his hand slides down her leg and back up, beneath her dress. He kisses her and then — his fingers touch her — she feels his entire body jolt. “Fuck,” he moans into her mouth. And even just this, his fingers exploring her thighs and the junction between them, feels so much better than Hikari.
- - -
He almost loses control when he finds she doesn’t have panties on. And she wasn’t lying about being soaking, either. Her thighs are slick with want, her pubic hair almost sodden, her pussy spread open…
“He didn’t… he just touched outside,” she whispers. “I think he didn’t want to go too far yet.” He kisses her again, nibbling on her lip, and lets his hands roam. It doesn’t take long before she’s breathless, and then he slides one finger inside her. The way she gasps and moans, clenching around his finger, is almost enough to undo him.
“Good?” he breathes, leaning back to catch her eyes. She’s flushed, green eyes dark and wide, her dress pushed down just far enough for her breasts to peek out — it’s erotic enough already. Then she bites her lip and nods slowly. He starts to finger-fuck her then, slowly at first, but the pleasure flickering across her face makes him impatient, and he adds a second finger. Her mouth gapes open, and her whimper… fuck, her whimper. With two fingers inside of her, slowly pumping, he’s in a good position to find her clit — and he does. He taps it, and her entire body jerks like a live wire.
“Kakashi,” she whisper-moans, her eyes half-lidded. He shushes her and strokes it again — she almost cries out, but bites her lip again. Another pass — and another — and she jerks, almost wailing, but he catches her cry with his lips and drinks it down as she comes apart on his fingers. They settle, panting, against each other for a moment. Then he crooks his fingers, just to see if he can hit a certain spot inside her, and does. Her full-body shudder makes him smile. But then she opens her eyes and scowls at him, reaching down for his drawstrings. He catches her hand with a warning look. “Please?” she says, offering him the big eyes again.
He sighs, but undoes the drawstrings on his pants and lets her slide them down a little. The room’s just barely lit enough for them to see each other, so she can’t see his cock well. It’s probably for the best, because just her fingers trailing over him is almost too much. He lets her explore for a minute and then he frees his fingers, licking them clean. She squeaks and he offers her a sly grin. Then he pushes her off him, to the side, and she slides off of him looking pouty. He breathes a laugh and murmurs, “Lay down.” She obliges, and then he settles over her, carefully arranging his body. He knows he’s found the right position when her breath hitches again. “Good?” he says into her ear.
She just hums in response. A few seconds later, as he rocks his hips into hers, the hum turns into a whine as she grabs at his arms. It’s not the first time he’s had a liaison with a partner, but it’s the first time frotting has ever felt like such sweet hell. She’s so slick that it takes his breath, and her gasps in his ear…
When she shudders and he feels her gushing against his cock, it sends him over the edge. When his vision clears, she’s looking insufferable and entirely too pleased about the cum splattered across her stomach and pubic hair… and a little on her dress, too. He tweaks her nose for it, but she swats his hand away with a laugh.
- - -
Two days later, Hikari sends her flowers with a note. 5 days from now, meet me at Synosu. I’ve got a special evening planned for us. Bring an overnight bag.
She shows Kakashi the note and his teeth click together in… anger? She’s not sure what to label the emotion. “This is it,” is all he says. “After this…” she nods.
“He could strike at any time,” she says quietly. That night, she has trouble sleeping — not for her own sake, but because she’s terrified of what might have happened to the other girls. Four hours into the night, she sighs and sits up to look over at her partner. He’s immobile in bed, as always, but she’s sure he woke up as soon as she moved. So she takes her blanket and shuffles over to his futon.
“Aa, Ichi-chan?” he mumbles, opening his eye and looking up at her from where his face is buried in the pillow.
“I can’t sleep,” she says. He just scoots over. The futon’s barely big enough for both of them, but his arm across her waist proves surprisingly comforting. It doesn’t take her long to drift off to sleep after that. If her co-workers attribute her good mood to Hikari, that’s all the better.
At bedtime, she walks into the bathroom to change and walks out to find their futons have been dragged together. The next morning, she wakes up to find his hand beneath her shirt and his erection searing hot against her back. She knows, knows, it’s a morning reaction — but she doesn’t care. So she rocks her hips back against him. No response, so she does it again, and again. Her first indication he’s awake is when he pinches her nipple hard. “You fucking minx,” he growls into her ear. It sends chills down her spine and pools in her belly. Then she hears him sniff and he growls again. She smirks a little and rolls her hips back again. “You’re trying to kill me,” he mutters, hand sliding down her body and into her pants.
That’s the first time they touch each other entirely unprompted by Hikari’s lewdness. She wakes up to gentle touches roaming her body the day after that, and she comes so hard she has to bite down on his shoulder to keep from screaming.
She returns the favor the next morning, when she wakes up to find her face buried in his chest and his legs tangled with hers, erection nestled against her stomach. After a few seconds of staring, she tugs the ties loose on his pants and drags them down as carefully as she can. It’s the first time she’s gotten to really see his cock. Penises all look strange as a rule, but his is relatively nice. Almost cute, even, with the way that his cherry red head peeks from his foreskin. She exhales and tries to remember all the things she’s read in romance novels, but her brain goes blank. Instead, she just goes with instinct, licking her hand and gently wrapping it around his cock.
A sharp inhale above her head tells her Kakashi’s awake. She looks up, blushing, to find him watching her. “I wondered if you were that tired,” she whispers.
“Rarely, if ever, am I tired enough to sleep through someone poking around my crotch,” he says dryly. She snorts and giggles, but just looks back down. He’s wonderfully patient, letting her explore and play with his cock. She finds out there’s a ridge just above his base that makes him groan, and that he responds best to firm touches. Sakura’s still not bored when he reaches down to grab her hand, his breathing hard. “You only have an hour before you need to be at work,” he says, his voice tight. “Should probably get ready.”
She looks up and pouts at him. “But I wanted to make you come,” she complains quietly.
He smirks a little. “Kick off your shorts, then,” he almost growls. She obeys. They’re barely down her legs when his hand slides between her legs. She can’t help the moan that trebles from her at his touch, but it’s gone too soon for her to really enjoy. Then she realizes what he was doing as he runs his fingers over his cock, leaving trails of her wetness behind. “Don’t go too fast, and keep your speed consistent,” he says, scooting just a little closer.
It sounds easier than it is, especially when his hand snakes back between her legs. But they’re both worked up, and it doesn’t take long before she shudders against his hand. He follows her a minute later, his spend spraying onto her stomach where her shirt’s hiked up. “Minx,” he accuses her again as he catches his breath. She just smiles and squirms away.
At dawn on the fifth day, ‘date day’, she wakes up to find Kakashi gone from their room. He comes out of the bathroom a minute later and grins at her, the smile a little too tight to be real. “Ne, Ichi-chan, today’s your big sleepover!” he says. “I thought you might like a special breakfast to make sure you come back to your big brother.” As he speaks, he kneels at the end of the futon and touches her ankles, eyebrows high. Do you want this?
“Idiot brother, I’ll always come back!” she says with a laugh. “But make sure you remember my favorite!” I want this.
His eye goes dark with something she now knows as arousal and he stretches out between her legs, running one hand up under the edge of her shorts. She doesn’t need any prompting to kick it — or the shirt — into a corner. And Kakashi then proceeds to tease her mercilessly, touches dancing around her pussy, just missing her clit, until she’s so worked up she could scream. Then he smiles at her, dark and devilish, before lowering his mouth to her. She bucks up at the first touch of his tongue, making him wrap one arm around her leg and splay a hand across her hip to keep her level. “Shhh,” he whispers, and then he goes back down. Sakura writhes and bucks and wishes she could scream — when she finally comes, she bites her hand so hard it bruises almost immediately.
It helps that night.
- - -
They’re inside, for once, and that means Kakashi can’t follow them indoors. Instead, he finds their room (just below the penthouse) and perches on top of the balcony, listening for any signs of distress. He hears Sakura’s fake giggling, pictures her blushing, and then the bed squeaks. He tenses. The next twenty minutes are… the longest twenty minutes of his life. He listens as she pretends to enjoy Hikari’s attentions, as she pretends to wail his name in ecstasy, as Hikari grunts her name.
He doesn’t realize his fingernails are dug into his palms until he smells blood. Then he ends up gnawing on them, waiting for it to be over. It eventually ends, and he hears Sakura go to the bathroom. (“It’s good hygiene, people with vaginas should always go to the bathroom after they orgasm!”) She returns and the lights go out. It doesn’t take long before he hears Hikari snoring.
Sakura’s chakra never flickers into the subtle waves that indicate sleep. He stays there the whole night, until the sun begins rising and he has to leave. He’s never been more glad that he works his own schedule, even here. It means he’s in the main room, dozing on the kotatsu, when she comes home. She smiles at him, and even through the henge, he can tell she’s exhausted. He follows her into the bathroom, where she drops the henge for the first time in three and a half months. He’s seen her look better rested after working a double at the hospital — her expression’s perfectly empty.
After a minute of deliberation, he goes back out to the main room and draws the curtains. The shower turns on while he’s doing it. He brings fresh clothes into the bathroom and leaves them on the sink before he steps into the shower and helps her wash. He stops her from scrubbing until her skin’s red and doesn’t let her stay in until she boils. None of it is sexual, and he’s not inclined to make it that way. Seduction missions have never sat well with him, because in the most technical sense, it’s not rape. To him it doesn’t feel like a justification for the missions, but it’s not his job to say what’s wrong and right. In their futon, she curls up against him.
She doesn’t cry. Her eyes don’t even look like they want to be red. But she melts into him like he’s the last thing on earth that could save her.
- - -
To be honest, it’d been exactly what Sakura expected. It just… hadn’t hit her until she was on her way home. It doesn’t make her feel dirty, or ‘whoreish’, or anything like she’s heard from other kunoichi. It feels like her body’s really a tool for the first time. Kakashi knows what she needs as soon as she steps into their apartment, and it’s comforting. She doesn’t know what she would have done without him and — well, all his help. Later, when she wakes up with her head pillowed on his arm, she considers his face for a long minute. She really assumed he’d been wearing the mask under his henge, all the way up until she’d pulled him in for that spontaneous kiss and found lips instead of cloth. She half-wonders now if this is his real face, or if he’s henged into something just slightly different…
“Something on m’ face?” Kakashi mumbles, half opening his eye.
“Just my curiosity,” Sakura answers, offering him a half smile. He hums a questioning little hum and she elaborates. “Is this your you face, or did you change things?” As an answer, he sighs and flops onto his back, jarring her a little, before raising his hand and releasing the henge. It fades, and her jaw drops as she claps a hand over her eyes. “I didn’t mean you had to show me!” she squeaks.
He chuckles. “It’s okay,” he says, his fingers prying hers away from her face. “After all of this… well, I think you’ve earned it.” Reassured, she lets him pull her hand away and then sits up a little to get a good look at his face. Daisuke’s features are rougher, thicker, than Kakashi’s real features, the nose a little wider and less aristocratic, the mouth short and rough compared to Kakashi’s ridiculously plush, wide lips.
“Pretty boy,” she mutters, a little angry that he’s thirty-three and his skin’s better than hers and Ino’s. “…why didn’t you just use your real face for this mission?” she asks, reaching out and touching the birthmark on his chin.
He smiles at her and she gets her answer. Daisuke’s lopsided smile was handsome enough. On his real face, it’s fucking sizzling hot. “I wasn’t supposed to be the one getting attention this time around,” he says gently.
“Yeah, uh. Yeah,” she says stupidly, her brain a little addled by just his smile. “…that’s not fair. He arches an eyebrow at her. “You’re stupid smart, and you have a sharingan, and you’re prettier than at least half of the kunoichi I’ve met.”
“Aa, well, I haven’t heard many complaints,” he teases, gently tugging at her closer and pulling her into a kiss. It’s soft, and wholesome, and it feels so good after Hikari’s slobbering. She doesn’t realize she’s crying until he makes a noise of alarm and pulls away. “Are you okay?” he asks, gently swiping the tears off her cheeks.
“I — yes,” she says, startled to realize it’s true. “I just…” she sighs and sinks down against him. “Whatever Hikari’s taking those girls for, it’s just a means to an end. It feels so different when… when you kiss me, because it feels like you care about me.”
His other arm folds around her and he drags her a little closer. “That’s because I do,” he mumbles into her hair.
- - -
Doomed, doomed, doomed. They’ve shared a bed for the last three nights since she got back from Hikari’s and nothing sexual has happened. Not a single thing. That’s what tells him he’s really in over his head. Sex is sex. That’s how it is for shinobi. It’s when sex gets turned into feelings that things go south. That being said — before this, he’s never been on a purple mission with someone he’s so fiercely protective of. Friends, yes, even a few almost-enemies, but… his team’s closer to his heart than any of the others. Thinking about that slime makes Kakashi want to stab the man to death with dull kunai.
When Hikari invites them to his house, on the outskirts of his father’s land, he sneaks kunai into his socks with the express purpose of cutting off anything that touches Sakura again. They both dress formally, her in a navy blue yukata that makes her look like a princess, and him in a simple black one. It fits for the characters they’ve played this whole time.
Hikari lets them in and pours them tea. If Kakashi didn’t know better, he’d be fooled by the man. He’s perfectly genial, kind almost to a fault. But his eyes gleam in triumph every time he looks at Sakura. He’s so busy glowering at the man suspiciously — also in character — that he almost jumps when he feels Sakura’s foot tapping a code on his foot. Tea drugged. Mine low dose. Yours high. Pass out when I say.
He lets his words grow looser and looser, slurs a few of them, and sees the victory on Hikari’s face. When Sakura taps his foot again, he slumps forward and lets the cup fall from his fingers, clattering to the ground. “Nee-san!” he hears her cry, and jump to her feet. “Oh… oh… Hikari-kun, I don’t…” And she thumps to the ground near him. Hikari’s low chortle makes it hard to stay still, but he’s not a hack. It’s a long, long ten minutes before Hikari leaves with Sakura’s body in his arms.
As soon as his footsteps fade, Kakashi’s sitting up and summoning Pakkun. “Boss!” the dog barks.
“Follow Sakura’s scent. Don’t be seen, don’t lose them,” he says tersely. Pakkun nods, and makes to leave. Then he sniffs.
“Hey, Boss, you know you —“ he glares at the pug. Pakkun takes the hint and goes. It doesn’t take long for Kakashi to find incriminating evidence. Names of possible future targets, a diary detailing Hikari’s kidnappings so far, and… he almost sets some of it on fire. Nine sets of panties, a few torn, and one of them he recognizes as the pair Sakura wore for her… overnight. “And I thought I couldn’t hate you more,” he seethes, sealing the evidence into an empty scroll.
It doesn’t take him long to catch up to Pakkun. “Get what you need, Boss?”
“Mmh,” he answers, too angry to say much more.
“Good. Then you won’t mind if I ask why you smell like Floral Green.” Kakashi sighs.
“I… it’s complicated, okay? Just… just leave it there for now. Please.” And for once, the ornery dog listens. The sun finishes setting, and the moon rises, and they’re still running. “How far did he take her?” he mutters. “And how good are his legs?”
“Oh, right. He took a horse.” Kakashi glares at the dog again.
“Could’ve mentioned that earlier.”
Finally, the trail ends after two hours of running. A small compound peers out of the forest, surprisingly well camouflaged. “Sakura-chan’s scent leads toward the back, but…” Pakkun hesitates. “There’s a bunch of scents in there, boss, and some of it smells like they’re whelping.”
His skin crawls. “Are… how many scents?”
Pakkun sniffs two or three times. “Eh, about eight. Three whelping.” His eyes narrow. “This guy some kind of sicko?”
“You could say that,” Kakashi mumbles. “See if you can get eyes on any of those other scents. I’m going to find Sakura.”
He knows the feel of her chakra by heart. It’s not hard to find her in the small compound. It is hard to contain his rage when he finds her strapped to a metal table, scrolls with fuinjutsu scattered around the room. Hikari’s nowhere in sight, so Kakashi takes the chance to slip into the room. After a second, Sakura’s eyes pop open and she sighs. “Thank God you’re here,” she mumbles. “Kakashi, all those other girls, they’re still alive. He’s done something to them, sealed away their personality or something, because they’re all…” she gags. “You… you have to see them.”
“Where is he now?” he asks, pulling out a kunai to pry open the shackles. He doesn’t get there before she charges her arms with chakra and breaks free.
“I think he went to get my… he called it jewelry, but something tells me it’s not as innocuous as an engagement ring,” she mutters, bending down to snap the shackles on her legs apart. “Listen, I’ve got a plan. Up till now, we both assumed the girls were dead. Ichigo and Daisuke can’t be seen rescuing people. I’ll put a henged clone in the corner, act like we followed him here, and we can take the girls to the hospital as ourselves. Gives Ichigo and Daisuke a reason to leave, too.”
He nods. A few signs later, an Ichigo cowers in the corner. She strips with brutal efficiency, pulling her shinobi clothes and tools from the sealed scrolls he hands her. “I’ll go find Pakkun and the girls,” he says. “Are you okay with…?”
Her grin scares him. “Better than I’ve ever been,” she snarls.
- - -
When Hikari comes back, he finds Ichigo cowering in the corner and the shackles busted open. “How did you…?” he starts, clearly confused.
“She didn’t,” Sakura says, melting out of the shadows. “I did.”
Hikari takes one look at her and bursts into laughter. “You?”
“Me,” she agrees, taking a step forward. “You may have heard of me. My name is Haruno. Haruno Sakura.”
He blinks and frowns. “That… that does sound…”
“Or perhaps you’ve heard of Tsunade-shishou?” That makes him pale.
“You’re — you’re her apprentice! That monster girl!” And now she’s the one laughing.
“I don’t think I’m the monster here.” Subduing him isn’t even a struggle. She also doesn’t feel bad about cutting off his hands, since she heals the stubs until skin grows over them, or about chemically castrating him. He won’t even know until he wakes up, unable to get an erection any longer.
Kakashi blinks when he meets her at the entrance to the compound. He’s found a wagon somewhere and tied it to the horse Hikari rode in on. “What?” she asks defensively. “He deserved it.”
“He did,” Kakashi says, helping the women up into the wagon. They’re all gaunt, dead-eyed, and all of them have shackles with fuinjutsu around their wrists. One of the girls is clearly almost nine months pregnant, and Sakura almost hits Hikari again. Once all of them are loaded up, Pakkun waves goodbye, and she gets ready to haul herself into the back of the wagon. He stops her with a hand on her wrist, pulling her towards him and tugging his mask down to kiss her. In the moonlight, it’s almost romantic. “I didn’t expect you to chop them off without permission,” he whispers when he breaks away.
She flushes and makes a note for future reference. He likes it when people ask forgiveness instead of permission.
- - -
It’s close to dawn when they ride into town, Sakura up front with her henged clone wrapped in a blanket next to her. Kakashi’s sitting in the back, working on the seals on the women’s cuffs. Given the way the seals are inscribed, he’s fairly certain the women have been aware this entire time, so he hasn’t fully broken any of them. Instead, he’s bringing them right to the edge of unsealing and then moving on.
Even this early, the streets are surprisingly busy. More than a few people pause in their morning routines to watch the wagon rattle through the town streets. Thankfully, the town’s big enough that the hospital’s always open, even if it’s not well-staffed right now. They roll to a stop and Kakashi takes great pleasure in setting a lightning cage over Hikari’s unconscious form so that they can transport the women inside.
As he gathers the most pregnant woman into his arms and dismounts from the cart, Sakura leaps from the driver’s seat and storm into the hospital. “You!” he hears her shout, and he almost laughs because she’s surely going to traumatize someone in short order. “Call whoever the hell is on call and get them in here, stat. There’s eight women coming in, three of them pregnant, all of them suffering the effects of long-term imprisonment.” Kakashi shoulders through the doors just then and hands the women over to Sakura’s waiting hands, her hands gentle even as she shouts at the receptionist, “What are you waiting for? Get moving!”
Thankfully, the visible sparks of a lightning cage keep people away from the wagon outside while he and Sakura bring the women into the hospital. Once they’re all inside, he finishes breaking the seals. All of the women burst into tears when the cuffs fall off, confirming his suspicions. Rage, already simmering beneath his skin through the night, bubbles up hotter with each person he frees. When the last seal breaks, he’s almost vibrating with anger.
“I think it’s time to take out the trash,” he murmurs to Sakura, eyes dark. Her own eyes, always so bright, darken with their own displeasure.
“We’ll have to take him to the lord,” she snarls as they move out of the hospital, steps synchronized. The wagon’s empty now save for Hikari. A few minutes ago, he sent out a shadow clone ‘Daisuke’ to pick up Akane and take her home, so there’s nothing to worry about save the criminal himself. “Wish I could just... feed him to Anko, or something,” she mutters as he dispels the cage.
“Aa, not a bad idea,” he muses, picking him up and tossing him to Sakura. She catches him with ease and they take to the rooftops. Judging by the sun, it’s somewhere around nine, which means — “Isn’t today the monthly grievances day?” he asks, stopping on the building next to the main manor. There’s crowds around the front of the building.
Sakura’s grin is fierce. “Want to pull a Naruto?” she answers.
“…charge in headfirst and yell about the power of love?” he wonders.
She shoots him a look. “No. Run in headfirst and shame them into doing something about this sick shithead. Can’t let it go unpunished if half the town knows before noon.”
He offers her a smile. “I like the way you think, Sakura-chan.”
They shunshin right into Lord Yokoyama’s mansion, in front of his council… and in front of him, with Sakura holding Hikari by the nape of his neck like a bad cat. It startles the entire room, starting murmuring and noise, until Lord Yokoyama yells, “QUIET!” Then he turns to them, eyes on his trussed up brother, and demands, “What is the meaning of this?”
“Aa, just returning some litter we found on the road of life,” Kakashi says, crinkling his eye in a faux smile. “You see, Sakura-chan and I were on our way back from a mission. We saw Sugawara, and Sakura-chan wanted to stop to see her friend Ichigo-chan. They were in the same class, you see.”
“Imagine my surprise when I find this… thing… with my friend on the back of his horse, unconscious, riding into the woods,” Sakura snarls. He feels a spark of chakra from her, and then Hikari stirs from the genjutsu she put him under.
“W-wha…” he slurs, still dangling from Sakura’s hand.
Kakashi steps forward, all his jovial attitude gone, letting tendrils of his killing intent curl out. “Did you know your brother was kidnapping women, Yokoyama-dono? Ichigo-chan would’ve been the ninth. The other eight are…” he shakes his head.
“The others are in the hospital, and they’re going to be there a long time,” Sakura snaps. “I guess your ‘brother’ wanted a harem.”
Yokoyama stands, scowl burning into them. “What proof do you have? Who are you, to come bearing these accusations? My family is an honorable one, and we always have been.”
He almost hears Sakura’s temper snapping, and he does hear the way her grip tightens on Hikari’s neck. He speaks, hoping to distract her a little. “Aa, you might have heard of me once or twice.” He flicks up his hitai-ate and looks straight at the lord, letting his eye spin lazily. It only takes a second for Yokoyama to pale, clearly putting the pieces together.
“H-Hatake Kakashi?” he stutters. “The copy-nin?”
“That’s him,” Sakura says as he slides his hitai-ate back down. “And you might have heard of my teacher, Tsunade-shishou.” She offers a tiny smile, complete with eye crinkle, and it’s so saccharine he almost laughs.
Yokoyama pales a little further and glances from each of them to his brother. “Your claims, you — you have evidence of them?”
“You bashtard,” Hikari slurs, and Kakashi blinks before cutting his eyes toward the man where he still dangles from Sakura’s hand. “Knew you was lookin’ for a way to get ridda me.”
“Hikari?” Yokoyama says, the shock and dismay on his face turning into confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“I shoulda been lord… an’ everyone knows it…” he murmurs, head lolling to one side, but his words growing a little clearer. “She shoulda been my wife… but you touched her an’ you stole her… can’t trust women. Not unless they’re pure. So I made sure they were pure… and I took ‘em… s’what I deserve.”
At that, Sakura drops the man and kicks him towards his brother. When he comes to a stop at his brother’s feet, he’s on his front — meaning everyone in the court can see that there are no hands on the arms tied behind his back. “We leave your brother in your care, Yokoyama-dono,” she spits. Her hands are fisted so tightly he can hear the leather of her gloves creaking. “I don’t know what the hell he planned on doing with them, but there’s eight women in the hospital who your brother raped for months on end. Three of them are pregnant. I can’t tell you how to handle this, but I can tell you it’s going to take Tsunade about twenty seconds to tell the daimyo about this.” She pauses. “And, by the way? We’re taking the Satos with us. They left because Daisuke lost an eye, but somehow I think they’d rather be back in Konoha right now.
With that, they shunshin out and spring across the rooftops to their apartment, where a weeping clone lets them in the front door. As soon as the door closes behind them and the clones disappear, Sakura slumps, the weight of the mission rolling off her shoulders. “Fuck,” she mutters.
“Yeah.” Both of them are too tired, physically and emotionally, to do anything other than rinse off. There’s no blood on their hands, but they both might have preferred it if there was. He pulls her into his arms when they lay down, glad that everything had gone so well. He even says as much. “I’m glad he didn’t get those cuffs on you,” he murmurs into her ear. She hums, already half-asleep.
He watches her sleep and wonders.
- - -
When she wakes up at midnight, she’s hungry. Kakashi’s limbs are tangled in hers like ramen noodles, but she manages to disengage and sneak into the kitchen. Unsurprisingly, he follows her after a minute and finds her rummaging in the fridge. “Your leftover tempura’s in the back,” he mumbles. When she retrieves the container, he steals a piece before she even manages to get it in the microwave. He tries for a second, but she slaps his hand away and shoves it in. When she turns around, he’s crunching down the tempura and he has —
“Is that the sushi I brought home last week?” she exclaims. He nods. “There’s no way those haven’t gone bad!” He blinks, looks at the sushi in his chopsticks, and promptly eats it. “Hatake Kakashi! You’re worse than Naruto! And — hey! You don’t even like tempura!”
“‘m fine,” he says around a mouthful of rice and fish. “Microwave.” He points over her shoulder with his chopsticks and she turns around just as the microwave beeps. It doesn’t take her long to finish it off. In that time, he’s finished the — spoiled — sushi and is halfway through a second onigiri.
“How are you not fat?” she grumbles, poking his belly as she steals the last onigiri from the fridge.
“Hey, you got to ride to that hell-place last night,” he says, pointing his chopsticks at her again. “I ran the entire way there, and I’m the one who found the horse and wagon.”
She just sticks her tongue out at him and shoves the onigiri in her mouth so that she can use her hands to hop onto the counter and reach into the cabinet for a cup. She’s done it a hundred times since they came here. This, though, is the first time Kakashi’s been standing in front of her when she’s done it. When she turns her head back towards him after grabbing her cup, she realizes it puts her at eye level with him. “…hey,” she says quietly, holding the cup out to him.
“Hey,” he answers. Somehow, he manages to pour her a glass of water without looking away or spilling any of it. He hands it back, and she finds her throat suddenly dry. She finally breaks eye contact when she takes a drink, and she chugs half the glass, trying to quell her thirst. Once she’s swallowed all she can, she lowers the glass with a gasp. But Kakashi’s moved. He’s pressed up against her legs, one hand on either side of her hips.
The burn in his eye takes her off guard, so she just holds up the glass and squeaks, “Thirsty?”
“Very,” he answers, prying her fingers off the glass and setting it down behind her. Then he leans in and kisses her.
Since she spent the night with Hikari, her body hasn’t wanted anything at all. Suddenly, all of the lust she felt for Kakashi before that night comes roaring back, licking up her legs and igniting her. And it’s him, it’s the real him, not Daisuke’s coarser features but his — so she sinks her hands into his hair, wraps her legs around his waist, and pulls him closer.
That’s all the encouragement he needs, evidently, because a second later they’re both in the bedroom. “Two person?” she asks, breaking away.
“Very chakra-intensive,” he says, flushing a little. “Listen, Sakura, are you —“
She kisses him again, harder and more savage. This time, when they stop to breathe, she growls, “Shut up and fuck me.”
- - -
Her words go straight through him like lightning. He doesn’t waste any more time, but buckles to his knees and lets her slide off his lap so that she’s sprawled on the futon. Her pink hair splays out around her head as he flips the lamp on the bedside table on. Then he hovers over her and kisses her again, sinking down against her body. Their disparate heights mean he’s able to settle perfectly between her legs and still kiss her, that when he slides his hand down one of her legs and yanks it back up to hang over his hip, his erection grinds into her and makes her shudder.
The next time they break for air, he tugs his shirt off and hurls it into the corner. She immediately takes vicious advantage by tweaking both of his nipples — not something his partners generally do. His cock jumps and he muffles a groan in her neck. “Off,” he whispers, tugging at her shirt. She obeys, arching up and wiggling out of the thin shirt. Her head and arms are still trapped in the sleeves when he leans down and sucks one of her nipples into his mouth, making her jolt and squeak. “Turnabout is fair play,” he whispers, letting his other hand drop to her unoccupied breast and massage it. The shirt comes off. She drops it to the side and he glances up to catch her eyes before he drags his teeth over her nipple.
Sakura gasps and her body arches, almost unbidden, pressing closer to him. “Fuck.” Her whimper accompanies her body’s shudder, and his body’s trying its best to betray him. He tweaks her other nipple at the same time he bites down. Her needy whine sinks into his bones and makes him so hard it’s starting to hurt. After he toys with her for a moment, he switches to her other nipple, gently nipping at it and then soothing it with his tongue.
He pulls himself back up and before he blinks, she wriggles free of her pants, her hips bumping into his as she does it. Her arousal smells like musk and sin, and it’s delicious. He kisses her again, letting his hand wander down her body — she’s not quite as wet as she had been the night of her last date with Hikari, but that had been built up by her wanting all day long. His fingers slide between her lips and she hisses, but the hiss turns into a low moan when a finger slides inside her. “Did he touch you like this?” he whispers, his eyes intent on her.
“He tried,” she whispers back, canting her hips up towards him again. His finger slides deeper inside her and he bites back a groan — but it sneaks out a second later when she tries to fuck herself on his finger. “The only way I got wet at all was thinking about you.”
He bites her neck and slides another finger inside her, listening to the way she keens and almost dying at the way she rolls her hips against his hand. Kakashi doesn’t do anything for a long minute other than gently finger-fuck her. “Good,” he mumbles, and then he moves like lightning. Before she realizes he’s moved, he’s between her legs. “What about this?” he mutters, dropping his face and dragging the flat of his tongue across her clit. She almost cries out, but bites her hand in time to muffle the cry.
“N-no,” she whimpers. He smirks against her skin and curls his fingers up inside her, searching for her sweet spot again. It’s easier to find in short women, so — “Nnnnguh!” Her hips buck up into his face and his smirk grows. He lets her breathe for a second before he begins alternating between gentle, slow strokes inside her, rubbing against that sweet spot, and softly licking around her clit. It doesn’t take long before she sinks her fingers into his hair and tugs his head closer. This close, her musk is overwhelming, layered with the scent of her sweat, but it’s nothing compared to her taste. He’s tasted women who were oddly sweet before, but Sakura’s flavor reminds him of something he can’t quite define. She’s somewhere between salty and tangy, just interesting enough to make him want more. Her breathless keen catches his attention then — it sounds like she’s trying to form words and failing. He smiles against her again and presses a third finger inside her, just as he sucks. “Aah, fffuck, Kakashiiiii!”
Hearing his name on her lips makes him even harder, but he doesn’t move. When she catches her breath, he goes back down. This time, he’s not gentle, slamming his fingers inside her like he wants to slam into her, lapping her up like she’s water in the desert. Her second orgasm’s more violent than the first. He’s pretty sure she manages to yank some of his hair from his head. “Good?” he asks, raising his head once her body stops shaking.
- - -
“So good,” she whispers back, trying to catch her breath. Kakashi slowly slides his fingers from her, catching her eyes as he licks them clean. It makes her groan and drop her head back onto the pillow because that’s really a lot hotter than it should be. “I hate you,” she mumbles.
He chuckles and she hears him moving around, the heat of his torso leaving her legs. A minute later, he returns. His knees bump against her thighs and something pops, like a bottle opening. Confused, she pushes herself up onto her elbows to investigate — her neck’s too weak to lift on its own. And, damn it, this just keeps getting hotter. He’s sweaty, his cock hard enough that it’s nearly bumping his belly, and he’s… dripping something onto it? The bottle’s grey and vaguely familiar, but... “What is that?” she asks, not quite sure.
He raises an eyebrow at her. “Really, Sakura?” he says, evidently deciding he has enough of whatever it is because he caps the bottle and sets it down. “I — nnngh —“ He shudders as he touches himself, spreading the substance liberally. “You’ve never seen a bottle of lube?”
She blinks. “I — oh.” She tries to contain the flush that’s trying to spread down her neck, but judging by his sly smirk, it’s not quite successful. “I’ve never seen it outside of a sterile environment before,” she explains, biting her lip. “And that bottle is the exact same color as your shampoo.”
“About six shades darker, actually,” he corrects her. “Had to hide it somehow.”
She wrinkles her nose at him, but her brain short-circuits when he takes his hand off his cock and rubs the heel of his palm against her. It’s distractingly slick and slippery against her skin, but there’s still friction, and she wants. Kakashi withdraws his hand a minute later and she whines at the loss until he picks a foil packet up from somewhere in the snarl of blankets. He’s already ripped it open when she realizes what it is and blurts, “Wait!”
Every inch of him stops. It looks almost comical because one hand’s pressing the condom to the tip of his cock and his other’s extended, ready to roll it down. “What?” he says, both eyes suddenly open and wide, something close to panic on his face.
She can’t help snorting. If nothing else, that takes the panic out of his face. Then she realizes what she’s about to say and flushes a little. “I… would you be okay with not using…” She wrinkles her nose and whispers, “Condoms?”
His eyes seem like they double in size for a second. “W-what?” he stutters, clearly startled. “Sakura, you — I — what?” He takes a deep breath and lets his hands drop to his sides. “Why would you… I know you know how important safety is.”
She sighs and bites her lip. “I do,” she murmurs. “I…” She exhales and lets her head drop back so she doesn’t have to look at him. “Promise not to laugh?” He hums in response. “I don’t want this to be anything like sleeping with Hikari, and he used a condom.” There’s silence for a few seconds and she manages to muster the courage to lift her head again. He’s just staring at her, conflict clear on his face. “If you’re worried about STDs, I know you’re clean because I’m the one who did your labs last time you came back from a mission,” she points out. “And I…” She flushes again. “Yeah. ”
After a few more seconds that feel like hours, his shoulders drop a little and he sighs. “If you’re sure, Sakura,” he mumbles, leaning back and dropping the opened condom somewhere on the floor behind him. He pauses when he reaches to move the bottle of lube and squints at her. “This isn’t part of a nefarious plan to secretly have my child and revive my clan, is it? Because I’ve had that happen a couple times.”
That isn’t what she expected him to say and she almost cackles. “Seriously?” she says, smile curling her lips. He nods. “No, I have no nefarious designs on your semen, and even if I did, it’d be useless. Tsunade made sure I knew to keep up with the shot.” She realizes what a strange sentence that is right after she says it. As she giggles again, he moves, supporting himself with one hand by her head and hovering over her. He leans in and kisses her, soft and slow. She drapes her arms around his neck and drags him closer. She can’t quite sink into the kiss, though. Something’s nagging her. She breaks away to ask, “Why… why use the lube, though? Am I not —“
His scowl cuts her off. “Sakura, this is the second time you’ve had sex. I don’t want to hurt you,” he says, the words gentle and sharp at the same time.
She blinks and tilts her head. “Is that normal? None of my romance novels… and Hikari just—“
He kisses her again, this time hard enough to leave her gasping for breath when he pulls away. “Hikari can rot in hell,” he mutters, resting his forehead against hers. “I heard it all, Sakura. As if he wasn’t bad enough already, he was inconsiderate and couldn’t even tell you were faking it.”
She inhales. “You could? From where, outside?” He smirks at her. “…you’re weird.”
Kakashi laughs, but his face turns serious a second later. “Sakura… are you sure about this?” he mumbles, body still hovering over hers. There’s a tiny puddle of lube just below her belly button from where his cock’s dripping above her. She can see the muscles in his arms cording, the strain in his face, she knows he wants her — but he’s still asking again. “If you want me to stop —“
“Kakashi,” she interrupts him, stroking his cheek for a second before dropping her hand to his shoulder. “I wouldn’t have let us get this far if I didn’t want it.” She inhales and glances away before looking up, directly into his eye. He cracks his Sharingan eyelid just a little, enough for her to see the slow red swirl. “I… I don’t want to feel his hands on me every time I think about sex. If you’re okay with this, so am I.”
He sighs and relaxes a little, moving so that he’s leaning on his forearm instead of just his hand. “Okay,” he murmurs, gently stroking her side with his free hand. That hand slides down, down, down the side of her body and leaves her skin right around the juncture of her hips. A second later, his cock presses into her — slow, slow, so incredibly slow she wants to scream, but she’s not sure she could handle any faster. His girth makes her burn, the same way tight muscles do when they’re stretched, and it feels so damn good. She loses track of what her hands are doing and only realizes she’s got a vice grip on his shoulder when she almost infuses her hands with chakra. Instead of crushing his bones, she opts for digging her nails into the skin of his shoulder. “Fuck,” he hisses into her ear when he finally stops, his hips flush with hers. “Good?” he pants a few seconds later as he moves his free arm to the other side of her head.
“S-s-so good,” she gasps, unable to keep her completely open because she’s overwhelmed with sensation. “Better… so much b-better…” she trails off, unable to find many words right now. When she’d let Hikari touch her, she spent most of the time reminiscing about Kakashi’s hands, about medical texts, literally anything other than him. Right now, the only thing she can focus on is Kakashi, above her, inside her.
“I should fucking hope so,” he mutters. And then he begins to move. At first, he keeps it slow and sensual, letting her adjust to him. The delicious burn eases and turns into heat that makes her squirm and groan. When she begins to squirm, he picks one of her legs up and hooks it over his hip before he speeds up. The different angle hits her differently, more in some places and less in others, and she can’t help the obscene moan that bubbles out of her. He kisses her and swallows the next moan, the kiss half-mimicking the way he’s fucking her into oblivion. When the kiss ends, he rests his forehead against hers again. She can feel the sweat beading there as he murmurs, “You feel so good, Sakura.”
Her breath hitches and she shudders a little. His hand leaves the back of her thigh and returns to its place by her head — but the movement gives her an idea. The next time he pulls back, she swings her other leg over his hip, locks them together behind his back and yanks, impaling herself on his cock. His breath gusts out in a strangled gasp, hers in a whimper. “Yes,” she breathes, eyes rolling back in her head.
“Sakura —“ he hisses, head falling into the curve of her neck. “Damn it, I’m trying to —“
She interrupts him again by swiveling her hips up into him. When she drops them back down, it hits something delicious inside her and she moans. “More,” she gasps against his ear. “More, please, please, Kakashi, I need —“
And he gives. What was soft and sensual turns fevered and frantic as he slams into her, making her yelp and groan with every stroke. Like this, at this angle, every time he rocks into her something rubs past her clit with just enough friction to wind her up. It winds and winds and winds until she bursts. She only realizes she’s coming as it happens, only enough time to sink her teeth into Kakashi’s shoulder. Her vision shudders and swirls and she screams against his skin.
- - -
His brain short-circuits when Sakura bites down on his shoulder and wails, her pussy gushing and spasming around his cock. He slows almost to a stop, thoughts swimming, because she couldn’t have — “Did you just come? Again?” he demands in disbelief, picking his head up from her neck to look at her.
“Mmmh,” she answers, her green eyes foggy with pleasure. “You… feel so good…”
He doesn’t bother muffling his groan this time. “Fuck,” is all he manages to say, harder than ever as he starts moving again. Not a minute later, she orgasms again, whimpering and clutching at his shoulders. That one almost undoes him. He slows a little, just to warn her. “‘m close,” he whispers against her lips. “Sorry if I get any on you when I pull out.”
He feels her smirk against his mouth. “Don’t bother pulling out,” she whispers back. He jerks away for a second, startled, to find her gazing up at him with something predatory in her eyes. “It’s okay, Kakashi,” she croons, lifting her hips and rutting up against him again. “Come inside me.”
He groans and shuts his eyes. “Don’t — it’ll be a mess —“ Watching her say that…
Fire trails down his back and his eyes snap open to find her smirking at him, her nails digging into his skin as she whispers, “Come inside me? Pretty, pretty please?”
“Fuck,” he swears, his hips stuttering and his thrusts becoming less measured, more uneven. He turns his head, takes a deep breath, tries to regain control of himself. “Sakura, I don’t —“
Soft fingers touch his face and drag his eyes back to hers, her grin wicked enough to make him shiver. “I want your cum inside me, Kakashi.” The words trip off her tongue, fall out her lips in slow motion, and it’s too much.
His head spins and he feels his hips snap forward, once, twice, out of pure instinct before sensation overwhelms him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, Sakura!” He muffles his near-howl by seizing her lips as he comes and oh god she’s coming again, convulsing around his cock and wringing him dry.
When he can see straight again, his arms are barely holding him up. He almost collapses on her but manages to roll away and flop onto his back again. When he slides free of her body, the sound’s almost hopelessly erotic, no matter that he just came hard enough to scramble his brain. Neither of them say a word for a little while. They simply lay next to each other, panting. He finally gets enough breath to say, “Better?” like he doesn’t know the answer.
“Like you don’t know the answer to that, you ass,” Sakura echoes his thoughts, weakly slapping his arm.
They lay in silence for a minute more before he rolls his head to the side and speaks. “Where the hell did that come from?” She turns toward him, eyebrow raised, and he elaborates. “The… what you said before I…”
She smirks again. “I may not read Icha Icha, but there are other books in the world, you know?” She pauses and adds, “That kind of thing was featured in a lot of them. I didn’t know if it was something people really did, or liked… and I sure wasn’t about to try it with…yeah, no.”
“Don’t recommend doing that with people you don’t trust, but yes, it does happen, and yes, it is hot,” he says. While he wasn’t consciously recording, or using the Sharingan at all, part of him does wonder if he’ll be able to pull up that mental image later…
“Gods above, it’s a good thing that happened after Hikari and not before, or I would’ve given up the whole game,” Sakura says. “If I thought sex was like that every time, I’d have been gagging for it.” A second later, she rolls all the way onto her side and pops up above him. “Which reminds me. When, uh —“ she blushes and it’s really far too cute. “When you were inside me, and I, uh…yeah… again, why were you so shocked?”
Another blink, this one slower. “Because something like ninety-five percent of women can’t orgasm from vaginal penetration,” he says, lifting his eyebrows at her. “I thought you would’ve known that.”
Her flush spreads. “Yeah, well, I can’t say I spent too much time looking into sexual health and statistics after shishou made me draw all the different ways STDs could manifest.” That makes him blanch. Sex ed, for him, had involved pictures of STDs. Those were bad enough. Making her draw it out?
“That’s just cruel.”
“That’s shishou,” she replies, voice light. Then she sits up and sighs. “Okay. Pee time.” He snorts. “What? You know —“
He drapes an arm over his eyes and waves her off towards the bathroom. By the time she comes back, he’s half asleep, but he still tracks her around the room as she straightens the covers, moves the lube, and turns the light off. When she crawls under the covers, he reaches for her to find she’s still naked. He hesitates — but she’s already curling towards him, so he wraps himself around her and dozes off.
- - -
In the morning, she wakes up first. Nothing hurts, but when she moves, there’s a faint soreness between her legs. It lingers just enough to remind her of everything that transpired last night. She can’t help biting her lip as some of it flickers through her thoughts, but she shakes her head and scolds herself before fleeing into the shower. When she emerges, hair damp, Kakashi’s sliding an omelet onto the table for her. Something queer and sweet thumps in her chest when he looks up and smiles at her fondly, his mask still off. “So what’s the plan now, captain?” he asks as they sit down, chopsticks in hand.
She jams a huge chunk of breakfast into her mouth and chews for a minute before answering. “We both make shadow clones of our real selves and henge them into Ichigo and Daisuke, just like yesterday. We use today to get rid of all the furniture in the apartment, give away the food, and stuff like that. Plenty of people will see the clones and us, and we can tell people exactly what happened and why the Satos are leaving…just in case our show at court yesterday didn’t start making the rounds yet.”
Kakashi doesn’t say anything for a minute while she digs in. After the silence begins to linger, she looks up. He’s leaning on his hand, chopsticks dangling, staring at her with a tiny smile at the corners of his mouth. “What?” she asks, defensive. “It’s a good plan!”
“It is,” he agrees, the smile spreading. “I’m impressed.” He leans closer. “We can also blame any strange noises on those shinobi who stayed last night after rescuing Ichigo. Shinobi are very promiscuous, you know.” For that, she swats him gently.
“Dumbass,” she grumbles fondly. But it doesn’t take long to finish breakfast and wash up the dishes. The two shadow clones make everything far easier than moving in. The kotatsu goes to the couple across the hall for a song — Sakura’s the one who hauls it into their apartment like it weighs nothing. The food she has Kakashi and Daisuke take to Takada. Ichigo stays in the apartment almost all day long, only coming out when people ask where she is. It’s not even halfway through the afternoon when the apartment’s bare.
She looks behind her with some small sadness as she closes the door and locks it, the others already in the hall. Despite Hikari’s foulness, this tiny apartment held more happiness for her than she’s had in years. “Ready to go?” she asks the clones, who nod solemnly. Sakura drops her arm around Ichigo’s shoulders as they walk down the stairwells. On the way, they run into more than a few tenants. And in the lobby, there’s a solid dozen people gathered to wish them goodbye.
“Can’t blame you for not bein’ able to stay, girlie,” Takada says, stepping forward and gently patting Ichigo’s shoulder. “That boy never was right. It’s a shame, it is, and I’m sorry you had to go through it.”
“I— it’s —“ Ichigo sniffles. “A— at least Sakura-dono and Kakashi-dono saved me.”
“Damn right we did!” Sakura says, slamming her fist into her hand. “That shitbag won’t be hurting anyone else!”
Takada snorts and offers Ichigo a hug. A few others follow her lead, but not many. “Go on with you,” the building manager says with a soft smile. “And, by the way, shinobi-sans?” They perk up and turn towards her. “Next time you stay in someone else’s apartment, do try to have sex a little quieter, won’t you?”
At that, they both flush and almost push the clones out the door.
- - -
He’s almost sad when the village fades from sight. They walk a little while longer, long enough to get out of following range, and then they dismiss their clones before taking to the trees. They’re a third of the way back to Konoha before they stop for the night. Once they build a fire and eat, he looks over the fire at her. “This was for the mission,” he says, voice firm. He’s had to practice the firmness ever since they left town.
She finishes the last bite on her kebab and tosses the skewer into the fire before answering. “I know, Kakashi.” She looks over the fire and catches his gaze. “I… I’d like to say you’re one of my friends. You haven’t been my sensei in a long time, but I learn something from you every time we go on a mission.” She flushes and bites her lip, clearly a little unsure. “It’s, uh, usually not quite this kind of learning, but I do.” Sakura pauses and takes a deep breath. “Ino’s told me stories about people who stop being friends after they sleep together. I don’t want that to be us, okay?”
His jaw drops behind his mask. Evidently, the long silence makes her worry, because she starts fidgeting after a minute. “That’s…” he starts, and then pauses to find better words. After a second, he sighs and drops his mask so that she can see his expression. “I don’t know how you always surprise me, Sakura, but you do. I’ve had jounin with twenty years of experience who didn’t handle coming off a seduction mission this well.” He winces and touches his side, where Anko once went after him with a kunai because he told her he wasn’t interested in continuing their dalliance once they got back to Konoha.
Her smile’s slow, and beautiful, and damn it, it makes his heart lighter. “They sound like they need to get a grip, then,” she laughs. Seeing her open and laughing again, like she so rarely has been the last two years… it’s good. And it curls deep down inside him, touching spots he didn’t know existed.
“But, that being said —“ he starts. She cocks her head. “The mission isn’t over yet.” He stands up and raises an eyebrow at her before glancing over at the bedrolls. “Are you…?” he trails off.
She’s on her feet kicking dirt over the fire in an instant. “Oh hell yes.”
- - -
Sunlight sparkles through the trees. Sakura tries to focus as she pants, but she can’t. Her body’s still shaking. “Is morning sex always that exciting?” she wheezes.
“It’s either amazing or mediocre. No in between.” The answer takes a minute, and when it comes, his voice isn’t much stronger than hers. It makes her proud that she, inexperienced as she is, affects him so strongly.
But thinking of her inexperience leads her thoughts right back to the mission they just finished, and… “Ne, Kakashi?” He hums in response. “I…” She rolls over onto her front, propping herself on her forearms, so that she can see his face before she asks, “What made you kiss me?”
Something almost like fear flicks across his face before his features settle into the familiar, sarcastic set she knows so well. “Most people enjoy it as part of sex, Sakura-chan,” he says.
She’s not letting him deflect that easily. “Not now, you ass,” she grumbles, slapping his bare chest. “I meant…” she exhales and drops her head. “The very first kiss. When Yokoyama-teme asked me out.”
The fear-thing returns, there for an instant longer, before he sighs. “Sakura…” he says quietly. “There are things you probably don’t want to know about Konoha. This is one of them.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Worse than ROOT?”
He grimaces. “Not… exactly.” She stares at him, waiting. After a few seconds, she notices the tension around his mouth, at the corner of his eye, but she has to know. She has to. Eventually, he huffs and drops his head to the ground. “The Fourth… changed a lot of things when he came into office,” he says, voice level enough for her to know he’s struggling. “But that didn’t…” his Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, clearly uncomfortable. After a second, he drops his arm across his face, hiding his eyes in the crook of his elbow. “The Fourth put age limits on purple missions. Before that, the only rule was that you couldn’t be a civilian.” Another swallow, this one harder, and the muscles in his neck strain along with it. “My first kiss wasn’t — it wasn’t with someone I trusted, or someone I even knew well,” he whispers, voice cracking a little. “You… I couldn’t let someone take that from you.”
She sits up, slowly, thinking about this information. Kakashi’s never been forth-coming about his past, his personal life, but some of it’s public record. She knows he was promoted to chuunin when he was 6. That means… “Kakashi,” she says, surprised when her voice doesn’t shake. “When was your first purple mission?”
He sighs. “Should’ve known you wouldn’t let it go,” he grumbles. She doesn’t say anything. She just waits him out. “It started a month before I turned twelve.”
He says it quietly, little more than a breath of air, but it couldn’t have hit her harder if he’d shouted it. “Oh,” she says, hand flying to her mouth and tears welling. “Oh, Kakashi.” The implications of that hit her all at once, and she can’t help the ragged gasp of anger and sadness.
His nose twitches. Evidently he smelled her tears, because he lifts his arm and peeks out at her. A second later, he sighs again and sits up, reaching out to touch her cheek. “I didn’t sleep with anyone. Not that time,” he tells her. “It was… there was a man who liked pretty little boys. I was the bait. My partner was the trap.”
“That’s still awful,” she chokes out. “You had to — I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.”
He offers her a little eye crinkle, but it’s so fake she could’ve called it out from across Konoha. “It’s in the past now, Sakura-chan. Between the Fourth and the Fifth, those things don’t happen like they used to,” he says. “Now, shouldn’t we be going?”
She packs up and they leave. Her mind keeps turning that over and over, like there’s something she can do about it. There’s not. She knows there’s not.
- - -
Tsunade’s more than a little relieved when she feels the familiar chakra approaching her office. For all her surety, she did worry about her student. And, well, with the way things are going… she likely would’ve had to pull them from their mission if they’d taken much longer. A little over four months for a long-term seduction mission isn’t a bad time, but they’re going to have to move to the front soon.
“Report,” she orders when they come in, not even letting them come to a stop.
“Target located, intel confirmed, and target subsequently neutralized,” Sakura says with a little smile. “Mission successfully completed.”
“Good,” Tsunade barks. “Go rest and write me a good report. I want it on my desk first thing and I want you at the hospital as soon as you turn it in. We’ve got a lot of work today.” Sakura moves, but Kakashi stays still. After the door closes behind her apprentice, she looks at the other ninja. “How did she do?”
“She did well,” he answers, voice strangely quiet. “Her cover story was thorough and could’ve covered a multitude of sins if necessary. The target was quickly enamored of her, and her acting was…” His eye flickers away for a second. “Almost unbelievably good.”
“Mmm,” Tsunade hums, glancing up at her rafters. Good. No gossips on my guard today. “And did the target take her virginity, or did you?”
That rattles the man. He physically starts, glancing into the rafters like she had, and then looks at her, eye wide. “I — you —“ he stutters. Then he takes a deep breath, exhales, and looks her in the eye. “Her target was the first person to touch her, yes.”
Tsunade doesn’t hide her smirk at how he’s mincing words. The first, but not the last. Cheeky. “Relax, brat,” she says, reaching for her sake. “I knew the chances of you two falling into bed together were high. That’s part of why I sent you.”
He chokes, and above her Tsunade hears a faint snort. “You… planned this?” he says, looking like he’s just been told he’s really Minato. “I — why? Why would you send me out with my old student, knowing —“
She gulps a drink and sets the bottle down before she answers. “Do you think I’ve never done a seduction mission, Hatake?” He obviously hadn’t expected that question. “Well, I did. After I went on mine, I came back and studied the others. People who went on purple missions alone… they struggled after. I wheedled the old man into sending two-man teams on purples. Tried to talk him into the age limit, too, but…” She shrugs. “Anyway, things were better for some people, but not for others. I studied the successful teams and came to a conclusion.”
Her eyes flick up and pin him down. “Especially when people go out the first time, they need someone they trust with them, someone who can help them redirect the negative energy that almost inevitably comes with having to seduce someone you loathe. And yes, that generally does mean sex between mission partners.” She leans back and sighs. “Of course, there are always exceptions. I knew a jounin who simply didn’t care who he slept with, what their morals were, he just wanted to do it. There was a girl who never, ever showed interest in anyone she wasn’t sent to seduce. Not her partner, not bystanders… nobody. But exceptions are rare. Since I became Hokage, I think all seven teams I’ve sent on seductions has ended up in bed with each other.”
Hatake looks like he’s been slapped. “But me?” he demands, almost staggering. “I’m — I’m almost twice her age, and —“
“Who the hell else?” she snorts, reaching for her sake again. ”She sure as shit wouldn’t have let Sai touch her. The Hyuuga boy she hasn’t had a conversation with since her promotion? The Aburame? Rock Lee?” Even Kakashi pales at that idea. “It’s a shit hand, I know. But you were the best in a sea of bad options because you have both the experience and the inclination to help her.” She sips at her bottle again. “That being said, you know about the mandatory separation period. Did you tell her?”
“Ah, no,” he mumbles, rubbing at the back of his neck sheepishly. “I… rather thought you’d murder me and it wouldn’t be an issue.”
That makes her laugh harder than she expected. “As it happens, I doubt it’ll be an issue,” she says. “Rest up and pack well. You’re the leader of the Third Division — Gai’s been leading it in your absence.” His eye twitches at that. “There’s not much green spandex. Yet. I want you on your way as soon as humanly possible. I’ll tell Sakura about the separation myself. Dismissed.”
He hovers for a minute. “Get out!” He flees when she hurls a sake cup at him, and she watches him go. “Gods, what I wouldn’t do for this situation to be better,” she mumbles, rubbing her temples.
- - -
Sakura falls into bed and sleeps. The apartment in Sugawara was nice, but it wasn’t home. Yet, once she gets past the drop-dead exhaustion that comes from sprinting through the woods at top speed, it’s hard to stay asleep. Every time she rolls over, she expects to find a warm body next to hers. There’s no soft breath against her neck, no comforting arm draped across her. She ends up awake far earlier than her usual, staring at the ceiling and trying to decipher everything. Do I miss the person or the presence?
It means she has plenty of time to write her report. More than a few lines end up scratched out because they just… sound too suggestive when she reads them over, even if they sounded perfectly innocent the first time. Kakashi informed me, based on his past experience… gets changed to Based on his past seduction missions, Hatake assessed the target and informed me… along with a dozen other tiny changes. When she finishes the report, it’s almost one in the morning, and she falls back into bed for a short, fitful doze. Ino wakes her up at four, clattering in from T&I like the apartment’s empty.
“Hey! Pig! Keep it down!” Sakura whisper-shouts, sticking her head out her bedroom door. Ino’s head pops up over the refrigerator door and she blinks.
“Eh? You’re back?” she mumbles around the carrot sticks in her mouth before she crunches down and swallows them with disgusting speed. “Where the hell have you been, Forehead? One night you’re here, the next night you’re gone, and all I could get out of the Hokage was ‘that’s classified’. Four months! FOUR!”
Sakura sighs and rolls her eyes before she ducks back into her room to grab her robe. She comes back out and flops into a chair at the table, closing her eyes. “Shishou sent me on a long-term purple mission.”
Ino’s squawk, muffled by a mouthful of food, makes her snort. ”You had a what?”
Sakura opens one eye and stares at her roommate. “There was a shitty guy being shitty. I seduced him and cut his hands off. The end.”
Ino swallows her mouthful of food and slaps the table, eyes wide. “Forehead! I thought you were still a virgin!”
She sighs and closes her eye again. “I was.”
“…oh.” Suddenly, Ino’s voice is far quieter, almost repentant. “I’m sorry, Sakura. That’s… that sucks.” Then a curious note creeps into her voice as she asks, “Wait, who was your partner?”
Sakura blanches. She hadn’t thought this through. Ino’s been on seduction missions before, and every single time, she’s given Sakura details about how she got down and dirty with her partner. If she tells her it was Kakashi — “Doesn’t matter,” Sakura mutters out the side of her mouth.
“Yes it does, Forehead!” The force is back in Ino’s voice now. “Listen, this is like, the worst kept secret in Konoha. Everyone sleeps with their mission partners on purple missions. Everyone.” Sakura’s eyes pop open at that.
“Wait, really?” she asks, looking over at the other woman. “It’s that common?”
Ino scoffs. “Uh, yeah. It’s a hell of a lot easier to stomach touching some creep when you know you can scrub it off and get some elsewhere.” She leans forward, eyes gleaming. “Spill. Who was your partner?”
Sakura sighs and looks away. “I… I’d really rather not say who, Ino.” The wounded sound from across the table makes her cringe, so she offers up as reconciliation, “They, uh, they were really good at sex, though. Really good.”
Ino gasps. “Details, Forehead! Details!” Sakura flushes and glances up at the clock to find it’s almost 4:30, which means…
“I have to go, Pig, shishou wanted me at the hospital first thing!” she blurts, rocketing out of her chair and into the bathroom.
“Don’t think you’re getting away without giving me details!” Ino yells after her over the slam of the door. By the time Sakura creeps out of the shower, though, the apartment’s dark and she can hear Ino’s snores. It’s a relief to soar across the familiar rooftops and drop into the hospital, where it doesn’t take long before she’s up to her elbows in papers and people. Her twelve hour shift passes quickly — quickly enough that she doesn’t even notice it’s time to go until she exits one of the checkup rooms to find Tsunade leaning against the wall outside.
“Shishou?” she asks, surprised. “Is something wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” the Hokage says, pushing off the wall. “Can’t I take a walk with my student?”
She blinks, and blinks again. “Uh, no,” she says, eyeing her teacher strangely. “You’ve never taken a walk with me. Ever.”
Tsunade claps her on the shoulder. “Well, I think it’s time we do!” Ten minutes later, they’re sitting on top of Hokage Mountain… and Tsunade pulls a bottle of sake from somewhere Sakura doesn’t want to know about. “Drink?”
“…no thanks, shishou,” Sakura mumbles, more than a little confused.
“Suit yourself.” Tsunade takes a long swig and sets the bottle down, staring into the sunset. “I read your report. You did good work, Sakura. You always do.” She turns towards her then and Sakura sees the thin line of her mouth. “But reports are sanitary. How are you, Sakura? I know this couldn’t have been easy for you.”
Sakura sighs. “Is that what all this is about?” Tsunade nods, reaching for the bottle of sake again. “I’m fine.” Tsunade frowns and opens her mouth, but Sakura keeps talking. “And I mean that. I’m not… I’m not having any flashbacks, or nightmares about sex, or anything like that. The most horrific thing on that mission was rescuing all of those poor women. That part I might have nightmares about, but the rest was…” She pauses. “You’re right, it wasn’t easy. But I did it, and I’m okay. Kakashi took care of me.”
And her teacher snorts. “Yeah, I bet he did,” she mumbles before taking another long drink. Something about the way she says it makes Sakura blanch. “Just so you know, neither of you are in trouble,” Tsunade says when she sets down the bottle. “I highly doubt you went into this mission thinking ‘I’m going to fuck my team captain, who used to be my teacher!’” Sakura inhales hard. “No, he didn’t tell me. I knew it was likely when I assigned you two to this mission.”
At that, the world swims a little, like her air’s been cut off. “…huh?” she manages.
Tsunade sighs. “How well would you have handled the mission if you’d been alone?” She bites her lip. “That’s what I thought. And if I’d sent Sai instead?” The very idea of explaining her emotional upset to Sai makes her shake her head, let alone touching him. “Ino?” And that idea makes her blush.
“I, uh, I don’t think…” Tsunade raises an eyebrow. “Well, I would’ve been fine with… y’know… with a girl, but I don’t think Ino would have been.” Both of Tsunade’s eyebrows go up at that.
“Well. That’s good to know for the future,” she mumbles. Then she shakes her head and focuses on Sakura again. “Do you see my point now? I loathe purple missions altogether, but I’ll be damned if I let my people suffer needlessly. If Minato hadn’t passed that age rule, I would have.”
“Yes,” Sakura admits, dropping her head onto her knees. “It’s still weird.”
“Mmm, these things usually are,” Tsunade admits. “There is something Kakashi didn’t tell you, though.” She lifts her head, curious. “After long-term seduction missions like this one, we have a mandatory separation period for the partners. You understand trauma psychology well enough to know why.”
She thinks about it for a second and nods. “I guess that’s why I haven’t seen Kakashi today.”
“Well, that and the part where he’s on the way to the front.” Tsunade offers her the bottle and Sakura blinks as she processes. “He’s in charge of the Third Division. You’ll be third division as well once things get rolling, but this way he gets a handle on his forces and you both have some distance from each other.” She shakes the bottle and Sakura finally takes it from her hand, though she only has a sip before handing it back. “Besides, the ANBU director still needs to interview you.”
“Interview?!” Sakura blurts, shocked. “I thought — I applied almost a year ago!”
Tsunade guffaws. “Did you think they moved quickly? This mission was a test to see if you could handle covert ops as well as the loud ones, and you passed with flying colors. All that’s left is the interview and the training.”
“…no psych screen?”
“Pfft. Being batshit is practically a requirement for ANBU.”
- - -
Being in the thick of things again feels better than he thought it would. Gai’s done a good job of whipping the Third Division into some semblance of a cohesive unit, so he rewards the man by sending him off to switch out for Naruto’s current guard team.
He’s more than a little dismayed when Gai comes back almost broken. But… his injuries mean Sakura’s sent out a week in advance of her scheduled arrival date. Nobody notices the extra warmth in his greeting, and nobody comments on how she’s dropped the ‘sensei’ from his name. After they defeat Zabuza and Haku, Tsunade orders her to relocate to Logistics. He doesn’t think anything of it when the order comes through. That night, he’s half-asleep when something rustles at his tent flaps. Immediately, he’s wide awake, hand on a kunai. A second later, a dark head pokes through the flaps and a very familiar voice whispers, “Kakashi?”
He blinks and lets go of the kunai as he sits up. “Sa—mmph!” Before he can finish saying her name, she’s straddling him, her hand over his mouth.
“Shhh!” she whispers into his ear. “Don’t say my name out loud, you asshole!”
“Mphh?” he mumbles against her hand.
She sighs and lets her hand drop. “I…” A pause, and then she takes a deep breath. “I’m leaving in the morning, and Kakashi, I’m fucking terrified. We’re fighting dead people. I don’t know what the hell is going to happen.” Her fingers skirt the edge of his mask, and something coils in his stomach as her purpose becomes clearer. “I want to stop thinking. Just for a little bit.”
He sighs. “Sa—“ Her hiss stops him. “Ichigo, this is exactly why there’s a mandatory separation period after purple missions. It’s a bad idea to —“
“I know it’s a bad idea,” she says. “But I… there’s nobody else here I trust enough. I don’t think we’re star-crossed lovers, and I’m not going to chase you constantly. I just want a break. Don’t you?”
He hesitates. “We’re in the middle of a war zone…” This time, her snort interrupts him.
“Pfft. Do you know how many bedrolls I saw zipped together on my way here? And those were in communal tents.” Before he can say anything else, she yanks his mask down and trails her fingers over his cheek.
“People will know…” he says weakly, struggling to find a reason not to — because he wants to. Gods above, he wants. Just thinking about the way she tastes has his head swimming.
She flicks him on the forehead. “Nope. Henged on my way here and suppressed my chakra signature. As far as anyone else knows, I’m Nakamura Akane.” She runs her thumb over his lips and he barely suppresses a groan. “If you really don’t want me, I’ll go,” she whispers. “But…”
“This is such a bad idea,” he mumbles as he pulls her face down to his. She tastes like blood and sweat now, her lips chapped from dehydration, but it doesn’t matter.
“The worst,” she mumbles back when they come up for air. They’re even quieter this time than they were in the apartment, biting back moans and gasps, muffling everything they can against each other’s skin. Though all the division leaders have private tents, they’re not meant for tall people. He’s smacked his head on the tent pole more than once in the morning. That’s how she ends up on top, her nipples brushing his chest as she undulates against him. “God, you feel so good inside me,” she moans as their rhythms begin to match each other.
He doesn’t say anything for a little while, too focused on helping her rock back and forth, matching the tempo he’s set. When she shudders and whimpers around him, he pulls her closer and murmurs, “Did you miss coming on my cock?”
Her gasp isn’t muffled, and he knows he’s not imagining the gush of wetness that follows his words. “Yes,” she breathes, her pace stuttering. “Fuck, yes.”
At that, he drags her into another kiss and snaps his hips up harder, faster, trying to make her lose control. It almost works on him before it works on her, and that won’t do. After he catches his breath, he slides his hand from her hip to her center and he cheats, flicking her clit hard. Her head drops back and she moans long and deep, the sound almost bubbling out of her mouth. As she catches her breath, he wraps one arm around her waist and rolls them over as best he can in the confines of the tent. “Mpph?” she murmurs, looking up at him with hazy eyes.
“Roll onto your front,” he whispers, sliding out of her and leaning back a little. He half-expects to end up ducking when she moves her legs, but it’s not necessary — she lifts her leg over his head like she’s a ballerina. It takes a little more rearranging, but he’s quickly between her legs and leaning over her as he slides home. “Good?” he whispers into her ear. She nods and he sneaks one hand under her, gently pressing down just above her clit. He knows it’s the right spot when she shudders against him, just hard enough for him to feel it, and almost smiles as he begins to move.
- - -
It’s not long before they’re both wound up nearly to the edge, their movements hurried and hungry. She’s rolling her hips back into him, her ass bumping against his stomach every time she moves, and fuck, it just keeps feeling better. She can’t moan or scream like she had in the forest, so she narrates it in a low murmur instead. “Yes, yes, right there, gggod yes, fuck me harder, I need it, I need your cock —“
Every time she says something particularly filthy, she feels him shudder against her back. More than once he bites into her shoulder to muffle a groan. As he lifts his head from his newest mark, his lips brush her ear and he hesitates for a second. Then he mutters, voice barely above a growl, “I love how sloppy your pussy gets when I fuck you.” She inhales hard, almost choking on her next words, heat spiraling through her body and settling where they’re joined. A chuckle follows the wave of heat and Kakashi whispers, “Just like that,” punctuating the words with a hard thrust. “Do you know how fucking hot it is when people love sex? When they just let themselves enjoy it and forget everything except the way I’m touching them?”
“I — I do now,” she gasps, feeling her body pulling tight, close to the edge again. She hadn’t thought he could get any nearer, but he does, hips almost flush with her ass as he buries his nose in her hair. Then he moves the hand he’d been teasing her clit with to the far side of her hips and yanks them up into his, making her arch her back and — “O-oohhhhh!” Like this, he hits whatever spot it was he found inside her that first time, the one that makes her head spin.
“Listen, Sakura,” he breathes into her hair, so quiet even she can barely hear it. “Can you hear that?” She tries to calm her breathing, tries to listen, but all she can hear, all she can focus on, is the squelch of him fucking her.
“H-hear what?” she mumbles.
She feels his smile against the side of her head before he speaks, punctuating his words with deep, hard thrusts. “How much — your pussy — loves — being wrapped around — my cock,” he says, almost panting.
“Y-yes,” she mutters, and if the noise was erotic before, it’s scalding hot now. Then he shifts, just a little, before thrusting again and it’s just the right spot. Everything coalesces, gathers into a tiny pinpoint of a bubble inside her… and she bursts. Halfway through her orgasm, his hand clamps over her mouth and she realizes she’d forgotten to be quiet. But whatever she wailed finishes him because he shudders and jerks and spills inside her. It only makes her come harder, whining and wailing against his hand. This time, he has no choice but to collapse on her, but his weight on her back is almost comforting.
“Fuck,” he mumbles after a minute of silence. Then again, with more feeling, “Fuck.”
She snorts and licks his hand to make him move it. He hisses and yanks it away, leaving her free to talk. “Yes, that’s what just happened,” she drawls, wiggling her hips back against him again. He sighs and pushes himself up off her. When his heat recedes, she pulls her legs up to her chest and pulls herself into a sitting position before she turns around to start looking for her clothes. Kakashi just… watches her as she picks her things up and slithers back into them. But she does hear his breath catch when she finds her panties and pulls them up over her legs, without even bothering to wipe herself clean. “Thank you,” she says when she’s ready to go, reaching out and touching his face. “I promise this isn’t going to be a regular thing if we survive this, okay? I just wanted to stop thinking for a little while.”
He sighs deeply. “It better not,” is all he says. She rolls her eyes and goes to move past him, towards the flap of the tent, but he catches her wrist. “Hey. Do me a favor, okay?” She quirks her eyebrow. “Be careful out there. I’ve got enough dead friends on my conscience.”
She blinks hard and then she smiles at him. “I will,” she promises. “And I’ll save the others, too. Even that asshole.” As she reapplies her henge and leaves the tent, she can feel him watching her go. His gaze lingers with her all the way to the shower stalls, where she slips inside and drops her henge. She’s not the only doing it, either — she bumps into a very familiar Nara on her way out. They just glances at each other, nod, and go their separate ways.
- - -
By the time Kakashi wakes up, the people transferring divisions are already gone. Still, there’s a strange attitude in the camp as he goes to find breakfast. More than a few men slap him on the back in passing. Both men and women flush when they catch his eye. He frowns, confused, but carries on. He’s halfway through his reconstituted egg omelet when he finds out why. “MY RIVAL!”
He shovels the rest of his omelet into his mouth and turns around. “Gai.”
The man’s shuffling toward him, his grin suspiciously large for someone in such bad shape. “YOU HAVE OUTDONE ME ONCE MORE, IN A FIELD OF CHALLENGE I THOUGHT FALLEN BY THE WAYSIDE!” Kakashi blinks.
“I… have?” he says, thinking back over the past few days. He hasn’t done much of, well, anything that could be considered a challenge.
Gai stops in front of him, eyes brimming with joyful tears. “Yes, my rival! Your youthfulness has outshone my own in this moment, but I will not let it remain so! I, too, shall seduce a woman, and love her so passionately that she cries my name to the skies!”
Kakashi’s eye almost pops out of his head. “W-what? What woman? There’s no woman!” he says, internally panicking more than a little.
“Do not spare my emotions, oh cruel rival! Not one, but many, heard the woman crying your name in her spectacular ecstasy last night!” Gai says, the tears beginning to drip. “Your sexual technique is surely masterful, but I, the Green Beast of Konoha, shall prove my technique superior!”
He slumps forward and buries his face in his hands. “I told her it was a bad idea,” he mumbles. “I told her. ‘It’ll be fine, Kakashi, we can be quiet, Kakashi’. Shit.”
Just then, the Yamanaka boy ambles up. “Heard you had a good time last night, captain. Think she’d be down to come to my tent?”
For that, he flicks his headband up so the Sharingan’s visible, and then catches Yamanaka’s gaze. “Go. To. Hell.” Then he flickers away, because this is just too damn much.
- - -
There’s no mirrors in camp, and Sakura hadn’t thought about looking at herself when she got dressed this morning. It’s also warm enough out that she chose a different shirt than normal. An hour into the trip, springing through the trees, Leth Marai drops back to run beside her. She and Marai have a… tumultuous relationship, at best. “So, even Haruno feels the stress, huh?” Marai says, looking straight ahead.
“Of course I do!” Sakura snaps. “This war’s already horrific, and it’s only going to get worse.”
Marai snorts. “Not what I was talking about, Haruno. You’re kind of a weirdo.” Sakura starts to say something, but Marai keeps going. “S’probably why the Hokage chose you as her apprentice. Normally, you just double down on whatever work you’re doing when you get stressed. You study harder, you heal more people, whatever.” Marai turns her head then and offers Sakura a sly smile. “The rest of us have other ways of coping. Judging by that bite mark on your neck, you ‘coped’ real good last night.”
Sakura almost freezes, only habit keeping her moving, as she claps a hand to her neck. “He left marks?” she hisses. “That — that dick!”
At that, Marai bursts out laughing. “Good to see you’re human, Haruno!”
The first chance she gets, she pulls out a tiny hand mirror and heals her neck. That night, when she’s safely ensconced in the Support Division, she takes her shirt off and counts the marks. There’s at least a half dozen bite marks, some of them deeper than others and some of them overlapping. She runs her fingers over them slowly... but she doesn’t heal them.
It’s the last moment of peace she has for far longer than she’d like. There are clones trying to kill her, zombies escaping with sensitive information, and things only grow stranger from there.
“Hey.” He doesn’t open his eyes, doesn’t look up. He feels like he’s just lived a thousand years in a day.
“Hey,” he finally answers. She doesn’t say anything for a while, just sitting next to him in silence. She’s one of the only other people he knows who doesn’t mind the quiet. (And, he makes a mental note, he’ll have to ask Pakkun how the hell she knows of this hiding spot.)
Eventually, though, she does speak. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re going to be a good Hokage.” She says it quietly, but her conviction rings through the words.
He sighs. “Aa, and the Sandaime told me I’d be a good jounin sensei. You know how that went.”
“I don’t think that was your fault, Kakashi,” she says, reaching out and laying her hand on his knee. “To tell the truth, I think the Sandaime was setting you up for failure.” He jolts at that and turns his head to look at her, curious. She smirks at him. “I thought that’d get your attention. See, I’ve been doing some of the ANBU training in between everything else that’s going on. They train you so that you can be a complete team if you have to be, even if they usually send ANBU out in groups. You were good enough to go solo, and you spent so long being just Hound that you had to learn who Kakashi was again. I think that’s what he was trying to do when he gave you us, but… there’s a hell of a lot of other ways he could’ve done it, too.”
“Like?” he asks, straightening up a little.
“If he really wanted the healing power of children’s love, he could’ve let you teach at the Academy instead of making you teach genin,” she says dryly. “I maintain jounin need to take classes about teaching before they’re assigned. Mostly, though, it would’ve been just… therapy. Getting back into the world. It would have taken longer, but…” she trails off. “I guess it mostly turned out okay, right?”
He drops his hand on hers and squeezes it for a second. “Mm, mostly.” A minute later, he says, “What do you mean, jounin need classes?”
Sakura grins fiercely. This is one of her soapboxes. “Knowing how to do something doesn’t mean you know how to teach something,” she answers. “Like, Shikamaru would be a horrible teacher. Even if he’s lazy, he’s never had to struggle to learn anything. That means, without being trained otherwise, he’s going to be trying to teach from the top down instead of the bottom up.” He blinks at her. She huffs and breaks out her favorite example. “Prodigies and genius children aside, you can’t walk before you crawl. If I wanted to teach someone, say, an earth clone technique, I can’t just show them the signs and expect them to get it right.”
He opens his mouth, as if to object. She smacks him on the back of the head and continues talking. “I have to make sure they know what their affinity is first. Then I have to teach them how to mold earth chakra in particular. Then I can show them the seals and explain the theory of the technique. Once they’re prepared, then they can try the technique.”
“…mm,” is his only reply.
After a few more minutes sitting still, she pushes herself to her feet. “I’d better go. Ino will be livid if I don’t bring home all the liquor she wants for her party, and it’s a lot of liquor,” she explains, brushing off her pants.
“Another party?” he asks, amused. “And who’s invited this time?”
“Gods, who isn’t? That’s the real question,” Sakura mumbles. Then she flashes him a smile before she springs away. “See you tomorrow, Hokage-sama!” trails after her on the wind.
- - -
Sakura lands on her balcony, arms full, and slides the door open with her foot. “Pig! I got… the…” She looks around. The apartment’s empty, no signs of party decorations, food, or partygoers. “Liquor?”
Ino walks into the living room a minute later, grinning. “Took you long enough, Forehead. What happened?”
“I, uh, ran across a suffering old man. I had to help him out,” Sakura says, averting her eyes. “Where is everyone?”
“Right here, Forehead,” Ino says, spreading her arms. “When was the last time we had a girl’s night? Something for just us?”
She blinks. “…what’s all the alcohol for, then?”
“What we don’t drink we’ll save for the next party,” Ino says, reaching for the bottle of wine protruding from the top of the bag. “There’s chocolate cake in the fridge and pizza incoming, by the way. I think we’ve earned those calories, don’t you?” Sakura sighs, but sets the bag down. She can’t deny Ino this, not now. She’s the head of the Yamanaka now, and so far she’s refused to see any therapists about her father’s death. If a girly night helps her, she’ll do it.
By midnight, they’re both cheerfully sloshed, just enough to be goofy. “An’ — an’ you know what?” Ino says, almost laughing too hard to finish. “He was right! I’m never going to be able to smell Gai again without thinking of that stupid art store!”
Sakura doesn’t laugh quite as hard as Ino, but the idea of Gai using camphor as a cologne ingredient is amusing. They’re slumped against each other, an old chick flick on the TV and half-eaten plates of chocolate cake on either side of the couch. Ino’s on her second bottle of wine, but Sakura’s on her third. She runs her fingers around the lip of the bottle, biting her lip as she thinks. “Hey, Ino?” she says.
“Mmh?” Ino responds.
“I… you remember how I didn’t want to tell you who I went on that mission with?” Ino nods. “I… I want to tell you, but if I do, it has to be a secret, okay?” Ino nods again, turning towards Sakura with a light in her eyes. “I’m serious, Pig. I don’t mean this is a secret like, oh haha that’s weird. If you tell anyone, my career and theirs has a good chance of going straight down the tubes.” Ino blinks, startled by the emphasis. “Got it?”
“Uh, yeah,” she mumbles, reaching up and tugging the band loose from her hair. “Big time secret.”
Sakura exhales. “I… I talked to shishou about why she partnered me with this person and she explained some stuff to me. I want to see if you can guess who it was, based on her reasons.”
That makes Ino wrinkle her nose. “Oh, come on, Forehead. Just spill it!”
She sighs and stands up, setting her wine bottle on the table before turning around and crossing her arms. “It’s easier this way, Ino. Please.” Her roommate huffs, but nods, settling back into the couch. “So… she said she always picks the mission partners based on the assumption they’ll have sex. That means when team are picked for seduction missions, they have to be sexually compatible with each other. That’s number one.”
Ino laughs at that. “Well, duh. I don’t think it’d go too well if you sent someone who was dicks-only with someone who was hooha-only.” She raises a finger and holds it in the air. “So that’s number one. For you, that rules out… eh, not that many people, I guess. Gay guys. Keep going.” She doesn’t put her finger down, just watches Sakura.
“I, uh, for number two, it has to be people who already have some kind of emotional bond with each other,” she says, scratching nervously at the inside of her forearm.
Another finger flicks up. “Okay, so someone you trust. That makes sense, I guess.” She wrinkles her nose a little. “I guess that explains why Shika got sent with me on my first purple mission.” Sakura’s jaw drops at that. “What? We’ve known each other forever, and he’s pretty good at undercover. It was kind of weird, but it wasn’t bad.” Ino shakes her head. “That’s not the point, though. People you trust…”
Sakura sits on the arm of the couch, waiting for Ino to think through it. “Okay, so that’s… basically just the Rookies, right? To, uh, varying degrees.” Sakura bites her lip, but doesn’t answer one way or the other. “There’s not that many people in the Rookies suited for long-terms like that. Shika, Neji, Hinata, Ten, Shino… I guess Sai would be okay, maybe.” At that suggestion, Sakura can’t help gagging. “Okay, okay, definitely not Sai.” Ino thinks for a minute and sighs. “Give me something here, Sakura.”
She sighs again. “It… wasn’t anyone from our class,” she mutters, eyes darting around the room frantically.
At that, Ino perks up. “Genma?”
“…who?” Sakura asks, genuinely not sure for a minute before the name clicks. “Oh. Oh, no. Euch. Not my type.”
Ino scowls and sinks farther back into the couch, tapping her two fingers against her chin. “Not a rookie… someone you trust…someone you —“ Her eyes suddenly round in shock and shoot to Sakura’s face. “Sakura!” she hisses, sitting up straight. “Haruno Sakura, did the Hokage send you on a seduction with Hatake fucking Kakashi?”
“Shhh!” Sakura growls, leaping forward and clapping a hand over her mouth. “Not so loud!”
Ino shoves her away, scowling again. “Relax, Forehead. Half our neighbors are dead.” Then her scowl turns into a sly smile. “Sakura. Sakura, you dirty bitch, I can’t believe you tapped that before I did! I’m so fucking jealous!”
Her jaw drops. “You — you don’t think it’s weird?” she stutters.
“Well, yeah, it’s pretty weird,” Ino says, rolling her eyes. “But it makes sense. Naruto would’ve blown the mission sky high the first time someone touched you. Sai was a no. Sasuke… well…” she just shrugs. “Especially for your first purple, he makes sense.” Something about the word ‘first’ makes her smirk. “Speaking of ‘first’… details, bitch! Was he good? Bad? Mediocre?”
Sakura twists around and grabs the bottle of wine. “I’m going to need this,” she mumbles, taking a long drink from the bottle. “None of the above, Pig. It was…” she closes her eyes and thinks about the way he touched her, devoured her, sent her into oblivion. “Not that I have a lot of comparison, but it was fucking phenomenal.” She pauses. “Literally.”
Ino squeals and claps her hands together. “I knew it! There’s no way someone reads that much smut and doesn’t pick up a couple things.” She opens her mouth, shuts it, and then leaps from the couch. “Hold, hold, hold,” she says, stumbling towards her room. Sakura watches her go, mouth pursed in confusion. A minute later, she comes back out with a tattered notebook in hand. “Okay. Kurenai-sensei and Anko gave me this list of things I should look for in a lover like, four years ago. We’re — we’re goin’ to go down the list, okay?”
She thinks about it and then shakes her head. “That’d make it really weird. Can I just… tell you about the mission? If you want to check list it, go for it, but…” she shrugs. Ino just flicks her notebook open and fixes a beady eyed stare on her. “Okay, well, it… kind of started when our target asked me out on a date…”
- - -
Ino bites her lip as she scribbles another note on her page. Even just listening to Sakura recount her mission in bare bones has her a little hot under the collar. She can’t imagine how it would’ve been if she’d been there. “I told him after that it was, uh, it was a really good thing he let Hikari take my virginity,” Sakura admits, her eyes averted and a blush burning on her cheeks. “Like, the sex with Hikari was just… whatever. It didn’t hurt or anything, it mostly just made me eager to get it over with. If I’d had sex with Kakashi first, I would’ve gone in there gagging for it.”
“That… is some good shit, Forehead,” Ino mumbles, scanning her list. There’s things checked she didn’t know men could check. Foreplay? Check. Oral? Check (and not in the usual way). Lube? Check. Multiple orgasms? Super check, except — “You’re sure the multiple orgasms thing wasn’t like, a really lucky mistake?”
Sakura turns even darker red. “Definitely not a lucky mistake,” she mutters.
Ino’s jaw drops. “Sakura! Did you —“ She doesn’t even finish asking before Sakura’s hiding her face, and that’s a better answer than anything verbal. “Damn. How many times?”
And then Sakura, the lucky bitch, actually has to think about it. “Uh, five times before we got back to Konoha… and one after,” she finally mumbles.
“What? When the hell did you have time for that?” Ino demands. “There was a war on!”
“I, uh.” Sakura tugs on her ears, a nervous tell adapted from when she had longer hair. “Look, I was about to get sent to Support, and everything was really fucking weird. I just wanted to stop thinking for a bit, and Kakashi had a private tent.”
Even tipsy, it doesn’t take her long to put together the pieces. “Holy shit, you’re the woman the whole camp heard!” Ino splutters, and then the splutter turns into a laugh, and the laugh into helpless wheezing. “Do you know Lee’s trying to seduce women on Gai's behalf because of that?” she wheezes out, doubled over from laughing. “Have you seen him trying to seduce women?”
Sakura hides her face in her knees. “Laugh it up, Pig,” she grumbles. “Now I actually want to go out and have sex, and I don’t know where to start.”
Ino finally wheezes out her last laugh and sits back up, wiping tears from her eyes. “Leave it to me, Forehead. There’s a few people I know — not Lee — you might get along with. There’s actually a girl on rotation through T&I right now… she’s almost as smart as you, a real genjutsu type. She’s like twenty-one, tall, real blessed in front. Want me to set you up?”
Sakura studies her through narrow eyes, like she’s trying to decide if Ino’s pulling her leg. “…yeah, go ahead,” she says. “It’ll be good for me.”
- - -
Later, he’ll wonder if it was purposeful. He’s twitchy, a little too on edge from papers and nonsense that Tsunade keeps talking him into, so he heads for his favorite training ground as soon as she looks away. He plans on exercising himself into a coma, maybe working with the ninken — but the ground’s already occupied. He lands in a tree at the edge, his ANBU landing behind him almost as silently. Sakura’s in the middle of the training ground, sparring with… herself? She’s using a sword, something that looks odd and fits her at the same time. Her form’s good, if a little too rote. He debates the wisdom of talking to her, and almost turns away, but can’t quite manage. Instead, he leaps to the ground and calls out, “Kenjutsu, Sakura-chan?”
Before he blinks, one of the Sakuras just dissipates — the other disappears into a cloud of cherry blossoms and rematerializes, sword pointed at his throat. It only takes her a second to recognize him, though, and drop the sword. “Ah, sorry about that,” she says, quirking a smile at him. “I’m working on stuff for—“ she glances up at the trees. “Well, for ANBU. We’re supposed to be subtle and versatile, and as much fun as it is to singlehandedly rearrange a town, that’s not very subtle.”
“Mmm,” he hums. “Who trained you?”
“Yugao, mostly, but everybody’s pitching in,” she answers, wiping the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. “Can you tell?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead he tilts his head, considers her for a second, and then turns to the trees. “Sword?” Almost immediately, a sheathed ANBU chokuto flies at him and he catches it before turning back towards Sakura. “Care for a real challenge?” he asks, offering her a smug eye crease that he knows she hates.
“You’re on, old man. Killing blow, two out of three,” she hisses. Then she disappears in a cloud of blossoms again. He doesn’t move. He just unsheathes the sword, closes his eyes, and waits. Behind, right-hand side. He spins, catching her blade with his own and throwing her back. Again, he doesn’t press the attack. He waits. This time, she goes for a frontal strike… and almost catches him when she turns it into a slice at his left side. That makes him grin and open his eyes.
“Good start, Sakura,” he purrs. And then he moves. Surprisingly few of his attacks slip through her guard, and she doesn’t stay still long enough to get cornered. Just when he thinks he’s about to pin her down and get a killing blow, she’ll change something just enough to throw him off. And, in a turn he honestly didn’t expect, she gets first ‘kill’ by pretending to drop her sword, catching it, and pressing the point directly against his heart. It’s even at the right angle to slip between the ribs and actually kill him.
“What was that about a good start?” she says, barely out of breath.
“It is a good start,” he says. Then he opens the metaphorical gates and attacks like he means it. One of his slices barely misses her, scratching a thin groove into her cheek that starts slowly bleeding. It’s the only hit he manages to land until he catches her sword and knocks it away just long enough for him to twist her arm behind her back and press the edge to her throat.
“Nice,” she pants, her chest heaving and her chin high. “One for you, one for me.” She swallows, and he lets her go with a shove. “Winner takes all.” She raises her sword again, green eyes glinting, and they rush at each other.
“You’ve been — working hard — Sakura-chan,” he says, spinning and lunging as he speaks, trying to catch her off guard.
“Maybe you’re just getting old, jiji,” she jeers at him, leaping over his arm and spinning to take him out from behind.
“Am I?” he counters, tossing the sword to his other hand just in time to catch the blow.
“You tell me,” she says, leaping away again and disappearing. He holds still and listens — above. She sails out of the clear blue sky and he catches the blow, but there’s enough force behind the swing that he has to support his sword with both hands to keep it from sliding. And then his sword breaks. He leaps backward just in time to miss being cleaved in two, sword cracked near the hilt. He hurls it away and begins dodging, watching for an opening. Dodge, dodge, there — she adjusts her grip and he takes the split second opening to knock it from her hand. He snatches it before it lands and hurls it away, leaving neither of them with an advantage. “You ass!” she snaps, lunging for him with bare fists.
“Hey! I’m not the one who goes around breaking people’s swords!” he barks, catching one blow with his palm and turning the other aside an instant later before giving it back just as good. Without chakra, it’s a surprisingly even match, both of them moving at inhuman speeds. He catches her with a good kick to the stomach, but she gets him with a plain upper cut that leaves him rubbing his jaw. As the sun begins to slide towards the horizon, the fight eventually turns to close quarters, dirty-tricks fighting. He finally manages to catch one of her hands, like he had earlier, and twist it behind her back. He drops an arm around her neck, ready to call it his win, but she’s not. Sakura hurls herself forward, but he’s the one who hits the ground first, and he hits hard. She’s on him in a second, hand at his throat and knees on his arms.
“Match,” she gasps, gulping in air. He stares up at her, pink hair sticking to her face and blood dried on her cheek, and feels something inside him lurch. He’s almost successful at pushing it away, and then there’s a scent that makes his mouth go dry.
“Sakura,” he exhales.
“Kakashi,” she says in return, letting go of his neck and shuffling back to free his wrists. “What do I get for winning?” she asks, her grin a little cheeky.
He grits his teeth, trying to banish the images that crowd his mind as he pushes himself up onto his elbows. “Sakura,” he hisses between his teeth. “Did this — are you turned on?”
She flushes, but she doesn’t hide her face. Instead she tosses her hair haughtily. “And what if I am? I’m allowed to have feelings, aren’t I?” His hands clench and unclench as he stares up at her, trying to find the willpower to shove her off of him. He can’t. And she notices. A wicked smile curls her lips as she leans forward, nose nearly touching his. “What’s the matter, Kakashi-kun?” she mocks him. “It’s just — mmff —“
Kakashi’s last thread of self control snaps when she leans forward, her breath just faintly sweet in the way that means she’s been horny all day. He growls, yanking his mask down and dragging her down into a kiss. He doesn’t even spare a thought for his ANBU guards as he wraps an arm around her waist and uses his free hand to make them disappear in a whirl of leaves.
- - -
Weasel blinks. He blinks again. Then he turns to Cat and says, “Uh, did you just see —“
“Hatake kissing his former student? Yes,” Cat answers, her voice level. “I believe the Godaime assigned them to a seduction mission together.”
That makes Weasel wince. “Oh, one of those, huh?” he mumbles. Then he realizes what this means. “Oh, damn it. We’re going to have to sit outside and listen to them, aren’t we?”
“I’ve had Hatake duty before,” Cat mumbles. “Go get us some supper. We’re going to need it.”
- - -
They reappear in an apartment Sakura doesn’t recognize, but she assumes it’s his. She doesn’t pay attention, too wrapped up in the man devouring her mouth. “Minx,” he snarls when he pulls away, eyes dark.
“That’s me,” she says, wiggling out of his grip and leaping to her feet just before he does, peeling her shirt up as she moves. By the time he’s on his feet, she’s thrown her shirt and bolted for the bedroom, looking over her shoulder with a grin. She laughs as he chases her, yanking his own shirt off in a hurry. She doesn’t make it into the bedroom before he grabs her and slams her against the door, kissing her hard enough to take her breath. “Not going — to tell me — this is a bad idea?” she asks between kisses, his hand sliding up her back to unhook her bra.
“We both know it is,” he growls, tugging her bra free and dropping it to the floor. Then he turns the door knob and she stumbles backwards into the room, unwilling to break the kiss before she has to. When she does, it’s to kick her shoes into a corner and squirm out of her shorts. He reaches for her as soon as her shorts hit the ground, but she dodges his hand by lunging toward the bed. She lands face first, and he doesn’t give her a chance to roll over. Instead, he slaps her ass hard.
“Ow!” It stings, but it sends a jolt through her body at the same time. Once the initial pain fades, the place he slapped just feels… good.
“Shit,” he swears from somewhere behind her. “I got carried away — sorry, should’ve asked—“
She swallows her nerves and pulls herself up onto her knees and elbows before she looks behind her. Kakashi’s standing at the end of the bed, looking a little spooked as he babbles, and she has to suppress a laugh. “…Kakashi?” she interrupts him. He stops dead. “Would you — can you spank me again? I… I think I liked it,” she asks, her face flushing as she says the words.
His jaw drops and works for a minute, eyes wide. “How are you so fucking hot?” he finally groans, reaching for his waistband and letting his boxers drop. She can’t help licking her lips when she sees his cock again, remembering the way it felt inside her. “Lean forward a little more?” he says as he comes towards the the head of the bed. “And, uh, generally speaking, this position’s easier on you if you’re not actually on your elbows.” She hesitates, not quite sure how that’ll work, but nonetheless she slides her arms to the sides, pushing the upper half of her body closer to the bed.
The bed creaks and sags behind her, and she tenses for a smack, but nothing happens. Her body starts relaxing… and then Kakashi runs his hand over her crotch, pressing the plain cotton closer to her skin. They were already damp. Him pressing them closer means they pick up more of her moisture, and the cloth hums along the edge of her nerves just enough to make her twitch. She exhales and then she tenses up again as he runs his knuckles over her clit. It’s not enough pressure to do anything. “Do something, would you?” she hisses, clutching the sheets beneath her hands.
A second later, her panties are gone, punctuated by a hard inhale. “You shaved,” he breathes and then he’s sinking one finger inside her. Even just this feels good, so impossibly good — she hasn’t touched herself since that night at the camp. And then, just as his fingers sink down to the knuckle inside her, he slaps her ass again. She can’t help her yelp or the whine it turns into when the pain fades, but the gentle sting lingers. “Good?” she hears him mumble. She nods, head reeling. “Good.” And then the other cheek, harder this time. This time, she feels the way her body gushes in response and she can’t help pressing back against his hand.
“More?” she asks, trying in vain to press into his hand. She needs it, she needs something, anything. His moan makes her smirk a little, but it turns into a gasp as he pulls away and leans down to eat her out. At this angle it’s different, all the sensations new again as he laps at her, curling his tongue gently around her clit and then sucking. She comes apart with a wail, volume unchecked. When she comes back to herself, Kakashi’s thighs are against hers, and he’s sinking into her just as slowly as he had the first time. And it’s a good thing. It’s been two and a half months, so it takes her a moment to adjust to his girth again. Once he’s sheathed in her he stops, leaning over and propping himself up with a hand by her head. “Good,” she breathes before he can say anything. “You feel so — ghhh —“
There’s nothing slow or tender now. His cock hammers in and out of her, every thrust as hard and deep as he can make it. His fingers dig into her hip, almost bruising in their force, and the discomfort helps keep her grounded. Like this, she can roll her hips back like she did before, and she does. It makes his pace stutter and his breath hitch, so she keeps going. It takes a minute for her to figure out his rhythm, but she manages. Every time he thrusts into her, she meets his thrusts and wiggles. “Fuck, Sakura,” he groans into her ear. “Are you trying to kill me?”
“Maybe,” she answers saucily. “Or maybe I just can’t get enough of your cock.”
- - -
At midnight, two ANBU arrive to replace the first set. “Bear, Sparrow,” Cat says with a sigh. “Just so you’re aware, Scarecrow’s got a guest. Don’t be alarmed if you hear someone shrieking.”
Bear snorts. “Guess it’s easy to get some when you’re legendary, huh?” she drawls. “Did he let you know when she’d be leaving?”
“He —“ The words are punctuated by a yelp and a bang from beneath their feet, followed by a loud moan. “Damn, really?” Weasel says, scowling at the roof. “That’s the third time. In four hours. I gotta find out what he does for stamina training.”
Sparrow cocks his head to the side. “I was unaware of any current romantic relationships. There are none on file.”
Cat starts to say something, but it’s drowned out by more sounds from below. “Kakashi — oh, oh, oh fuck, don’t stop —“ And then the words taper into a wail.
“As I was about to say,” Cat mumbles with a sigh. “I don’t think this is a, ah, romantic entanglement. I believe the common term these days is ‘friends with benefits’.”
“Ohhhh,” Bear purrs. “Wonder if she’d be down to mess with someone else. I do like me a screamer.”
Cat laughs. “Yeah, good luck with that. Watch is yours.” With that, they spring away, leaving the two new agents to listen to the symphony of sex beneath their feet.
- - -
His eyes aren’t even open before guilt rockets through him. He can smell Sakura’s shampoo, her hair tickling his face, the way she’s wrapped around him. Idiot, he mentally berates himself before opening his eyes and glancing around his room.
It’s… well, for lack of a better word, it’s wrecked. Their clothes are strewn everywhere. Books litter the floor from where they slammed into his bookcase on their way back from the kitchen. His blanket’s across the room. “Shit,” he mumbles, closing his eyes again. “Shit.”
Sakura stirs when he speaks. It takes her a second to come to, but then she’s blinking up at his face with a sleepy smile. “Morning,” she mumbles, prying herself away and rolling towards the edge of his bed.
He watches her glance around for her clothing, and she stands up before he speaks. “Sakura…” he trails off, not sure how to say what he needs to say.
She bends over to pick her panties up off the floor and turns around to talk to him as she puts them on, slipping them over dainty feet and tugging them up. “I know, I know. This was a mistake, it’s a bad idea, it can’t happen again,” she says, her voice almost mocking again. “I didn’t plan this, okay? And I’m definitely not the one who started it.”
“You’re not the — you were sitting on top of me while you were aroused!” he snaps, sitting up. “How is that not ‘starting it’?”
Sakura snags her bra from outside the doorway before she turns around and scoffs at him. “News flash, asshole, my world does not revolve around your damn dick. There’s a reason I was out there alone, okay?” She slides her bra around the right way and uses her feet to pick up her pants before she shakes them out. “I’ve been worked up all week, so I planned on sparring until I could barely move. Then I was going to go home and rub myself into a masturbatory coma. I was hoping if I was exhausted, I wouldn’t immediately jump my date!” she snaps at him, wiggling into the shorts.
He freezes. Blinks. “You… had a date?” he mumbles, more than a little worried he ruined something by kissing her last night.
“I have a date,” she corrects him, picking her shoes up out of the corner. “Ino set me up with a girl from T&I. We’re going on a picnic this afternoon. That’s why I shaved. Just in case.”
“…oh,” he says weakly, watching her sniff the socks in her shoe and grimace. Then the rest of the information filters in. “Wait, did you say you’re going on a date with a girl?”
“Mmhmm,” she hums, sitting down on the edge of the bed to slip her feet into her stinky socks. “Pig thinks we’ll get along well, and she’s —“ Halfway through putting her shoes on, she freezes and turns to him, narrowing her eyes. “You’re not one of those assholes, are you?”
“…what?” The longer she talks, the more confused he gets.
“One of the ones who thinks it’s hot when girls kiss and likes to pester lesbians for threesomes, but can’t stand gay guys,” she says flatly. “I swear to all that’s holy, Kakashi, if you —“
He cuts her off there, familiar with the kind of person she’s talking about. “Definitely not,” he says quietly. “I just… I didn’t know you liked…”
She flushes, and it’s the cute and innocent flush again. “Yeah, uh, I kind of figured it out when someone mentioned fighting with a girl she had a crush on,” she mumbles. “I’m glad Ino didn’t make a big deal about it when I told her.”
His eyebrows go higher. “You — huh. Makes sense,” he mumbles. Then he decides on a peace offering. “Guess that means I don’t have to worry if someone tells you the story about me taking Izumo and Kotetsu home.”
Her jaw drops. “I — you —“ she stutters.
“Incidentally, I don’t recommend that,” he tells her, amused by her shock. “I nearly got lockjaw and I limped for days.”
Her eyes go huge. “…wow,” she squeaks, after glancing at his cock and then back at his face, evidently trying to estimate how lockjaw could’ve been a threat. Then she sees his clock and shrieks. “I’m going to be late! I’m supposed to meet Yugao in twenty minutes!” With that, she flies up off the bed and into the living room. She returns a second later, struggling into her shirt. “Thanks for the orgasms, bye!”
“Sakura?” he calls out. She pauses, one foot already on the windowsill. He smiles at her. “Good luck on your date.”
“Thanks!” Then she’s gone.
- - -
Sakura bolts into her apartment like the Ten-Tails itself is on her heels, headed for the shower. She doesn’t even greet Ino, who’s sprawled on the couch with a bowl of cereal. She’s already naked and under the showerhead when Ino pokes her head into the bathroom. “Damn, Forehead, what’s the rush? And where the hell have you been?”
“Gonna be late for Yugao, can’t talk!” she says, teeth chattering. The water’s cold and she doesn’t have time for it to warm up.
“What? Did she move it up? You usually don’t meet her for at least another hour,” Ino says, confusion clear in her voice.
Sakura blinks and slows, hands in her hair. “…wait, what time is it?”
“Uh, 7:30?” Ino answers.
Sakura hisses and throws the shower curtain open, leaping out of the cold water regardless of the fact Ino’s standing in the bathroom. “That — that ass, I bet he sets his clock forward on purpose!” she seethes, fists by her sides.
“He?” Ino echoes her, and then her gaze skitters down from Sakura’s face. “Holy fuck! Like, literally, holy fuck! Is that why you didn’t come home last night?”
“Wha — seriously?” Sakura growls, turning towards the mirror. There’s two bite marks on her shoulders, a hickey squarely below her ear, and bruises on her hip in the shape of fingers. “What the hell?”
After a second of staring at the marks, she raises a glowing hand to her neck, but Ino’s not done questioning. “Did you go out somewhere?” She shakes her head. “Then how did you — oh my god, Forehead! Did you sleep with Kakashi again?” Ino hisses, stepping closer.
“I didn’t mean to!” Sakura protests. “I swear, I was just out sparring. Alone. With my shadow clone. Then he showed up and he challenged me to a spar and —“ she throws her hands in the air. “This.”
Ino cackles. “That’s practically straight out of Icha Icha!”
“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up,” Sakura grumbles as she finishes healing her neck. “I mean, I guess this means I won’t jump Win-chan’s bones, but…” she sighs. “Bah.”
- - -
After Kakashi showers and dresses for the day, he stares into the mirror for a good minute before he sighs and turns away, kneeling down to summon Pakkun. “Sup, Boss?” the pug says. Then he sniffs the air and his eyes widen. “You mated with Floral Green? Again?”
“Don’t,” Kakashi says through gritted teeth. “Look, I gave you a bunch of Dad’s old stuff. Do you know where you guys put it?” Pakkun nods. “Can you go dig out the chakra sword?”
Pakkun cocks his head. “You already have that, Boss. You losin’ your mind?”
He sighs. “Not the tanto. The other one.” The silence that follows is heavy. The sword Sakumo took on that mission.
“…okay. You’re the boss.” Pakkun disappears. When he comes home that night, there’s a long chokuto case on his bed. Despite going almost 30 years without use, the blade’s still sharp and smooth, no rust in sight. He picks it up and gives it a test swing. Then he cleans the case up, oils the sword, and slips a note inside the case. He evens seals it with a chakra seal, tied to Sakura’s chakra, before he summons Pakkun again.
“Can you take this over to Sakura’s place?” he asks, holding the case out. Pakkun gives him the deadliest stare a dog can give. “It’s not — the sword’s an apology, okay?”
Pakkun harrumphs, takes the case, and springs out the window. Kakashi’s pretty sure that if the dog had thumbs, he’d read the note.
After that, he doesn’t talk to Sakura at all for a while. She waves at him in the streets, or he’ll catch a flicker of pink hair in the hospital, but they don’t actually speak for three or four months. Not until he lands on his balcony one evening, the sun half-hidden behind the horizon, and finds her sitting beside his balcony door. She looks like little more than a shadow herself, legs pulled to her chest and her head buried in her knees. He blinks, confused and a little worried, but strides closer to unlock the door and greet her. “Yo,” he says calmly, expecting a reply. None comes, only the click of the door unlocking. He opens his mouth to speak again, but a familiar scent arrests him. Blood. Not hers, no, there’s at least a dozen different sources, and the blood smells dry, but… “Sakura?”
Her head lifts, the movement slow and jerky, and she looks at him. Or rather, Mongoose looks at him. She’s still wearing her ANBU mask, the sword trapped between her legs and chest. The sight floods into him and he understands. “Bad one?” he asks, kneeling to pull the sheathed sword out from its resting place. He leans it against the wall and she stands, the movement just as jerky, like she’s a puppet on stiff strings.
Kakashi coaxes her into his apartment, onto a kitchen chair, before he removes her mask and sets it aside. Sakura’s eyes are empty, her face blank. There’s blood dried on her neck, on her ears, even in her hair. She clearly made some effort to wipe it off, but being in the field doesn’t lend itself to good hygiene. He retreats to the sink to run a cloth under warm water, though it takes a minute for the water to warm. When he returns to her and squats beside her chair to start gently dabbing at the blood, she speaks. “There were children.”
He winces, but keeps dabbing. “Those are the hard ones,” he says quietly.
“There — we were supposed to rescue them,” she says, swaying a little. “Orphans kept going missing. Someone was taking them and planning to train them to — to be weapons against us, against the villages. They were telling them it was our fault they were orphans. And we saved some of them but —“ she chokes on the words.
“Some of the kids already believed it?” he finishes. She nods once. Then she crumbles.
“T-the oldest ones weren’t even e-eight,” she says, voice shaking. “I t-tried to get our captain to spare them, but…” she slumps forward. “She said no. Anyone w-who attacked us… A-and I f-followed my f-fucking orders.”
The way her voice shakes, the way her body’s trembling, he expects her to start crying any minute. She doesn’t. She inhales sharply, burying her face in her hands. He wants to say something, to pull out some wonderful piece of wisdom that’ll make her pain recede, that’ll make her feel better about having to cut down literal children. “I’m sorry,” he finally mumbles, passing the cloth over her neck.
“I don’t… how do you go home after something like this, Kakashi?” she says, looking up at him. Her eyes have finally begun to shine with a little emotion. “How can I walk down the street and see all these children and know that I —“ she breaks off, lip trembling.
He tilts her chin up and gently runs the cloth down to her collarbones. “I didn’t,” he answers when the last crumbles of dry blood are gone, folding the cloth and setting it on the table. “I started distracting myself with anything and everything that I could to keep from looking at people, to keep from thinking about the fact I might have to kill them some day.” He exhales, eyes distant as he remembers his most prolific days in ANBU. “And some of them I did end up killing. Powerful rogue-nin, well-protected traitors…” He offers her a wry twist of lips that can’t be called a smile. “Who better to deal with them than the best Konoha had?”
Sakura stares at him as he stands. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. ”I didn’t mean to make you think about…” she gestures when words don’t come. “But everyone else… the only other person who would know about this kind of thing is Sai, and he’s…himself.”
He snorts. “Indeed.” Kakashi gently runs his fingers through her hair and she leans into his hand. “Come on. It helps to be clean,” he says, tugging her from her seat. Some of her clothes are nearly glued to her skin with dried blood, so he helps her tug them loose before he nudges her into the shower. He rinses the clothing in the sink, eye on her through the clear curtain. She doesn’t wash, doesn’t move, just stands beneath the pouring water. It doesn’t take him long to rinse what he can from the clothes and throw them into the washer. She still hasn’t moved.
After a minute, he brushes aside the curtain and drops the plug into the bottom of the tub. By now, most of the blood’s rinsed away, so he has no compunctions about turning the knob from shower to bath. She looks at him, face still oddly blank save for her eyes, as he strips. The tub’s already half full when he steps in behind her, looping his arms around her hips and gently pulling her with him as he sits down in the hot water. She doesn’t resist, and barely reacts. After the tub finishes filling, he digs behind his own body products and tugs out a bottle of shampoo he usually uses once a month. Somehow, the sight of the plain green bottle with its tiny flowers shakes something loose inside her. Sakura laughs, the sound cracking at the edges, sharp and painful to listen to. The laugh turns into delirious cackling, and her body convulses as it descends into jagged wheezes.
Kakashi sets the shampoo aside and wraps his arms around her again, tucking her head beneath his chin. “It’s okay,” he mumbles, lips against her temple. “Let it hurt.”
Her panicked breathing slows after a minute. She’s still shaking hard enough for him to feel it in his bones. “D-does it ever stop hurting?” she stammers out eventually.
“It never did for me,” he answers, gently running wet fingers through her hair. “I always told myself it meant I wasn’t a monster. Not yet.”
That seems to settle into her, to touch some part of her he can’t see. “I guess,” she says, her body sagging against his, tension finally leaking away. The gentle slosh of the water is the only thing breaking the silence for a long time. By the time he stands, dragging her up with him, the water’s tepid. Her hair and skin are clean, but he knows it won’t seem that way for her. It won’t for a long time.
Sakura follows him into his bedroom like a ghost. He slips into a pair of pants and offers her one of his warmer shirts. She doesn’t take it; he ends up slipping it over her head and helping her slide her arms into the sleeves. “Hungry?” Her only answer is a tiny shake of the head, and then she crawls into his bed and tugs the covers up over her. He goes into the kitchen and snags an onigiri for himself before turning the lights out and crawling into bed next to her.
And then — then she reacts. Her hands skate down his arms, tug his body against hers. She kisses him like he’s her last lifeline. He pushes her away. “Sex isn’t a healthy coping tactic, Sakura,” he murmurs into her ear, holding her hands to keep them from going farther south. “You know that.”
“I just want to feel something, Kakashi,” she whispers back. “Anything. Please.” There’s too much desperation in the words for him to say no again.
“What about your date?” he says, letting go of her hands. She scoots closer and throws her leg over his hip.
“Didn’t work out well,” she answers, running both hands down his chest. “Same for the two after that.” And there, in the corners of her voice, he can hear the real Sakura unthawing. It’s that, more than anything else, that leads him to dip his head and kiss her. Her kiss was frenzied and frantic. She tries to make this the same way, but he doesn’t let her. It stays soft and calm, his mouth solid against hers, like he can pass some of his hard-won peace to her.
He’s never had an easy time being kind to someone. Sweet, yes, because he’s slept with his share of virgins. Kind? Never. But for her, he tries. She’s greedy tonight, soaking in each of his touches like leaves soak in light. They’re still on their sides when he reaches for the lube and then slips into her, her breath hot against his neck. She whispers his name, shuddering through a weak orgasm. Tears land on his neck a minute later. He pauses, ready to pull away, but she gasps, “Don’t stop. Please.”
Kakashi doesn’t stop. He coaxes her to her peak with delicate hands, tries to blot out her despair for a moment with gentle pleasure. By the time he shudders and spills himself inside her, her tears on his neck have dried. Though he tries to roll away and grab something to clean up with, she doesn’t let him go. When her grip loosens, he brushes another soft kiss on her forehead. “Good?” he murmurs, pushing himself up onto one elbow and looking down at her.
She looks more like herself now, her eyes red with emotion and cheeks flushed with pleasure, her mouth trembling softly. “As good as I can be,” she replies, her lips stuttering into something like a smile. Kakashi doesn’t feel bad about leaving the bed, then, and going into the bathroom to find a washcloth. He finds it, dampens it — and turns around to find her perched on the toilet, a ghost of a grin playing around her lips.
“Helps prevent stuff, I know,” he says with a sigh. But he’s glad to see her coming back into her body. He wipes himself down and then abandons the washcloth before going straight back to his bed. She comes back a minute later, still wearing his shirt, and curls up next to him.
- - -
Much though she doesn’t want to admit it, it’s a relief to wake up next to Kakashi. She’s had two one-night stands since the last time she and Kakashi had sex. They were both… not terribly impressive partners, and one of them woke her up the next morning by drooling on her. Kakashi, as a rule, doesn’t try to pressure her into more sex the next morning. Rather, she’s usually the one who wakes up and pushes for sex.
She scrambles eggs for him as a thank you. They don’t see each other again after that for two weeks. Then she gets sent on another ANBU mission, one that requires far less emotional distance. This one is to track and kill a human trafficker before helping his ‘cargo’ escape. This time, he finds her on his balcony with a savage grin on her face despite the blood still staining her clothes. He shares his udon and listens as she tells him about the mission, about how good it felt to cut down the scum and all his men. There’s no sex this time, nothing more physical than a hug. She doesn’t need his help recovering from this mission, but it’s nice to share the emotions with someone. He’ll be the Hokage soon, privy to all these tiny details, and he understands ANBU.
Another mission, and another, and she learns how to handle the emotions a little better. The visits to Kakashi’s apartment become less frequent, though she still sees him when she’s part of his guard detail. They stop altogether for a little while when she meets Kikyo, because oh, Kikyo.
She meets her on an ANBU mission. The other woman’s experienced, beautiful, and lethal. She knows it, too. Her confidence radiates like sunlight, and when Sakura finally gives in to temptation, her kisses are like tiny pieces of heaven. They barely make it back to the village to turn in their report before they tumble into bed. Everywhere their skin touches, she burns. Kikyo doesn’t care about her lack of experience. She reduces Sakura to a whimpering, wailing mess — and then she shows Sakura how to reduce her to the same kind of mess. Kikyo intoxicates her.
After almost three weeks, where they seek each other out every night… she realizes that she fascinates Kikyo in the same way. “Listen, Sakura…” she says from where she’s curled around her. Sakura tenses up, sure she knows what’s coming. “I don’t do long-term things, as a rule. But I — you — I’ve taken soldier pills that leave me less jittery than you do. Would you — would you be okay having a girlfriend?”
Sakura’s jaw drops. “What?”
Kikyo flushes and pulls away a little so that she can avert her eyes. “I like you. More than I normally like people.”
“You just said you don’t do long-term relationships,” Sakura repeats, staring at the other woman. “Why… what makes you like me? My forehead’s huge, my tits aren’t, I ramble about medical nonsense constantly —“
“You’re beautiful, and every inch of your body makes me want to touch it,” she interrupts again. Then she bites her (beautiful, velvety, so fucking distracting) lips and says slowly, “If… if you’re not interested in dating, that’s okay.”
“No!” Sakura blurts, and Kikyo’s face falls. She realizes what that sounded like and gasps. “I — that’s not what I meant! I’d love to date you, that’s what I meant, I don’t want you to think I don’t like you!” Kikyo’s grin makes her look like an angel as she swoops in to kiss Sakura.
People’s reactions to their relationship run a wide gamut, not because of who Kikyo is, but because of who Sakura is. Of course, Ino’s supportive and sweet about it. “Nice,” is all she says, mouth curling into a smile. “Now spill, Forehead. I heard lesbians —“
“I swear on all you love, Pig, if you’re about to ask which one of us tops, I will see how far I can throw you,” Sakura spits. Ino just cackles.
Sai, as always, is more of a non-reaction. He blinks at her and tilts his head for a second. “Interesting,” he says. There’s a short pause, and then he says, “Were you so traumatized by your childhood love for the Uchiha that you sought the company of women?”
“Was I —“ Her first instinct’s to wallop him. Then she realizes there will be other people in Konoha who think the same thing, so she drops her fist and sighs. “No, Sai. As traumatizing as ‘my childhood love’ was, I’m fine on that part.”
He nods, and then his eyes gleam with something she’d call lust in someone else, but she knows what it means on him. “Do you think Inuzuka-san would object to me drawing her?”
Though she tries to track Naruto down and tell him, he proves surprisingly slippery for someone who still wears orange far too often. It feels like he’s constantly with the toads or out on a diplomatic mission (usually to Suna with Shikamaru). She finally manages to drag him to Ichiraku an entire month after she starts dating Kikyo. He’s halfway through his third bowl of ramen when she sets her chopsticks down and says, “Naruto.” He looks up at her, noodles trailing from his full mouth, and she laughs. “I, uh, there’s something I want to tell you.”
He slurps his mouthful down and, in a shocking display of how being with Hinata’s changed him, uses a napkin to wipe his mouth. “What’s up, Sakura-chan?” he says, leaning forward. Then his face darkens a little. “This isn’t about that bastard, right?”
“Uh, no, and also no,” she says. “I… I started dating someone, actually.”
At that, Naruto lights up. That is not what she expected. “Nice, Sakura-chan! Do I know him?”
Sakura can’t help her wince. “I, uh, don’t think you’ve met. And —“ Then she feels Kikyo’s chakra approaching, calm and steady, and she knows how to break it to him.
Kikyo slides into the seat beside her a second later. “Hey,” is all she says, glancing at Naruto. You tell him yet? They’d arranged this, that she would tell Naruto and Kikyo would come in a bit late. She hadn’t planned on stalling this much.
“Hi, honey,” she says. Then she leans up and kisses her girlfriend. For a second, everything disappears — it always does when she kisses Kikyo. She pulls away from her and looks at Naruto to find him stunned, eyes as large as his empty ramen bowls. He looks like he can’t decide whether to drool or to have a heart attack.
The normal bustle of Ichiraku disappears a second later, drowned out by Naruto leaping to his feet and yelling at the top of his lungs. “EHHHH? SAKURA’S KISSING A GIRL?!?”
“Yes, Naruto,” she answers, hiding a smile behind her hand. “We’re dating.”
He gapes at her, mouth opening and shutting like a colossal blonde fish. “But — but you liked Sasuke! He’s not a girl! ...right?”
Sakura sighs, her shoulders drooping a little. “It is possible to like girls and boys, Naruto.” He blinks at her, clearly thinking about that. She can’t help smirking a bit as she adds, “I mean, have you seen girls? Can you blame me?”
That filters through after a minute and he sits back down, looking contemplative instead of confused. “Ne, Sakura-chan, does this mean you get to share clothes?”
- - -
Kakashi’s strolling down the street towards his favorite takoyaki stall, enjoying the weather, when he catches a glimpse of pink hair just inside Ichiraku. He half-turns, thinking to go in and greet her, but someone beats him to it. A dark-haired girl slides into the seat beside Sakura, and Sakura turns her face up, greeting the other woman with a kiss. Something in him winces, but he shoves it away and continues down the street. Behind him, he hears an explosion of noise and almost turns back. Then he recognizes Naruto’s shouting and knows he doesn’t need to bother.
Even preparing to be Hokage, before Tsunade actually hands over the hat, is exhausting. The night before his appointment, Kurenai almost drags him out of his apartment. “Come on, Kakashi!” she huffs after twenty minutes of trying to convince him to come to the bar. “Seriously, this celebration’s for you! Everyone’s going to be there!”
He gives her a level stare. “And why should I care about ‘everyone’?”
“Oh, I don’t know, because they’re your friends? Genma, Raidou, Tenzo — hell, we rigged up a special seat in the Kunai just for Gai! If nothing else, you can sit with Sakura-chan and her girlfriend and laugh at Naruto and Hinata!”
That catches his attention, even if it shouldn’t. “Sakura has a girlfriend?”
Kurenai raises an eyebrow. “Yeah. Where’ve you been? Hell, they met in ANBU, so you probably know her better than Sakura. It’s Inuzuka Kikyo.” He has to dig for the mental image to go with the name, but when he pulls it up he’s a little startled. Kikyo’s 26 to Sakura’s 20, and one of the go-to women for normal seduction missions. He hadn’t thought she was Sakura’s type.
“Huh,” is all he says. Then he realizes… “How do you know they met in ANBU?”
Kurenai scowls at him. “Who the hell do you think teaches genjutsu to new recruits? We’re pretty damn short on Uchiha.”
“Aa. Right.” He lets Kurenai badger him for a little longer, but he’s already made up his mind. He wants to see if this girl’s good enough to Sakura. “Fine, fine,” he sighs a few minutes later. “Does a Hokage still have to pay for drinks?”
As it turns out, he doesn’t. That means he’s already two drinks deep when Sakura comes in, hand-in-hand with Kikyo. They don’t look bad together. Kikyo’s curvier than Ino, and she keeps the dark waves of her hair trimmed close to her head. Together with the pale almost-violet blue of her eyes, Kikyo’s stunning. They stop at the bar, first, and then Sakura scans the room while she sips. Her eyes light up and she makes a beeline when she sees him. “You’re actually here?” she exclaims in delight. “I didn’t think there was any way they’d get you here without drugging you!”
“Maa, well, free drinks helps.” He smiles at her and she huffs before realizing — “OH! Introductions! Kiki, this is Hatake Kakashi, duh. Kakashi, this is Inuzuka Kikyo, my girlfriend!”
His smile fades a little, but he doesn’t let them see that. “Nice to see you again… ‘Kiki’?”
Sakura flushes. “Oh, shut up, it’s a cute nickname!” she snaps at him.
“Likewise, Hatake,” Kikyo purrs, winking at him.
That’s when Naruto sees Sakura. “HEY! Sakura-chan! Get over here! Eyebrows says you can’t beat him in arm wrestling!”
“He WHAT?” Sakura shouts, spinning and stalking towards Naruto’s table. “I’ll show him…!”
He watches her go, that strange thing tugging at his heart again. He drowns it by ordering another beer, and another, and another. At some point, Sakura waves goodbye as she almost carries a drunken Kikyo out of the bar. Kikyo’s clearly an amorous drunk, judging by the way she’s nuzzling Sakura’s neck and tweaking her ears. There’s a familiar pink to Sakura’s cheeks as she leaves, and he forces his thoughts away. He switches to sake. A red-headed woman sits next to him, hitting on him brazenly, and he seizes the chance.
An hour later, as he lies next to Sena and drifts off to sleep, his last thought is doesn’t smell right. He wakes up, face buried in red hair… and the thought of morning sex repulses him. He rolls over and stares at the ceiling, trying to figure out why. It’s not until his thoughts drift to last night, seeing the flush in Sakura’s cheeks, that his dick deigns to respond at all. And it’s not at the thought of her curled up with Kikyo. “No,” he mumbles to himself. But then he closes his eyes, and all he can see is how Sakura looked wrapped around him, snoring gently.
He glances over. Sena hasn’t moved. Hopefully, she’s not awake yet. He flickers into the hall and paces, trying to think about anything, anyone other than Sakura. He can’t. His thoughts flicker to their time in Sugawara, how she brought home flowers and he cooked, and there’s something warm in his chest at the thought of that. “No, no, no,” he groans, running his hands through his hair. “I’ll just — I’ll shower, and this will stop,” he mutters. “It has to stop.” But standing in the shower brings him back to when he helped her wash, after Hikari, and —
Sena creeps up on him a few minutes later, standing in the shower and thumping his head against the wall. “No, no, no,” he keeps mumbling to himself. “Anyone but her. Not her. No, no, no…”
She chuckles and presses herself to his back, draping an arm over his shoulder. “Ah, I recognize that refrain,” she says, her voice oddly merry. “It sounds just like when I realized I was in love with my best friend.”
He pauses and glances back at her. “…did it help?”
She snorts. “No. And he’s definitely not an option, either. Marriage is next week. Yours?”
“She’s… off limits,” he grumbles. “Her girlfriend’s ANBU, and that’s the smallest of the problems…”
Sena winces. “Unrequited love — the worst fucking thing ever,” she says, her merriment gone. “I was going to shower and go, but…” She pauses and sighs. “There’s no way you’re not going to see her today. All of Konoha’s coming to your inauguration.” He nods. “I can stick around if you’d like? I’m told I’m good emotional support.”
At that, he turns and blinks at her. “Why?”
She offers him a smile he recognizes. It’s like his own, cracked and cynical. “There’s a lot of happy endings in this village right now, and then there’s people like us. We don’t get happy endings because we make sure other people get theirs. Might as well stick together.”
- - -
When the ceremony’s over, Naruto and Sakura linger until Kakashi’s done greeting everyone else. It proves surprisingly easy to keep Naruto there. He knows everyone, and everyone knows him, which means he jumps from one conversation to another. The last of the people leave and they finally approach their new Hokage.
“Don’t get comfortable, Kaka-sensei!” Naruto shouts as a greeting, leaping forward and jabbing his finger into Kakashi’s chest. “Before you know it, I’m going to be wearing that hat!”
“Aa, if you want it now…” He moves to take it off. Naruto backpedals so hard Sakura almost cackles.
“What?!? Are you nuts? Baa-chan’d kill me, ‘cause I still got a whole lotta stuff to learn! No way!” he says, hands in the air and a look of genuine fear flickering across his face for a second. “Besides, I gotta convince old man Hyuuga to let Hinata-chan marry me first. Only old weirdos are Hokage without being married.” At that, Kakashi levels such an intense glare at Naruto that he blanches. “Uh, anyway, congratulations and stuff! GottagofindHinatabye!”
He takes off, leaving behind a cloud of dust and a Sakura overcome with her giggles. “Ne, I don’t think he’s ever going to change,” she finally manages to say, stepping closer to Kakashi and smiling up at him. There’s a red-head two steps behind him, to his left, and she greets her with a soft smile before turning back to Kakashi. “Is this your girlfriend?”
He shakes his head and tries to stuff his hands into non-existent pockets. “A friend, who’s a girl, yes, a girlfriend, no. Sena, this is Haruno Sakura. Sakura, this is Higurashi Sena.”
Sakura offers the other woman a short bow, and the woman bows back to her. “Speaking of girlfriends — aren’t you glad Naruto finally figured out Hinata’s in love with him? I think she’ll be really good for him.” He nods, eyes upturning in his squint-smile, and her heart squeezes a little. She can tell his fake smiles apart from his real ones now, and this one’s real. It makes her happy that Kakashi’s happy Naruto’s happy, and she blames her next words on her fuzzy brain. “Am I allowed to give you a hug, or —“
He hums and glances around. The only other people remaining are his guards. He warns her sternly, “No chakra allowed,” and then he opens his arms. She laughs a little and steps forward, wrapping her arms around his waist. She’s short enough that hugging him buries her face in his chest, and she can’t bring herself to distance herself. He smells like everything she associates with home — something that sinks down inside her and warms her soul. His arms drag her in and a little closer and, for a second, she thinks she feels him nuzzling the side of her head.
She leans up eventually and murmurs, “Congratulations, Kakashi. You’re going to do great.” And then, slowly, regretfully, she peels herself away.
“Thanks,” he says, once again trying to shove his hands into non-existent pockets. “You’d probably better go look for Naruto before he says something… inadvisable… to Hyuuga-sama.”
She groans. “Ugh, like he could make it worse?” she mumbles, but waves goodbye as she lopes away. She glances over her shoulder as she exits the room. Higurashi-san’s smiling up at Kakashi like she knows a secret, and his body language is almost… shy. Sakura pointedly ignores the pang that hits her and mumbles, “Not a girlfriend, my ass.”
- - -
Two and a half weeks after Kakashi’s inauguration, Sakura’s sitting on her couch, listening to Ino rant in between bites of soba. “And then he did it again today, with a different dog! I’m just sitting there, talking to Shika, and this huge grey thing walks up to him and tells him the Hokage needs to see him!”
Sakura muffles a snort in her hand. It’s been a while since she’s seen Kakashi’s ninken, aside from Pakkun, but she’s pretty sure Ino’s talking about Bull. “I mean, at least you know the message isn’t fake?” she offers weakly when Ino takes another huge bite.
“It’s still weird!” Ino grouses. “Who does that? What kind of person’s just going to send out talking dogs to deliver…messa…shit!” Near the end of her sentence, Ino’s words start trailing off, and then she shoots to her feet. “Shit, shit, shit!” she shouts, bolting for her room.
Sakura leaps to her feet and follows, not sure if something’s gone wrong. “Ino? Is everything okay?” she asks, poking her head into Ino’s room. Her roommate’s sprawled on the floor, digging frantically under her bed.
“No — yes — ugh, I’m the wooorst,” Ino wails. Then she starts talking a mile a minute as she yanks stuff out. “Okay, so you remember the day you had that date with Win and you got called in when you got home because some guy needed his entire ribcage reconstructed?”
“…yeah?” Sakura answers, leaning against the doorframe and watching Ino.
“Like literally twenty minutes after you left, that tiny dog of Kakashi’s showed up with a sealed case for you. He said he didn’t want to just leave it on your bed, cause it was valuable, so I took it and then I was going to give it to you but I got called in to T&I so I hid it under my bed and then Shika dragged me to Suna and then I guess— aha!” She finally lays hands on what she’s looking for and wiggles backwards, tugging it after her.
“…a sword case?” Sakura mumbles as the item comes into view. “Why would he have sent me a sword case?”
“Uh, it probably has a sword inside it, Forehead,” Ino says, dusting off her front before she shoves the case towards Sakura. “Open it, bitch, I wanna see!”
Sakura scowls at her, but kneels on the floor beside the case and inspects the seal. Kakashi’s the only person she knows who can do chakra seals like this, without the person whose chakra can unlock them. She hesitates a little before she charges the seal, just in case it’s a prank, but it dissolves without any fuss. Then she reaches for the sides and lifts the lid. “Oh!” she gasps, eyes wide. “It’s beautiful!” It’s a chokuto, the blade perfectly smooth, no flecks or impurities anywhere on the metal.
“I don’t know shit about swords, but that’s nice,” Ino says, letting out a low whistle. Sakura nods and reaches into the case, carefully lifting the sword to inspect it closer. As she does, something flutters down from the handle. “Hey! Is that a note?” Sakura blinks and looks down. Indeed, there’s a tiny square of paper squarely in the middle of the case. Ino reaches for it, eyes glittering, but Sakura grabs it first.
Heard you had a sword go missing.
p.s. Sorry.
It’s signed with a henohenomoheji, and she can’t help her lopsided grin. “Ass,” she grumbles, handing the note to Ino and turning the sword again. It’s lightweight, even for a chokuto, so she gives it a test flick — and scares herself when traces of white light trail the blade.
“Uh, again with the not knowing about swords, but that’s not a normal sword thing… right?” Ino asks, leaning forward. Sakura’s just staring at the sword, mouth open.
“Holy shit, Ino,” she whispers, her eyes wide. “Ino, this was his dad’s sword.”
Ino’s expression mirrors hers. “His — holy shit, Forehead!” She blinks rapidly, glancing between the note and the sword. “What the hell kind of kinky shit did you do for him to send you this? I’ve sucked a man’s brains out before and never gotten a gift like that!”
Sakura just shrugs, hopelessly confused. “I — I have no idea! I’ve done wilder stuff with Kikyo, honestly, just…” She bites her lips. “I can’t let him give me this. It’s his dad’s.” With that, she’s on her feet, darting into her room to put on clothes. It only takes a second before she’s dancing back out, stuffing her arms into the sleeves of her jacket. She glances at the case, at the sword, and then just springs out of the window with the sword in hand.
- - -
Kakashi wishes he had energy left to go out and do something, but he’s exhausted. Sitting at a desk all day, dealing with politics and paperwork, has left him utterly drained. He doesn’t even have enough energy to grab something to drink. As he digs into his pocket for Icha Icha, he sighs —
and adrenaline promptly floods him a second later. Someone leaps onto his balcony with a sword in hand, someone not ANBU, someone — someone with pink hair. “Sakura,” he says, relaxing back into his chair. “Everything okay?”
“I forgot they moved you and scared the dickens out of the person who took your old apartment,” she grumbles, stomping across the balcony to stand next to him. “And then I want to the Hokage residence. Of course you’d refuse them and get something else. But that’s not the point! Kakashi, what the fuck?”
He blinks up at her slowly. She sighs and almost shoves the sword in her hand at him. “Aa,” he murmurs. “I wondered why you’d accepted it so easily.”
“Only just now opened it ‘cause pigs have short memories,” she mutters. “Seriously, Kakashi, you can’t give me this. It’s your father’s sword, I’m sure it’s a family heirloom —“
“It’s been locked away for thirty years because I hate it, Sakura,” he says quietly, pushing her hand down so that the sword’s not in his line of sight. “All it reminds me of are things I’d rather forget.”
“That’s still — I don’t want to steal your stuff! And I don’t need a sword this nice!” she protests.
“Mmm, you never know when you’re in ANBU,” he hums. “And it’s a gift.” She opens her mouth again, but he reaches out and squeezes her arm gently. “Please, Sakura. I don’t want to go to any more funerals.”
She huffs, but her shoulders sag and he knows she’ll keep it. ”…is it always white light, or does it depends on the chakra you put into it?” she asks quietly.
…he’s never thought of that before. “Good question,” he says. ”Try it and see.”
She scowls at him, but lifts the sword and focuses. After a few seconds, he sees a sheen imbue the blade — and the light that trails her swipe is a soft green. “That’s neat. That’s really neat,” she mumbles. “Thank you, Kakashi. I… thank you.”
Then she springs away without a goodbye, leaving the charge of her chakra lingering in the air. He stares after her long after she’s gone, until the sun sets and his guards change out. Then he feels one of them approach his chair and stand to the left. They don’t say anything for a minute. “Hokage-sama.”
“Cat-san,” he replies.
“Permission to speak freely —“
“Granted.”
“— as Kikyo, not Cat.”
“…granted.” She walks closer and squats next to the chair, taking off her mask and hanging it on her belt. “Sir, I know you know how unlikely a romantic relationship is between you and Sakura —”
“Mm,” he grunts. She just keeps talking.
“— but to be honest, I think you have a better shot at it than I do.” He jolts, startled, because that makes no sense. She sees the jump and blinks at him. “With all due respect, sir, everyone from team seven is just… fucking monstrous. Everyone ignores Sakura because she’s quiet, and she’s not a jinchuuriki, or the last Uchiha, or even anything like you. But quiet monsters are still monsters. Nobody forgets how powerful the wind is just because it's silent.” She shakes her head. “Sometimes, she’s just my girlfriend, just another ANBU. Then she does something completely fucking impossible as easy as brushing her teeth, and… I can’t keep up with her. One time, she reconstructed an entire poison from the residue it left on a senbon. Then she improved it, and she did it all in two fucking days.” Kikyo sighs and goes silent for a second. “The stuff she says and does, some of it seems so far-fetched, and then she’s right. She’s right so often it gives me chills.”
Kakashi’s trying to parse this, to fit it in with who he knows Sakura to be. It doesn’t not fit, but how has he never seen —? And then he remembers their mission to Sugawara. “…is diagnosing drugs on sight common, or is that another Sakura thing?” he wonders out loud. He never asked Sakura how she identified whatever it was Hikari tried to drug them with. It wasn’t necessary, and he mostly assumed she’d tasted it and then burned it out of her body. But she hadn’t tasted his, and she still knew how strong the dose was.
“I — I don’t think even Tsunade-sama could do that, sir,” Kikyo says, her voice a little awed. But then she shakes her head and looks sideways at him. “I know I’m not going to last. She needs someone who’ll challenge her and keep her sharp. I can’t do that when she deconstructs every ninjutsu I show her and then reconstructs it better.” She swallows. “I’d have to be a genius to do that, and I’m not. I love her, and I enjoy spending time with her, but I know I’m not her long haul. Maybe you could be.” After she delivers that parting shot, she’s off like a spring.
After a little longer, he goes to bed and stares at the ceiling instead of the sunset. How well do I know this Sakura?
- - -
For once, she unashamedly rips off Ino and admits it. It happens because of this: Kakashi’s gift to her makes her feel guilty. She hasn’t exactly been avoiding him, per se, but… Kikyo’s there. Sakura can’t help but be draw to her like a moth to a flame, though Kikyo’s far kinder than any flame.
So she pesters Ino constantly while her roommate and best friend packs to move back home. By the end of the week, she knows all the best places in town to have small group dinners for people that eat more than some towns. She also knows all the best ways to get lazy people to show up, courtesy of Ino’s many years chasing Shikamaru around.
And then she sets about arranging Team Kakashi’s first team dinner. Yamato and Sai are easy to corral into it, unsurprisingly. All she has to do is ask. Naruto declines at first, much to her surprise, saying he wants to go out with Hinata that night. “Bring her!” she says with a grin. Then she has to talk him into going somewhere that doesn’t serve meat or ramen.
Inviting Kakashi makes her nervous. He’ll either listen to her, nod, and never show, or he’ll be so egregiously late that the restaurant won’t want to serve him. That’s why she invades his office at the end of the work day and just drags him to the restaurant. “Ah, Sakura-chan, if you wanted a date —“
She smacks him on one side of the head. “It’s a new tradition, you asshole,” she growls. “And, incidentally, I don’t make a habit of bringing Naruto on dates. I can hear him from here, so I know you can.” She nods politely to the hostess (who looks a little worried for her Hokage) as she hauls him inside and heads for the table she reserved.
“There you are, my Sa-koi-ra,” Kikyo sings out as she approaches the table. Sakura tries not to flush at the familiar address, but it’s impossible. Every time Kikyo uses the nickname, it’s so sweet and fond that it makes her heart beat faster. “Hokage-sama, you’re looking a little… rumpled.”
- - -
Finally, finally, Sakura lets go of his jacket and lets him stand to his feet. “Good evening, Kikyo-san,” he greets the girl, careful to keep his smile very neutral. He struggles a little when Sakura steps forward and pulls Kikyo down into a greeting kiss. “What’s this, then?”
“We’re having Team Kakashi dinners!” Sakura says, turning toward him with a grin. “This way, we get to talk to each other outside of missions!”
“If I remember correctly, this is one of many team-building strategies,” Sai says from his seat on the far side of the table. “It is noted as being rather ineffective if the participants of the dinner are not already comfortable with each other.” For a second, there’s a devilish gleam in Sai’s eye that he barely catches. “For instance, if I was not comfortable enough with Ugly to tell her how ugly she was, this would be a very bad idea.”
Kakashi coughs and slides into his seat. “Aa, I think we’re mostly pretty comfortable with each other. Hinata-chan’s a little new, and so is Kiki —“
“Hey, that’s my pet name!” Sakura snaps, smacking him on the arm before she and Kikyo sit down. “But yes. I’m pretty sure all of us have seen each other naked at least once, and that does great things for not being awkward.”
Kikyo snorts into her water and nearly spews it out her nose. “Holy shit, honey,” she wheezes, thumping her chest. “That’s a hell of an icebreaker.”
Kakashi’s heart twitches inside his chest when Sakura offers Kikyo a wry grin. “Sweetie, that wasn’t even the wildest thing that we’ve ever started a conversation off with.” She pauses. “I’m pretty sure that award still goes to the time Sai showed a little while ago to spar with us and asked ‘what proportions and properties you find most pleasing in genitalia’.”
Naruto fairly crows with laughter. “Holy shit, I almost forgot about that! And he wanted details!” He manages to stop laughing long enough to paste on a faux-serious face and drones, “In order to appeal to as many people as possible, I would like to find out what personal presentations are the most common.”
Sai sniffs, almost offended, but there’s a tiny smile at the corner of his mouth. “Being asked to illustrate such a popular series of novels is an honor. I wanted not only to bring it justice, but to excel in making beautiful, desirable art.”
“Wait, wait, what?” Sakura says, leaning forward and glowering at Sai. “Novels? What the hell are you illustrating?” Then it strikes her. She slides down in her seat and groans. “Please don’t tell me —“
“It’s Icha Icha!” Naruto chirps. “The old pervert left me the rights, so I’m writing more of ‘em, and I told the publishers I knew an artist, and they were really interested in Sai’s art!” His grin’s just a touch too wide to be innocent.
“Aa, the new art style is very nice,” Kakashi chirps, cheek resting on one hand. “Sai’s research paid off. He’s very good at —“ she glowers at him over the edge of the table and he course-corrects just slightly. “Portraying the way people…. interact.”
“Hokage-sama very kindly let me read much of his collection of pornographic material for reference,” Sai says, his smile the same tenor as Naruto’s — better known as a ‘shit-eating grin’. “While I was academically aware of many of the sexual habits practiced by the general population, I had not seen them in reality. It has been very educational.”
Yamato snorts. “Is that why I’ve heard a half-dozen civilian girls talking about you? Practicing your new knowledge?”
“First-hand experience is best, yes,” Sai says. “I believe observing people in their most private moments makes me better able to reflect the necessary sensuality.”
Kakashi hums, and opens his mouth, but Hinata interrupts, her face cherry red. “C-can we p-please stop talking about Hokage-sama’s p-p-porn?!?”
- - -
Sadly, the team dinner idea doesn’t stick. Much. Instead, she ends up dropping by Kakashi’s apartment every so often, hauling whoever’s in town with her. Sometimes it doesn’t happen for a three months, and sometimes it’ll happen twice in a week. The people constantly rotate; Naruto’s the one most consistently absent, surprisingly. Everyone wants to meet the hero. Hinata and Kikyo end up being something close to fixtures.
One evening, she’s sitting around Kakashi’s table with Yamato, Kakashi, Hinata, and Kikyo, discussing how to develop different chakra natures, when something strikes her. Her mother and father are divorced now, split over their difference of opinion about Sakura remaining a ninja. He wanted her to stop, and neither Sakura nor her mother wanted that. She’s not sure where her father is now, but she knows her mother’s living in the outskirts of the civilian district. Other than that, she hasn’t seen any of the other Harunos in years. The people sitting at this table right now, the ones she’s spilled blood with, are closer to family than the blood she was born from.
The thought chases her through the night, enough so that Kikyo notices. “What’s the matter, sweetie?” she asks when they’re curled up in bed, Sakura’s head on her shoulder. She opens her mouth to reply, but — “And don’t say it’s nothing. You’ve been weird for three or four hours now.”
She sighs and tries to find a way to explain it. “I just… I realized earlier that my team is more like my family than family, and… I don’t know. I guess I feel guilty. I haven’t seen my mom in forever, and my dad’s not my favorite person.”
Kikyo sighs and gently strokes her hair. “Have I ever told you about my parents?” She shakes her head no. A long, long pause, and then she starts. “Obviously, I’m an Inuzuka. Most of the time, the clan’s matriarchal. Marriages happen, but they’re not required. If you get pregnant, or if you get someone pregnant, nobody cares unless the other parent’s someone with a troublesome bloodline. Some kekkai genkai interfere with the way the Inuzuka traits manifest. ”
She stops for a minute, clearly a little on edge. Sakura takes the opportunity to ask, “Is… Does this have to do with why you don’t have a dog and the markings?”
“Yeah,” Kikyo says. “My mother was an Inuzuka. But my father… my father was a Branch Hyuuga.” Sakura hisses through her teeth, understanding what happened at the same time as she realizes why Kikyo’s eyes are so pale. They’ve always been just a few shades darker than the Hyuuga’s famous eyes, though Kikyo has pupils. “Yeah. Although the seal meant the full kekkei genkai couldn’t be transferred, it interfered with the Inuzuka traits just enough. I couldn’t bond an animal, and you don’t get the markings until you’ve bonded. So… here I am.” Sakura feels Kikyo brush the hair away from her forehead and drop a kiss there. “I’m sure you can imagine how I felt about that growing up, and how some of the others treated me.”
“I’ll kick their asses. Every single one of them,” Sakura mumbles. Kikyo’s body vibrates beneath her cheek with laughter and she can’t help smiling against her shoulder. “You know I can do it.”
“That’s not the point, sweetie,” Kikyo giggles. Then her voice sobers. “Blood doesn’t mean anything unless you want it to, my Sa-koi-ra. It’s the bonds you make that matter. Maybe you can rebuild that bond with your mother. Maybe you can’t. Either way, you already know everyone on your team has your back.” Her long fingers curl under Sakura’s chin and pull her up so that she’s staring into Kikyo’s gentle, pale eyes. “And I’ll always have your back,” she promises in a tiny, sweet whisper before kissing her.
- - -
Somehow, watching Sakura and Kikyo together helps him as much as it hurts him. Regardless of what Kikyo said to him on the roof, the two women are happy together. He’s never seen Sakura smile so often or so sweetly, and they compliment each other well. Where Sakura is sharp, Kikyo is soft, and vice versa.
But there are thin cracks. When Tsunade or Shizune join for the random team dinners, he notices Kikyo almost recedes into the background. It’s not uncommon for them to descend into bickering about this idea, or that jutsu, or any of a half dozen other things that are terribly specialized. While he’s not a med-nin himself, he is a genius, and he often finds himself drawn into the discussions. Though Kikyo’s intelligent, she doesn’t have the background to participate.
He notices, too, that she bites her tongue often when certain topics come up. Discussion of the Uchiha family, or of Sasuke, make her speak less. Talking about Naruto’s mother and father makes her eyes spark with anger, despite her silence. Somehow, though, talking about the Kyuubi doesn’t draw her ire in the same way.
They all find out why not long before Sasuke leaves the village. Kakashi’s pardoned him, but he’s lingering, trying to see if he can live in the village. For once, most of the team is there. The only person missing is Tenzo, who’s working on an ANBU mission. Dinner’s over and they’ve moved to Kakashi’s living room and its half-dozen cushy chairs and couch. Sakura’s half-asleep on Kikyo’s shoulder. Kakashi and Sasuke both have their own chairs, as does Sai, though he’s a little more separated from the group so that he can draw while the others talk. Hinata’s sitting on Sakura’s other side, and Naruto… well, he’s never been good at sitting still. He’s pacing and talking about ‘stuffy Hyuuga stuff’ and his eventual marriage to Hinata.
“—and he keeps sayin’ we gotta get the seal checked up an’ stuff if Hina-chan gets pregnant, but the only person who really understood that stuff was the old pervert. I know enough, but I don’t see why we gotta check on it, it’s not like Kurama’s contagious —“ Naruto rambles.
Kikyo cuts in then, her voice icier than he’s ever heard it. “Because your mother and father were selfish idiots, and Hyuuga-sama wants to make sure this doesn’t harm Konoha again.”
Kakashi’s head snaps towards her like he’s been slapped, and he might as well have been. Naruto’s pacing stops and his head turns a half second later, a tendril of orange chakra curling across his face. “What did you just call my mom and dad?” he snarls, and there’s no Kyuubi behind his voice. Every bit of that malice is his own. Sakura breaks out of her doze as Naruto speaks and stares between him and her girlfriend, too startled to speak.
Kikyo gulps, but lifts her chin and meets his eyes. “I said they were selfish idiots,” she bites out.
“You’re alive today because they saved you when Kurama broke out, you asshole!” Naruto shouts.
She shouts back at him, “And they’re the fucking reason he broke free, idiot!” Naruto’s frown deepens, the orange curling around him turns a little darker. Kikyo glances at it, but she doesn’t stop speaking. “Do you know how many orphans there are in Konoha on any given day? Do you know how many surrogate mothers there are in this village? Even without Tsunade-sama in town, they could have had a child safely. But instead, they decided to risk everything so that they could push out a brat of their own.”
Kakashi inhales. He’s never quite looked at it that way before. And… even knowing what he knows about the real reason it happened, it’s not entirely untrue. Regardless of the way events were manipulated in order to break the Kyuubi free, Minato and Kushina made the decision that led to the seal being weak enough for it to happen. “Y-you —“ Naruto stutters, too angry to form words.
Sasuke, of all people, steps in then. “Mm. Why do you care about it now? That’s past.”
“Because they’re the fucking reason my mother is on the memorial stone! They’re the reason I’m in ANBU, the reason the Inuzuka still call me an outsider — because she’s dead!” Kikyo spits. Sakura rests a hand on her wrist and looks between her girlfriend and her best friend, clearly torn.
“Maybe we should go, Kiki…” she whispers, biting her lip.
Kikyo actually snorts. It’s the most inelegant thing he’s ever seen her do. “Why? So Naruto-san can keep ignoring all the people that died because his parents couldn’t figure out how adoption works?”
“Kikyo!” Sakura snaps, her grip tightening. Then they’re gone in a whirl of cherry blossoms that settle over the still, silent living room.
Sai breaks the silence eventually, and it’s so clearly a way to change the subject that Kakashi almost laughs out loud. “Dickless, would you mind standing a little differently? Right now, the light’s making it look like you have something in your pants.”
This time, when Naruto growls, there’s no accompanying orange chakra.
- - -
Sakura never thought she’d be watching Sasuke leave again, but… maybe it’ll be good for him. She’s not sure. “Do you really have to go?” she asks quietly.
His answer’s so quintessentially Sasuke she almost rolls her eyes. “I’d go with you and make sure you stayed out of trouble, but some of us have work to do,” she jibes at him. Then she grows serious. “Don’t stay away forever, okay?”
“Hn.” And then he — he pokes her forehead. Part of her, the part that never grew up and still loves Sasuke, swings into high gear. The rest of her just… blinks. He leaves, the doors swinging shut behind him, and she turns, putting her fingers to her forehead.
“…what was that?” she asks Kakashi. There’s something mildly perturbed at the corners of his eyes, but it clears when he looks at her.
“Aa, who knows? It’s Sasuke,” he says. She looks back at the doors, still moving a little, and wonders. There’s no need to chase him roaring up inside her, no burning declarations of love. For a long time, she thought they were connected by the red string of fate. Thinking about it, she’s not sure when the last time she felt that red string. It’s as if the string snapped one day when she wasn’t looking, like a boat coming unmoored and drifting away.
“Do you think I should’ve gone with him?” she wonders out loud, cutting her eyes to the side.
Kakashi glances back at her in the same way, though it’s obscured by his hat. “Mm, no,” is all he says.
“…what the hell does that mean?” Of course, he doesn’t answer that. They walk back to his tower together, and he’s strangely curious about her ANBU missions, considering that she turns in reports on them. She tells him a little, but not much, because she’s not going to talk about classified missions in the middle of the street.
That night, Kikyo breaks up with her.
She takes a lot of missions, trying not to wonder why.
- - -
Five months after Sasuke leaves, ten months after Sakura accepts his sword, Kakashi’s half-asleep on his couch one evening when the door slams into the wall. He doesn’t bother getting up, no matter that he’s incredibly awake now. He recognizes the tenor of that slam.
A few seconds later — “Hatake Kakashi, you have five seconds to tell me how the hell someone got their hands on your family sword!” Tsunade bellows, storming into his living room. He sits up and blinks at her. She snarls and throws an Iwa bingo book across the table. It flops open to one page, the pages on either side of it much creased and rather ripped.
WANTED:
Jade Flicker, dead or alive
Responsible for the assassination of Clan Head Chiren Jan; suspected involvement in the deaths of multiple merchant leaders.
Affiliation: Unknown
Strength: Unknown, assume S-Rank
Abilities: Kenjutsu; other abilities unknown
Above the information is a picture of someone in the ANBU uniform, crouched, a sword in one hand — a sword glowing with green chakra. If he looks closer, he can recognize the way Sakura pads her armor, see the places her hidden senbon poke out, but otherwise she’s nearly unrecognizable. Her hair’s pulled back and appears soot black, her body shape indeterminate, the only identifying factors the snarling ANBU mask and the sword.
“Well!?” Tsunade demands, slamming her hand down on the table.
“It was a gift,” he says, smiling at her.
“A — what? Who the —“ she stops dead and narrows her eyes at him. “I swear on everything I love, if you gave your sword to God-forsaken Uchiha fucking Sasuke, I will —“
“I didn’t,” he cuts her off, glancing at the corners of the room. Good. None of the ANBU present are tattletales, gossips, or Sakura. “I gave it to Sakura,” he admits after a minute.
Tsunade rears back. “You gave it to Sakura?” she says. Then the information really sinks in. “You’ve been sending her on these missions?” she roars, grabbing the book and shaking it at him. “Do you think I spent years training her to be a medic so that she’d be a more efficient killer? I approved her entrance into ANBU so that we had less fatalities, not more! Why would you give her that sword?”
He’s not going to take that lying down. He shoots to his feet and snarls, “Oh, is that why you sent her out to kill missing children, Godaime-sama?”
Tsunade stops. “…what the hell are you talking about, Hatake?”
Kakashi can’t help rolling his eyes. “Six months or so before I took office, I found Sakura practically catatonic outside my apartment door in her ANBU gear. Someone was kidnapping children and…” he trails off with a sigh. “She said she wanted to save more, but instead she followed orders.”
Tsunade’s eyes are cold flames, now, a look that never fails to make him fret for his life. “That damn Vulture…” she growls. “I should’ve known she’d pull something like this.” He raises an eyebrow. “Vulture’s like someone combined you and Anko, except she’s not nearly talented enough to get away with being a little shit,” she explains flatly. “Sakura wasn’t supposed to do anything except heal the children, and she definitely wasn’t supposed to be the one cutting them down. I assume Vulture thought she was too soft and needed toughened up.”
He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Lovely.”
“That doesn’t explain why you gave her that sword. Of all the people I’d expect you to give it to, Sakura—“ Tsunade shakes her head.
“I wanted to help keep her safe,” he says, even quieter than before. “I’m Hokage now. I can’t be there when she goes on missions. She —“ he pauses. No, don’t say that. It’ll give it away. “I want her to come home.” To Konoha. To me.
“…oh,” Tsunade says, voice almost weak after her bellowing.
“Mm.”
After a second, she sits down on the chair beside the couch. “…how long?”
His eyes shoot up from the table, where the bingo book had been, to her. She’s leaning back in the chair, arms crossed and eyes soft. “…how long has she had the sword?” he guesses. Please don’t let her have —
“How long have you had feelings for her?” Tsunade murmurs, almost a whisper.
“…shit,” he mumbles. “It’s that obvious?”
His predecessor snorts. “Did your brain shut off, brat? How many years do you think I saw Jiraiya watching me with those soft puppy dog eyes you’re wearing right now? I know what love looks like, and you’re on your way there.” For all that her words seem harsh and dismissive, her tone’s softer than he thought possible. “I know it was recent, or else you would’ve been a hell of a lot calmer about sleeping with her on that purple mission.”
“ I — Inauguration Day,” he answers finally, eyes averted. “I woke up next to a beautiful woman, and all I wanted was the one I couldn’t have.”
After a minute, Tsunade chuckles. “God, you’re fucked. You know Sasuke’s planning on coming back and marrying her, right?” He nods. “…and you’re just sitting on your ass?! You’re going to let that little shit take something else from you?! I can’t say I’m sold on the idea of you with Sakura, but I like it a hell of a lot better than that…” She just clenches her fist angrily, unable to come up with a suitable epithet for Sasuke.
He huffs. “She’s dating a chuunin she met at the hospital right now,” he says calmly. And we haven’t had a team dinner in months because of it. “He comes from a civilian background, but he put a lot of work in to get as far as he has. He’s one of Iruka’s favorite substitute teachers when he’s not at the hospital. He’s —“
“He sounds like a fucking bore,” Tsunade cuts in. “Do you really think that’s what Sakura wants in her life? Some mealy-mouthed desk shinobi whose worst fight was with his electric bill up until the war?” She reaches for a sake bottle that doesn’t exist, realizes it, and groans before she keeps talking. “She might’ve been a good little stay-at-home wife for someone if she hadn’t changed, but she has. I think she’d crawl out of her skin at the hospital if she didn’t get missions outside the village.”
He just stares at her, unsure what this has to do with him. “…and?” he mumbles after Tsunade glowers for a minute.
“And iron sharpens iron, brat. She needs someone who’s on her level, and that… damn… Uchiha… can go piss up a rope. She’s better than him, always has been, even if nobody recognized it.”
“Mm,” is all he can manage in response. They sit in silence until Kakashi mumbles, finally, “She deserves something other than a broken old man.”
“You’re not the one who gets to decide what she deserves. She is.” Tsunade stares him down. “Got any other excuses for why you’re not going to tell her?”
He sinks farther down into his chair. She’s not going to accept it. “How is it you don't care that was her teacher?”
Tsunade cackles. “Please! I taught her more in a week than you did in six months, you little shit. What did you do? Show her how to read porn in public?”
He grumbles, “Showed her tree-walking. And water-walking."
She cackles again, the sound almost manic. “I’m pretty sure Naruto taught her more than that! All you were to her was an authority figure that ignored her for ‘better’ options. Next excuse?”
Even farther down, because that stings. He neglected her, and he knows it, and he can’t decide whether he regrets it or not. But that isn’t the issue at hand. “Because I don’t —“ he finally starts. Then he sits up straight, scrubs a hand over his face, and sighs before starting again. “Pretend I tell her. What happens if she’s not — if she can’t see me that way? What if we try dating and find out we don’t fit?” He sinks his hands into his hair. “Even if we’re both adults, it’ll still end up putting distance between us. It’ll change everything, no matter what, and it might not be for the better.”
“Coward.”
“Yes.”
Sasuke comes back almost two years after he left, and he looks good. For a minute, Sakura contemplates asking him out. Nabi broke up with her after he found out she had an entry in a bingo book, and she’s still a little mad about the attitude he had, so she hasn’t gone out with anyone in a while. But she decides against it. There’s no way he wants the return of the simpering sycophant she once was.
A few days after he returns, she leaves the hospital to find him waiting outside. “Ah, Sasuke!” she greets him. “Everything okay?”
“Mm,” he answers quietly. “I… don’t know where the good restaurants are now. I was hoping you’d…?” he trails off, eyes averted. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was embarrassed.
“You don’t want ramen for the third time today?” she teases, cracking her neck. “Let me grab something that doesn’t smell like antiseptic and blood. I’ll meet you at the entrance to your compound.” With that, she springs away.
Twenty minutes later, she’s slipping on her sandals when there’s a tap at her balcony window. She blinks, stands up, and blinks again. Sasuke’s standing outside, hands in his pockets. “Sorry. Couldn’t wait there,” he mumbles.
“No worries!” she chirps, reaching for a hair tie. Her hair’s past her shoulders now, long enough to be troublesome if they take the rooftops. “You’re just in time. There’s a new yakiniku place near here, or there’s a really good soba place. Before Ino moved back into the family compound, I think she ate there every day for at least two months.” She waits for him to say something, but he doesn’t speak, barely even moves. “So what sounds good?”
“Either,” he says, finally lifting his eyes from the ground and catching her eyes. “Food doesn’t matter as much when you have good company.”
She breaks into a smile at that. “Well, it helps be good company if you open your mouth every now and then,” she says, tone light. “And, if neither of those sounds good, there’s an ichiju-sansen not too far away. I haven’t been there yet, but one of my exes said it’s delicious.”
“That sounds acceptable.” It doesn’t take them long to get there, traveling across the rooftops. Thursday night means it’s not terribly crowded, and there’s even a table open near the front, the large window open for the night to let soft breezes curl through the restaurant.
“This is nice!” she says once they’re seated. “So, do you have stories about your travels?” she prompts Sasuke after the waiter comes by. Slowly, she pulls a tale from him, and she pays him back with one of her own about one of the endless idiotic genin injuries. “And, I’m not kidding you, this little shit came in the next day, with twice as many senbon stuck in him. I actually had to find their teacher and tell her to stop letting them play tag with senbon, because it just ended up turning into target practice with him as the target.”
“Might as well be useful,” Sasuke drawls dryly. “Doesn’t sound like he’s much good otherwise.”
Sakura chokes on her sake. “Sasuke!” she chides him. “That’s mean!” He just leans on his hand and raises an eyebrow at her, as if to say it might be mean but is it wrong? “Look, I’m sure he’ll be a very good shinobi someday. Just because he’s bad at dodging doesn’t mean he’s not a ninjutsu genius.”
“Mmm,” he hums, taking a sip of his sake and then setting it down. Once he sets it down, though, he leaves his hand lying on the table. “Any other tales to ruin my hopes for Konoha’s future?”
That sends her down a tangent, telling stories because boy does she have them — like the girl that stole her teacher’s face paint only to find out she was allergic to it, or the boy who decided he could out-growl an Inuzuka nin-dog and ended up getting chased by half a pack for his trouble. That one actually makes Sasuke laugh. It makes her stop short and stare at him in wonder.
He notices. “…what?” he asks, glancing around.
“Nothing,” she says, hurrying to preserve the mood. It’s a nice night, and when the bill comes, Sasuke insists he’ll pay since she showed him where the restaurant was. Instead of taking to the rooftops, they stroll towards Hokage Mountain, letting their food settle. They come to a stop at a good vantage point and stop to stare at the moment for a minute. She drags her gaze down the faces and then lets it rest on the last one, a wicked smile curling her lips. “Ne, Sasuke?”
“Mm?”
“Bet you can’t beat me to the top of Kakashi’s head!” she chirps, taking off before she’s finished speaking.
She actually hears him shout in aggravation behind her and laughs, picking up speed. A second later, there’s a familiar chakra chasing her. She beats him, though just barely. “Hah!” she says, pointing at him when he arrives. “Some legendary ninja you are, getting beaten by a med-nin!”
He wrinkles his nose at her. “Rude,” he mumbles.
“That’s me,” Sakura agrees, flopping down to the ground and sprawling out. “You can go home, if you want. I just haven’t gotten to spar lately, or had any good missions. I needed that.” Instead of going anywhere, Sasuke just sits beside her. After a minute of recovery, she pulls herself into a sitting position beside him. Looking over the village like this always gives her peace; seeing the twinkling lights below makes everything she does worth it. “I know Konoha isn’t perfect, but looking at it like this… it’s not perfect because we’re not perfect. Nobody is. We’re all running around, working on our own tiny pieces of the world. It’s nice to think about.”
He just hums, and she’s not sure if it’s a hum of agreement or not. Then, a minute later, he speaks. “Sakura.” She turns her head to him, mouth open to answer, but — his mouth’s on hers, lips soft and smooth, his breath surprisingly minty for someone who just had dinner. Shock stiffens her body for a moment… but she closes her eyes and makes herself relax. It’s not a fireworks-and-explosions kiss, but it’s nice.
“…what was that?” she asks when he pulls away, and for once he’s flushed.
“I — you —“ he starts, and then raises his hand and musses his hair in frustration. “Do you want to travel with me?” he blurts out a minute later.
She stares at him. “Huh?”
“It’s quiet being alone,” he mutters, looking down at his feet. “And I’d like to have — someone I care about — with me.”
Sakura bites her lip and thinks about it. It’s been so long since she thought about Sasuke in a romantic sense that she missed all of the telltales this evening. His nice clothing, picking her up at her house, paying for their food… he meant this as a date. “I don’t know,” she finally says. “I love you, Sasuke, but I don’t know if I’m still in love with you. You’ve been gone so long I barely know you to know if I can love you, and I don’t think you know this Sakura enough to love me.”
“I —“ he objects.
She pins him with a glare. “Sasuke, what tattoos do I have?”
His eyebrows go up. “You have tattoos?”
“Exactly my point,” she says gently. “You don’t know if I’m in ANBU, or what I’ve been doing for the last few years. Did you know I’m good enough with a sword to fight Kakashi to a standstill now?” He shakes his head slowly. “I’m not saying no, okay? But I have a life in this village. I have friends. I’m not going to leave it behind for someone who barely knows me.”
“Ah,” he breathes, little more than a whisper.
It makes her reach out and touch his shoulder. “If you hold still long enough for me to figure out who you are, I might go with you. I might not.” He nods, and they watch the stars hand-in-hand for a little while.
- - -
Kakashi’s scrambling through the stacks on his desk, trying to find a copy of the trade agreement with Kiri, when Shizune comes in and drops off the quarterly reports for the hospital. He raises an eyebrow at her as he finally spies the scroll he needs. “No Sakura?”
Shizune smiles, soft and sweet. “I told her to come in late today. I heard she was out with Sasuke last night.”
His left hand clenches tight, forgetting he’s holding a valuable trade agreement in it. “Aa,” is all he says out loud. When Shizune leaves, he collapses into his chair and drops the crumpled scroll on the desk in front of him.
- - -
Sasuke takes her on two more dates. At the end of the last one, he kisses her on her balcony, the touch of his lips so soft and sweet it makes her heart hurt. But the flames that characterized her first kiss with Kikyo, the gentle warmth Nabi gave her, the sizzle of Kakashi — they’re all absent from this kiss. She pulls away from him and smiles sadly at him. “No?” he guesses before she says anything.
“No,” she agrees. “I’m sorry.”
He smiles at her, and it’s sad enough to make her heart hurt again. “Don’t be,” he murmurs, tucking her hair behind her ear. “I shouldn’t have expected you to keep waiting forever.”
“Maybe there’s a Sakura somewhere, in some world, who did wait,” she says, stepping closer. “It’s just not this one.” After a second of hesitation, she reaches out and rests her hand against his cheek. He turns his face into it, almost nuzzling into the touch. “I can’t give you my heart, Sasuke, and I can’t go with you. But I know what it’s like to be lonely, and I can help with that for a little while, if you’ll let me.”
He lifts his eyes and searches hers, looking for something — pity, maybe. Whatever he’s looking for doesn’t materialize. He nods, and she drapes her other arm around his neck, drawing him closer.
- - -
“You’re sure?” Kakashi asks the ANBU in front of him. “Sasuke left before sunrise?” The ninja nods. “Thank you. Dismissed.” He sinks into his couch and contemplates his tea once the ANBU operative is gone. I hope he’s all you dreamed he would be, Sakura, he thinks morosely. Twenty minutes later, his guards rotate. He wouldn’t think anything of it, except — a familiar leaf-green chakra’s switching out with Cat’s calm blue. “Mongoose?” he says out loud, hoping he’s not hallucinating.
A second later, she appears in front of him, her mask snarling as always…and the sword he gave her on her back. “Hokage-sama?” she says, voice pitched low.
“…you didn’t go with Sasuke?” he asks, trying to keep the words calm instead of trembling.
“I would never abandon my village or my post, Hokage-sama,” Mongoose answers.
“Not even for true love?” he asks, body tense.
“That would require love, sir. May I go?” From anyone else, asking to be dismissed would feel insubordinate. He just waves her off and collapses back into the couch. She’s still here.
- - -
Ino’s just managed to get Inojin to sleep when there’s a tap on her window. It’s quiet, barely loud enough to hear, but she still freezes up and looks at the sleeping toddler. He doesn’t move, so she skitters over to the window and throws it open. “What the hell, Forehead?” she hisses. “What if you woke him up?!”
“I didn’t,” Sakura whispers, slipping past her and into the living room. “Do you have time to talk? Sai took my spot on Kakashi’s guard detail, so I know he’s not here.”
Ino sighs, but sprawls across the couch nonetheless. “What dumb shit did you do now?” she says, wishing she’d grabbed something to drink before she sat down. “Did you accidentally stab the wrong person again?”
Sakura flushes angrily. “I gave someone the booster instead of the initial shot once, Pig! ONCE!”
“Still counts.” Ino eyes the kitchen and wishes, not for the first time, that she’d been born a Nara. They’re all famous for using their jutsu to fetch things for them. “Either put out or get out,” she tells her best friend, trying to get her to stop fidgeting and just talk.
“I slept with Sasuke.” Every inch of Ino freezes. Then she leaps to her feet, mouth agape.
“You what?!” she demands in a loud whisper.
“I slept with Sasuke,” Sakura says, her eyes calm and level. There’s no panic there, nothing that shows she’s lying or exaggerating. On the strength of that expression alone, Ino marches into the kitchen and returns with a bottle of sake and two cups.
“Okay. Spill,” she demands after she pours them both a cup.
Sakura trails her fingers around the rim of her cup, her eyes going distant. “It was… nice, I guess,” she murmurs. Then she lifts her cup and sips it, savoring before swallowing. “He wanted me to go traveling with him. I told him I didn’t know him well enough to just up and leave with him, and he didn’t know me well enough to ask. So we went on a couple dates.” Then she shrugs. “I still care about him. Just… not like he wants me to. Not anymore.”
Ino quaffs her cup and refills it. “Can’t blame you for that,” she admits. “It’d take a damn strong woman, or a damn stupid one, to stick around after almost getting killed… how many times was it? Twice? Three times?” She wishes she was being facetious, but she honestly can’t remember how many times Sakura came close to dying at Sasuke’s hands.
“Too many,” Sakura mutters, sipping at her sake again. “I’m sure he’ll find a partner who’ll be good for him eventually. I just…” She huffs, blowing hair out of her face. “I’ve sat and waited on someone to look at me for enough of my life. I want someone who’s going to be mine, you know?” A soft, romantic smile curls her lips, one Ino hasn’t seen in years. “Someone who’s not afraid to love me, and to challenge me, someone who knows me as I am now instead of some vision of a girl who left long ago.”
“Amen to that, Forehead,” Ino replies quietly. “I know how you feel about Sai, but… he does that for me, and more.” They talk long into the night, in a way they haven’t since Ino moved back to the Yamanaka clan house. It’s good for both of them.
- - -
The next time Sasuke comes back to Konoha is for her twenty-fourth birthday. She begs Kakashi, Sai, Tenzo, and Naruto to come to the training grounds with them for a spar. She told the esteemed Rokudaime to meet them at noon, which means that when he saunters up at one, the others are just getting there. He glances at the others, sighs, and then looks at her. “Tricks, Sakura-chan?”
“Anything can be a weapon!” she says with a wink. “What’s first?” There’s silence for a few seconds. Then all of them turn towards Kakashi.
“No,” he denies immediately. “I’m not in charge of this.” He ends up in charge of it. They start with ninjutsu and genjutsu, and he makes the oddest combinations. She’s up against Sai, while Naruto’s up against Yamato and Sasuke against Kakashi. That match doesn’t take long, and she comes out surprisingly well. Sai’s ninjutsu is hard for her to beat, since she can’t dip into the jutsu she created. While she’d love to show them off, they’re almost all terrifyingly lethal. The ones that aren’t are… not particularly spar-friendly, either. Thankfully, her genjutsu remains far better than his. They rest, and then they’re split again for taijutsu. Sasuke against Yamato, Naruto against Sai, and her against Kakashi. As she settles into her stance, she can’t help her wicked grin as she remembers the way their last spar ended so many years ago.
“I hope you haven’t gotten too rusty, old man,” she almost purrs. “I hear sitting in a tower all day is good for making you soft.”
“You’ll have to tell me, Sakura-chan,” he says, eyes creasing in a smile. And then they move. He flies at her, and she dives for the ground, rolling into a squat and leaping into the air just in time to dodge a kick. She lands, skidding a little, and sticks her tongue out at him. This time, they meet halfway. He catches one fist in a broad palm and tries to redirect the blow — but she knows that move, and how he ends it. Instead, she grabs his arm and spins away, hurling him as far as she can. Judging by the wide eyes, he hadn’t expected her to be able to throw that far without chakra.
After that, the gloves come off. She almost has him in a headlock once, until he digs a vicious thumb in behind her knee. Though she gasps, she doesn’t let go — but her grip loosens just enough for him to pry her free and hurl her away.
The longer the fight goes on, the more Sakura’s breath catches and her skin hums. She’s too familiar with her body now not to know what’s happening, how being so close to Kakashi makes something curl low in her stomach. “Tie!” Yamato eventually calls, and they separate to discover the others watching them, amused.
“Nice,” Kakashi says simply. “Good work, everyone.” He turns to walk away like he’s not forgetting the very reason she begged him to set up a team spar.
“Hey! We were supposed to have a kenjutsu fight too!” she snaps at his back.
He stops and turns back around, amusement in his eyes. “Ah, Sakura-chan, the only one of us who could fight you now would be Sasuke. And he might not —“
“I’ll do it,” Sasuke mutters, reaching behind him for the plain sword he carries now. “Winning shouldn’t take me long.” There’s a challenge in his eye, one she wouldn’t have met once.
“Mm, might take you longer than you thought,” she says, walking backwards so that they’re spread out. Recently she’s taken to wearing haori belted over a thin top and trousers, much like Tsunade… save for wearing a less revealing shirt beneath and closing the haori. The long sleeves dangle in a way that’s feminine without being too much, and she just enjoys it more than the shinobi uniform. There are only two kinds of people who deviate from the shinobi uniform: those too stupid to know other clothing could be a liability, or those good enough to make up for the liability. She thinks — no, she knows she’s earned the latter. “Ready when you are, Sasuke-kun,” she coos, drawing her sword and holding it by her side.
He doesn’t waste time. If she hadn’t spent the last six years training, she might miss his movements — but she doesn’t miss them. As his blade sails down, she catches it on her own sword and uses the leverage to shove him back. He disappears as soon as he’s finished skidding, and she closes her eyes.
Another blow caught on her sword, this time with her eyes closed. And another. She lets him try a third time before opening her eyes and boiling over.
- - -
Of all of them, only Yamato and Sai have seen Sakura really fight recently. Naruto’s been busy with his family, and Kakashi’s just too damn busy all the time. Watching her dart around Sasuke, slashing at him and disappearing, almost catching him — it’s so fast it seems unreal.
“I guess Sakura’s been training, huh?” Naruto asks, jamming his hands into his pockets. “I didn’t even know she had a sword, let alone — hey, that wasn’t fair! Not cool, teme!”
Kakashi just hums and keeps watching. Again and again the two teammates meet, their swords flashing in the sunlight. Sasuke moves with long-trained skill, but Sakura keeps up, her blows nearly getting him more than once. Watching them fight amounts to little more than watching blurs, but it is nice to see her regularly using the sword he gave her.
Sasuke ends up winning, two to her one, but not for lack of her trying. “Hey! Hey! When did you learn swords, Sakuraaaaaa?” Naruto shouts, making a beeline for her. “Why’s your sword glow? Can I have one?”
He snorts at that, but takes the distraction to leave. It’s just past four, and he still has way too much paperwork to do.
- - -
Sakura catches her breath from her spar with Sasuke, and she’s… disappointed, almost. Though they had devolved into wrestling at one point, her body doesn’t react to her old crush the same way it does to Kakashi, even though she’s slept with him. “I started learning a few years ago, because, and no,” she finally answers Naruto. “Let’s clean up, and then we can go for food, ne?” she suggests. She needs time to think about this.
After she tries to work herself up in the shower and fails, she scowls in the bathroom mirror. “Stupid body,” she mumbles, brushing her teeth. “Went almost twenty years without sex and I was fine, but go seven months without and get turned on by your team leader.”
It’s not like it’s unprecedented. Ever since they came back from that mission, something about Kakashi riles her up like nobody else. Standing too close, hugging him too long, always makes her body react. Of all her partners, only Kikyo ever ignited the same kind of desire in her that Kakashi does. At first, she thought it was just the way sex was supposed to be. Though her few one-night stands hadn’t been that way, Kikyo made her burn. Nobody she’s dated since has made her so breathless with want. It’s part of why she’s allowed herself to stay so busy since he took the title of Hokage, part of why she doesn’t like being single for too long, or to be alone with him. Just thinking about his body in more than passing —
At that thought, she slams the medicine cabinet door.
- - -
It’s mostly dark out when Kakashi finally gets to go home. There’s a whole dinner waiting for him from one of his favorite restaurants when he gets there, and he sighs. “Thanks,” he says to the room. Nobody answers, of course. This only ever happens when Tenzo is one of the ANBU guarding him, but he’s not complaining. Shrugging out of the flak jacket and pulling his mask down, he deliberates what to start with first and decides on the dumplings.
That means ten minutes later, he’s leaning against the kitchen counter and lazily guiding hot dumplings into his mouth when Sakura lands on his balcony. He blinks, but cocks his head as she storms into the apartment. “Yo.” He sets the dumplings aside and reaches for the dessert, just in case —
All thoughts of dumplings and desserts flee his mind as she curls her hands into the collar of his shirt and yanks him down into a kiss. Taken off guard by the sudden attack, he almost flails, almost freezes. Instead, he manages to reach out and drag her closer, making the already hungry kiss deeper. He’d forgotten how good her lips feel, how soft she is.
“Sakura,” he mumbles when they come up for air. She raises an eyebrow, her smile sending shivers down his spine, but he perseveres. “What? I…what?”
“You could say sparring today made me a little nostalgic,” she purrs, and damn it, he’s never heard her do that before but now it’ll reverberate in his thoughts forever. “See, I got to thinking about things that happened before…” One hand rises from its place on his collar and skims down his chest. “Things like how your hands felt on me.” He gulps. She leans closer, her free hand skating back up his chest and fingers trailing over his lips. “How your mouth took care of me.” Then she nibbles on his fucking ear and whispers, “How good your cock felt inside of me.”
A deep, guttural groan tears itself from him before he can stifle it. “Sakura —“ he starts.
“Come on, Kakashi,” she says, gently tugging at the cloth in her hand. “Unless you can’t, mmm, keep up any more? I know how it is for old — eeee —“
He’s not going to stand there and listen to her imply he’s too old for this, so he interrupts her by wrapping both arms around her waist and lifting her up. She squeals, wrapping her legs around him, exactly as planned. “Old hand, maybe,” he says as he moves toward the bedroom. “And you know I could still kick your ass.”
She giggles and squirms against him, draping her arms around his neck and dropping tiny kisses down the side of his face. “What if I ask you to smack it instead?” she whispers, voice like liquid sin. He shudders and turns his head to catch her lips as they disappear into the bedroom, door slamming shut behind them.
- - -
Were it not for the mask, Tenzo would rub his eyes. He’s… he’s not sure if what he just saw was reality or genjutsu. After the door slams, he tries a silent kai. Nothing changes, so he turns to Sparrow and says, “Uh?”
“Mmm,” Sparrow hums. “Not a genjutsu. Also not their first encounter, though it has been some time since they were last involved.”
His eyes bug out of his head. “Involved?” he repeats weakly.
Sparrow turns to him. “I believe Hokage-sama harbors some romantic feelings for Haruno-san, but —“ his words are interrupted by smothered giggles, but he continues. “I am also fairly certain Haruno-san does not view Hokage-sama in a romantic light, merely a sexual one.”
“Oh,” Tenzo says, turning back to face the living room. Just then, he hears a yelp from the bedroom and winces. “This is going to be a long night, isn’t it?”
- - -
Once they’re inside the bedroom, Sakura lets her legs dangle. He takes the hint and sets her down on her feet, despite them still being locked in a kiss. He breaks away, breathing hard, and she lets her hand wander. When they’re halfway up his shirt, she realizes he’s not wearing his flak jacket. Then she realizes, like a delayed lightning bolt, that she’s about to sleep with the Rokudaime and she can’t help her giggles. He raises one eyebrow at her and she manages to say around her giggles, “You’re Hokage. I’m going to have sex with the Hokage. That’s just —“ she dissolves into another round of giggles.
He sniffs at her, the sound just offended enough that she knows he’s joking. “Oh, trying to get ahead, are we?” he says, dragging his thumb across her cheek. She shudders beneath his touch and smiles up at him.
“Would you like me to strip for you, Hokage-sama?” she says, dropping her voice to make it low and sensual. He swallows hard, and the giggles burst out again.
“Minx,” he mutters, reaching out and tugging at the belt to her haori. She lets him unravel the knot as she untucks his shirt and works on his belt buckle. Once it sags, she can’t help sliding her hand lower and caressing the fabric tight across the front of his pants.
“You know, I did have one regret about having sex with you,” she murmurs. He freezes, fingers suddenly stilling halfway down the buttons on her shirt.
“Regrets?” he whispers, biting his lip, worry flickering across his face.
She nods. “You have the prettiest cock I’ve ever seen… and I’m so sad I never got to put my mouth on it,” she says, squeezing him as she says it. He outright yelps, bucking into her hand. “I don’t remember you being this sensitive…”
Kakashi offers her a sheepish smile. “It’s, uh, it’s been a while."
She lifts one eyebrow. “How long is a while?”
He averts his eyes and actually blushes. “How long have I been Hokage?”
Sakura’s jaw drops. “Kakashi! Four years?” she demands, slipping her hands under his and unbuttoning the rest of her shirt before she shrugs both it and the haori off, letting them slide to the floor. She changed her underwear before she came here. She knows how dark green lace looks against her skin, and —
“God, you’re beautiful,” he says, pulling her into a kiss before she can say anything. His hand slides down her back and pulls her closer, and goosebumps trail in its wake. A glance back helps her locate the bed, so she starts walking backwards. He follows her. She’s not even sure he realizes they’re moving until she turns and shoves him onto the bed. He lands with a thump and shock all over his face.
“Off,” she commands, tugging at his pants legs. There’s something so strangely sweet in the startled way he blinks at her — like he’s forgotten what it’s like not to be in charge — that she has to swallow around the lump in her throat. But after the shock fades and the words sink in, he wastes no time shimmying out of his pants and shirt. His fingers slide under the edge of his boxers, ready to peel them off, and she says, “Wait. Let me unwrap this part of my present, won’t you?”
He pauses, and then he peels his hands away, using them instead to prop himself up. She wraps her hands around his thighs and drags him a little closer to the edge of the bed so that his legs dangle off, and she bites her lip trying not to laugh at the panicked little squeak he makes. But the panicked squeak fades into his heavy breathing as she kneels and smooths her hands up his legs, over his thighs, until her thumbs rub against his hipbones through the soft cotton of his boxers. Part of her wants to drag this out, really make him squirm, but — she’s also genuinely eager to see if his cock’s as pretty as she remembers it being.
Her fingers curl over the edge, and tug, slowly revealing the pale skin she’s been waiting to see. She doesn’t really look until his boxers are on the floor. Then she stares for a minute. As far as dicks go, his probably is the prettiest she’s ever seen. And it looks like he wasn’t lying about the dry spell, based on the way the head of his cock is already dripping. “That eager, mm?” she murmurs, reaching out and dragging her fingers up the underside. His strangled moan sends heat fluttering through her body. Is this what it was like when he touched me and I liked it? she wonders, gently wrapping her hand around him. Then she looks up at him, already flushed and panting, and decides to be mean. “Would you like me to suck your cock, Hokage-sama?” she purrs.
“Fuck yes,” he says, the words closer to a moan than anything else. She takes pity and scoots closer, gently lapping at the pre-cum dripping from him. He jerks and gasps, hands spasming. Then she smiles, opens her mouth, and drags her tongue up the side of his cock. “A-ah — fuck — Sakura —“ he whimpers. She just hums against him as she maps his cock with her lips, finding every vein and licking it before kissing it goodbye and moving on. By the time she’s finished, he’s breathless, almost whining, and she’s wet. Fuck, she can’t remember the last time she was this wet.
Sakura pulls back, just long enough to slither out of her pants before returning to where she was kneeling. He’s watching her, eyes hazed, and she smirks before ducking down and licking him. “Ask me nicely, and I’ll blow your mind,” she hums, leaning her cheek against his thigh.
“Ask?” he says, clearly taking a second to process. Then he blushes — he’s really too experienced to be blushing this much — and looks away to mumble something.
“What was that?” she teases, leaning closer and letting her breath wash over the sensitive skin. The mumble’s louder this time, but still unintelligible. “I can’t help unless I know what you want…”
His head finally snaps back forward and he growls, ”I want you to suck my— fffuckhnngh—“
The words get lost when she wraps her mouth around him and starts sucking. More than one of her exes begged her to deep-throat them, but she’s never particularly enjoyed it, even if she does enjoy oral. Even if she did, Kakashi’s too wide for her to swallow him easily. But rhythm, pressure, splitting her focus so she can do two things at once… she’s good at that. Nabi once joked she could suck the skin off an orange if she was motivated enough. And she’s motivated. It only takes her a few seconds to find a rhythm, her tongue exploring whenever she slurps more of his cock into her mouth and twirling around its head whenever she pulls back.
A minute later, her eyes catch one of his hands moving. After a slight pause, he tentatively tangles his fingers in her hair. She looks up at him and smiles, nodding a little, and he relaxes for a second. Then she speeds up and his hand spasms, tugging some of the hair in his grip. She can’t help the moan that escapes around his cock, and his hips jerk just a little when he hears it. Sakura loves reactions, loves hearing her partners fall apart, and this one only sends another thrill through her. Her panties are already too damp to be comfortable. When he whimpers again, she decides she doesn’t care about stretching this pair out and removes one of her hands from Kakashi’s thigh. There’s no need to bother licking her fingers before she slips her hand into her panties and starts touching herself.
- - -
Tingles run up Kakashi’s spine in slow waves, each of them stronger than the last, and he lets himself moan as his head falls back, eyes sliding shut. Like this he can focus on how silky Sakura’s hair is in his fingers, how perfectly she’s hitting every single one of his sensitive spots, the way her lips feel rubbing against him. It’s almost inconceivably hot — and then she moans around him again, the sound tapering into a whimper. That only makes it hotter. A second moan follows on the tails of the first, this one hungrier and louder, and he manages to lift his head and look down at her.
Her hand’s missing from his thigh, and he follows the smooth line of her arm all the way down to her forearm. The angle he’s at blocks him from seeing any farther, but he can see her muscles jumping, her arm moving slowly. “Sakura,” he says slowly. It comes out thick, almost unintelligible, so he swallows and tries again. “Sakura… are you touching yourself?”
She flicks her eyes up to him and nods, her speed increasing after. The hand that’s out of sight speeds up, too, and his breath stops in his throat as he watches her moan around his cock. If this was hot before, it’s scorching now, heat searing his thoughts and veins as he watches her enjoy sucking his dick. Then she hits a sensitive spot just slightly different than before and he gasps, shuddering and almost jerking into her mouth. She smirks and starts sucking harder, hard enough to make his eyes roll into the back of his head. “Yes,” he groans, clenching the hand in her hair. The way her whimper slides out, muffled by his cock, changes the tingles slithering up his spine. His hips try to buck up, but she’s holding him down with her spare hand.
Another long, filthy moan slips out around his cock. It’s almost too much. “Sakura —“ he gasps, shoving futilely at her shoulder. “Sakura, if you don’t —“ She glances up at him, smirks, and flicks her tongue out against something and —
his eyes roll back in his head as he comes. Her mouth’s warm and soft around him, the suction gentle, urging him into another orgasmic wave that ripples all the way up his spine.
When he comes back to himself, Sakura’s sat back on her ankles, wiping the corners of her mouth and humming gleefully. “Worth the wait,” she says when she sees him staring at her. “So worth the wait.”
He exhales and flops back onto the bed. “Was it?” he mumbles, trying to focus.
“Mmhmm.” Shuffling sounds, and then creaking as Sakura sprawls next to him on the bed. “I believe that’s what Ino calls ‘sucking a man’s brains out’. Do you still have any brains?”
Kakashi chuckles. “Barely.” He takes a deep breath, and then another, and then rolls over to face her. “I do believe, though, there’s something that’s gone unaddressed.”
“Oh?” she says, leaning back to let his eyes wander her body more freely. “And what’s that?”
He runs one hand down her side, over her leg, and all the way back up her thigh before he presses the flat of his hand to her. Sakura’s mouth opens in a silent moan — she’s so wet that even through her panties, the slickness has spread to her thighs. “This,” he murmurs, pressing his fingers in a little harder and letting her writhe beneath the pressure.
“Y-yes,” she says, rolling her hips into his hand. “I’d… enjoy addressing that…”
He drags one finger along the seam of her pussy lips and then withdraws. “Take those off for me,” he drawls. She doesn’t waste any time, hopping up and slithering out of both bra and panties. By the time she’d dropped them to the floor, he’s slid up the bed, pillow beneath his head. She turns back toward him and stares for a second, confused. He crooks a finger and she walks closer, close enough for him to grab her hips and tug her onto the bed. It takes a minute, but she figures out what he’s aiming for quickly enough. Both legs are on either side of his head, her pussy almost within reach of his mouth, and she hesitates.
“You’re sure I’m not going to smother you?” she says, biting her lip. “I tried this once with Kiki, and Nabi…” He answers her by dragging her forward and onto his mouth. Her gasp gets lost as he begins tracing her with his tongue, flicking at all the spots he remembers so well, seeing how quickly he can push her over the edge. He adores this angle, always has, because it lets him reach spots that are normally far harder to touch. Her flavor’s changed a little since the last time he tasted her, a little sharper and a little sweeter at the same time, but it still makes him want like nothing else he’s ever encountered.
- - -
Part of her goal tonight — more than she’d like to admit — was to absolutely blow Kakashi’s mind. She’s succeeded in that, but — “Ooooh,” she moans, rocking her hips forward, trying to get closer to his tongue. His eyes twinkle up at her in the same way that always accompanies a smirk, and she opens her mouth to chide him. Instead, he presses the flat of his tongue to her clit and a strangled gasp comes out.
A second later, she feels his arm moving, and something firmer than his tongue presses into her. He’s rubbing circles inside her, edging closer to her g-spot, and fluttering his tongue against her clit just enough to make her squirm. Sakura bites her lip, tries to suppress the sound, but she can’t. Another moan bubbles out of her, so long and obscene that she blushes hearing it. “Fuck,” she whines, sinking her fingers into his hair. Another twinkle, this one more mischievous, and then —
he presses down inside her at the same time as he sucks her clit into his mouth. Everything spins, dips, the world shaking like an earthquake. Her body stops obeying her and simply writhes. She’s vaguely aware of the shriek that leaves her mouth, the way her cry of his name echoes off the walls. When her brain starts functioning again, she focuses in on the noise between her legs: loud, lewd slurps that send tingles through her body every time he passes his tongue over her. “Shit,” she breathes, letting her head drop. “Shit.” Words beyond that fail her.
After the first orgasm he tears from her, the rest come easily. The fourth time he makes her legs quiver, she pushes away from his mouth as soon as she can think again. It means she almost tumbles off the bed, but she catches herself and manages to stay on it, muscles trembling. “Not enjoying yourself, Sakura-chan?” Kakashi purrs, propping himself up on one elbow and using his free hand to wipe his face clean. “I didn’t think I was doing so badly for an old man.”
She slaps weakly at his chest and wheezes. “Fucking asshole,” she manages after she catches her breath. “Something to be said for age, I guess.”
“Mmmh,” he hums, reaching out and tugging her closer. “I suppose that means you’re not interested in this, then?” She glances down to find he’s hard again, his erection a hair’s breath from her stomach.
“I wouldn’t go that far,” she answers, reaching out to touch him. “In fact, I’d like nothing more than for you to fuck me into the mattress.” She smiles at him, the slow, lazy smile Kikyo always said lit her on fire. It must work, because he growls and moves. A second later, she’s on her back, legs spread as Kakashi hovers over her, cock sliding into her with such ease she’s a little embarrassed.
“Fuck, you’re wet,” he hisses into her ear, and then he catches her mouth as he rocks into her. She moans into his mouth, hiking one leg up and dangling it over his hip. The arm he’s not leaning on goes back and pins it there as he moves, slow and sinuous. She rolls her hips into his, meeting each of his thrusts.
“I forgot how good your cock felt inside me,” she pants when he break their kiss. Her words make him shudder so hard she feels the tremor going through his body. It makes her grin, though the smile’s lost in a gasp a second later as he snaps his hips upward. “Yessss,” she whimpers, her eyes fluttering. Something from that tent, so long ago, swims back to the forefront of her mind. “Listen.” He slows, just a little, and raises an eyebrow at her. She sinks her nails into his shoulder and purrs, “Can’t you hear how much my pussy loves your cock?” If the sound of him eating her out had been lewd, the sound of him fucking her is obscenely filthy. He groans and drops his head to her shoulder, sinking his teeth into her skin.
- - -
Tenzo twitches. It’s increasingly hard to tune out the pants and moans from the Rokudaime’s bedroom. If it were anyone else inside the room, he might even enjoy overhearing it. But it’s Sakura. How can Kakashi —
And just then, he hears Sakura wail Kakashi’s name at the top of her lungs. “Why me?” he whines. Sparrow just chuckles.
- - -
He wakes up first the next morning, and he’s never been so glad. It gives him time to look at her. She’s always beautiful. Always. He’s seen her bloody, muddied, exhausted, and broken, and she’s never been anything other than beautiful. Right now, though, she’s ethereal. There’s sunlight sparkling off her hair. Her eyelashes, only a few shades darker than her hair, rest on her cheek like cherry blossoms on water. In sleep, her face is so perfectly peaceful it makes his heart ache. “You’re screwed, old man,” he mumbles to himself.
And now he won’t even be able to walk around this apartment without seeing her in it. That was part of why he moved from his old one. He couldn’t stop picturing her in his bed, his shower, at his table. The ghost of pink-haired lovers past didn’t haunt him here — but they will now.
After a few long minutes staring at her, he flickers away and into the middle of the room. Their clothes are scattered everywhere, so he takes a moment to fold them and set them aside. His hands linger on her clothes more than they should. Her pants and shirt are the same jounin blacks everyone else wears. Somehow, they always makes her skin look like porcelain, and the deep red of her haori with its white trim makes her look even more like a flower. He catches himself staring at the fabric, wondering what it would be like to go shopping with her, and shakes himself out of his reverie.
Something inside him wants to linger in the shower and see if she’ll join him. But he does have a village to oversee, so he rinses off and goes straight for the kitchen. About the time he slips a second omelette onto a plate, Sakura stumbles into the kitchen, yawning. Once again, he’s struck by her beauty. She’s wearing just her haori, the tie loose, which wouldn’t be a problem if it was... say, a yukata. But it’s not. Her sinfully long legs peek out at him. The shadow between her breasts fairly taunts him, let alone the red marks on her neck. “Morning,” she greets him, stretching. She catches him staring, chopsticks still dangling over the empty pan, and laughs. “See something you like?” she teases, stealing the chopsticks from his hand and dragging one plate over.
Kakashi manages to snap out of it and invent a half-plausible excuse. “Has anyone told you you look more like your shishou every day?” he says, retrieving another pair of chopsticks for his omelet. He barely remembers to turn the stove off.
“Yes,” she says around a mouthful of hot egg. “S’worse things to be called, really. I mean, I highly doubt my tits will ever be the size of my head —“ he chokes on his food. “— but the rest is pretty flattering.”
“Is it?” he wheezes, reaching for the glass of water he’s been sipping on.
“Mhmm,” she hums, stealing the glass from him. Then her features settle a little before she speaks, the words calm and measured. “I’m sorry if I was too forward last night. I just…” she huffs and runs one hand through her hair. “It’s been a while for me, and that spar with you really did get me going.”
“With me?” he asks, arching one eyebrow at her.
She nods. “Yes, you, Kakashi.” Something devilish flickers across her features as she leans forward. “Couldn’t you tell? By the time our spar was over, all I could think about was how you felt inside me. When I sparred with Sasuke…” she shrugs. “Well, it was a good spar.”
He exhales slowly and wishes he’d put his mask on. Nonetheless, he manages to keep his face calm. “So your old sensei gets your motor running better than Sasuke-kun, hm?” he teases her a minute later.
“Shut up,” she grumbles, pointing her chopsticks at him. “It’s been a long damn time since I felt that way about Sasuke, and you know it. Ass.” A minute later, she adds, “Besides that, you know how to use your mouth a hell of a lot better than he does.”
He chokes again. “He — you — what?” he gasps, thumping his chest to try and dislodge the obstruction.
She raises an eyebrow. “He asked me out on a couple dates. After-date activities followed. I didn’t leave with him cause… I mean, it was nice, but there just wasn’t any kind of spark.” She takes the last bite of her omelet and chews slowly. “It wouldn’t have been bad traveling with him, but I love Konoha too much to leave it behind. I always have.” And then she smiles, so bright and sweet it hurts his heart. “Besides, I couldn’t leave my favorite Hokage-sama alone, could I?”
- - -
After that spar, and the resulting naked spar, Sakura begins visiting Kakashi more often. Maybe if I spend more time with him, my body will stop reacting like a… well, like a bitch in heat, she reasons with herself. Besides, she’s missed the ninken. Her heart swells two sizes the day she lands on his balcony and Pakkun greets her with a warm, “Floral Green! Guess the boss didn’t drive you off, huh?”
“Neh, like that idiot could drive me away with a stick,” she says, squatting and scratching between the pug’s ears. “Do I still have paw pad privileges, or do I need to earn them again?”
Immediately he’s in her lap, paw held up. “Paw pad privileges still intact,” he announces magnanimously. She laughs and leans back so that she’s sitting instead of squatting and goes to work. Surprisingly, Kakashi actually makes it home before dark that day. She feels his chakra, along with that of his ANBU, approaching the apartment right around sunset. If it weren’t for Pakkun snoring in her lap, she’d stand up and greet him, but… Pakkun’s snoring in her lap.
Black-sandalled feet land next to her and she looks up, only to have her hair blown across her face. She brushes it back, holding it to her head to keep it from blowing into her eyes again. “Hey,” she greets Kakashi. It takes a second for her eyes to adjust because he’s standing against the sunset — but when they do she almost stops breathing. He’s standing over her, mask pooled around his neck as he smiles down at her, something strange and fond written on his face. She swallows. Hard. The sunset light turns his edges gold, and it creeps across his cheeks to highlight his smile. He’s always been stupidly fucking pretty, and like this — damn it. She feels an all-too-familiar flutter in her heart and quashes it ruthlessly. It’s Kakashi, you idiot!
“You know, you don’t have to feel bad about waking him up,” he says, squatting next to her and leaning close. “Watch.”
He’s close enough for her to smell his skin, and it makes that flutter stronger. Stop it, she argues with herself. There’s absolutely no reason for you to be acting like this! For fuck’s sake, you’ve had his dick in your mouth! She’s so occupied in arguing with herself that she doesn’t even protest when Kakashi wakes Pakkun by viciously tickling the pug’s exposed belly.
“Sakura-chan,” Pakkun whines a minute later, hiding behind her. “You betrayed me.”
“What was I supposed to do?” she chides the dog, coming out of her thoughts. “Beat him up? Like that’s going to happen.” She sighs and takes the hand Kakashi offers her to pull herself up onto her feet. Again, that flutter. QUIT IT! she shouts at her traitorous emotions before offering Kakashi a sheepish smile. “I, uh, was going to make supper. I still have all the stuff, even —“ she gestures at the paper bag leaning against the balcony wall. “But I got distracted by paw pad privileges.”
“Oh?” Kakashi hums, picking up the bag and peeking into it. “What did you have in mind?”
“Just donburi — I was planning on unadon, but…” she gestures at the pug lurking behind her feet. “The eel still needs grilled. That’s why I showed up so early.” He switches the bag to his other arm and rests his hand on the small of her back, steering her towards the balcony door.
“I think I can handle the eel if you handle the sauce,” he says, his smile shifting into something smaller, a little more private. Between that and the warmth of his hand —
shit.
- - -
The night before Inojin’s birthday party, Sakura sleeps over at Ino’s. Sai is on duty again, and Ino’s glad. She hasn’t had a good talk with Sakura since that night she told her about sleeping with Sasuke, and that’s been almost two and a half years. Once Inojin goes to sleep — it’s a struggle, but she manages — she collapses into the couch and lets Sakura take care of the supplies. She doesn’t have to wait long before a spoon slides into one hand and a pint of ice cream into the other, followed by a fluffy blanket settling down over them. She dives into the fatty, creamy goodness and doesn’t speak until she’s halfway through the pint. “So what’s new in Forehead Town?” she asks around a mouthful of ice cream. “Got any hot new ANBU dick or nah?”
Sakura snorts, but there’s something almost fearful in her face when she slides her eyes over towards Ino. “No, but… I slept with Kakashi again.” Ino almost drops her ice cream. “And, uh, I think I might have a crush on him.”
She does drop her ice cream at that. “You what?”
Sakura blushes, and it’s the blush Ino hasn’t seen since before their first chuunin exam. “I… I’ve been dropping by his apartment more often, ever since my birthday, and it’s just… nice.” Ino picks up her ice cream and watches her best friend poke at her own pint, the blush not fading at all. “He started keeping lychee soda in his fridge for me. He hates lychee soda, but he knows I like it. Last time I went over for supper, he brought dango home. Dango, Ino!” Sakura bites her lip for a second before letting it go — another nervous telltale Ino hasn’t seen in a long time. “I argued with him for an hour and a half last night about how I couldn’t make Creation Rebirth more dependent on anything other than cellular mitosis, and he made good points.”
Ino groans and takes a huge bite of ice cream, despairing at how very like Sakura that statement is. “Only you would get a fucking crush on someone because they argued with you about science bullshit,” she mumbles. “Multiple orgasms? Nah. Godly dick skills? Nah. Weird science stuff, though, and you’re on it like Naruto on ramen.”
Sakura snorts, and the blush darkens a little as she looks away. “It’s not… I mean, the science stuff helps. But one day I just looked at him, and just… oh my god, Ino, he’s so…” She fans herself, eyes fluttering. “It’s a good thing he wears that mask, or literally half of Konoha would be chasing him down.”
Before this very moment, it’s never quite clicked in Ino’s brain that Sakura’s seen Kakashi maskless. “Holy shit,” she mutters. “Holy shit, you’ve seen him without his mask!”
Sakura shoots her a confused look. “Uh, yeah?” she says, raising one eyebrow. “Ino, he went face-first into my vagina before we ever had sex. I know I told you about it, too. Did you think he wore it the whole time?”
Ino shrugs, still thinking about this tiny revelation. “Weirder things have probably happened,” she murmurs. “So is he really that handsome?”
Her first answer is a soft, fluttery sigh, one so sweet and delicate she has to check it came from Sakura. (It did.) “Yes,” Sakura answers. “He had to disguise himself on our seduction mission so that he didn’t get more attention than me.” Ino chokes on the chocolate chips in her ice cream. “He showed me back then, and I knew he was pretty. But a few weeks ago he showed up, and he smiled at me, and…” Sakura groans dramatically, sinking farther into the couch. “I’m so doomed, Ino. So fucking doomed.”
“Well, at least you’re getting fucked,” Ino mumbles around her mouthful of ice cream. A second later, a very pointy elbow digs into her ribcage. “Ow, bitch! What the hell?”
- - -
It feels like once Sakura notices Kakashi — really notices him — everything conspires to make it worse. She’s visited him too many times now for him not to notice if she stops, so she doesn’t. But the next time she goes over to fix supper, it’s after a long shift at the hospital dealing with fractious ninja who don’t want their physicals. She’s been hit on so many times she’s lost count, she’s seen at least five too many rashes, and the paperwork did her no favors, either. Her head aches, and it’s not healable because it’s a stress headache. There’s nothing to be done for those except suffer. If it was anyone else, even Naruto, she’d call them and cancel.
But she promised Kakashi she’d make chicken katsudon. Even before her realization, she wouldn’t have cancelled on him because he receives so few visitors. She’s definitely not cancelling now. It takes her far longer than it should to prepare everything because she has to stop every few minutes and rest her eyes. Though it’s twilight outside, the kitchen light makes her head hurt worse, so she’ll stop, cup her hands over her eyes for a minute, and then keep going. She doesn’t even realize Kakashi’s home until she feels his hand on her shoulder, calloused and kind. “Sakura? What’s wrong?” he asks softly.
She exhales and drops her hands before turning toward him. “Just a headache,” she answers, trying to smile. Judging by the way he eyes her, it’s not very successful. “Sorry. I should have supper finished soon, so you —“
“Nope,” Kakashi says, picking her up by the shoulders, turning, and depositing her in the middle of the kitchen.
“Nope?” she echoes, squinting and trying to follow his movements. Something clicks against the counter.
“You are finishing nothing, Sakura-chan,” he says, and then he’s looming over her, blocking out the light. She can’t help sighing in relief. Then his hands land on her shoulders again and spin her around, gently marching her towards the couch. “I’ll finish supper. You are going to lay down right here—“ He stops, and she realizes they’re right in front of his couch. His very large, cushy, soft couch. “— and rest.”
“But the chicken —“ she protests. He stops her by scooping her into his arms and dumping her, face first, into the couch.
“But nothing,” he says. She wants to keep arguing, but the couch is so soft, and the darkness feels so good… Footsteps fade, and then return a minute later. She hears something rustling, like clothing rubbing against itself, and then a blanket settles over her head, eradicating the last flickers of light from the kitchen that filtered down to her eyes. “Rest, Sakura-chan,” Kakashi hums, his voice just behind her ear. “Even if I burn the chicken, it’ll be okay.”
She finally gives in, turning onto her side and rearranging herself, just a little, so that the blanket blocks the light from the kitchen. It’s dark outside, so no punishing sunlight filters in through the clear doors. Clinking dishes worry her for a second, but only a second, because Kakashi starts humming. Maybe she dreams that part. She’s not sure. All she knows is that she dozes off and wakes up an hour later, the pinching behind her eyes significantly decreased, to the scent of golden brown katsudon. She stretches and, as she does so, realizes Kakashi’s sitting across from her in one of the armchairs. “Sorry,” she says through a yawn. “I didn’t mean to…”
“How’s your head?” he interrupts, his voice still soft.
“Better,” she replies, sitting up and shivering as she slides out from under the blanket. She tugs it back up around her shoulders and smiles at Kakashi, trying to think of a way to thank him. Nothing comes to mind, so she just says it. “Thank you. The hospital was just… a lot today.”
He smiles back, and it’s so warm and affectionate her breath catches. “Everybody has those days,” is all he says, pushing himself to his feet and revealing empty hands as he strolls into the kitchen. She blinks. She’d attributed the strong scent of katsudon to his food. If — and he comes out a minute later, a bowl in each hand with chopsticks carefully balanced on top.
“You didn’t eat?” she demands, her eyes wide.
“Eating before guests is rude,” he replies, crossing the living room to sit down beside her. She takes the bowl he offers her, and her skin burns where his fingers brush against her. “TV?” She shrugs, staring down into her bowl and trying to calm the eddying butterflies in her stomach. “Aa, if you don’t care, then I guess I can watch the new Icha Icha adapt—“
“Don’t you dare, you pervert,” she growls, swinging her gaze up to him. He laughs and the butterflies only get worse.
“Just making sure it was you,” he assures her, running his free hand through the hair at the back of her neck before pulling away and reaching for the remote. “I did hear something about a spooky movie marathon, though…”
She ends up falling asleep on his shoulder, watching House of A Thousand Senbon. It’s advertised as scary, but they spend most of their time laughing. It misinterprets jutsu in ways only civilian could do, and all of the impossible things the shinobi do aren’t the right kind of impossible. Some of the things she’s done in ANBU haunt her dreams, but as she drifts to sleep with the scent of his sweat and plain soap in her nose, she feels safe.
- - -
Tenzo switches with Snail just before sunrise. The other ANBU pushes her mask up and tells him, voice soft, “Hokage-sama’s not in his bedroom. They’re on the couch.”
“They?” he says, curious. She nods and waves him into the apartment, where they ghost across the floor until they come around the end of the couch, still several feet away. It’s far enough not to alarm the occupants of the couch. Kakashi’s sprawled on his back, breathing quietly. Sakura’s wedged firmly between his side and the back of the couch, her head on his shoulder and tiny snores creeping from her mouth. There’s a blanket draped over them, but he can tell they’re both clothed despite the absence of Kakashi’s mask. It’s… honestly an adorable picture.
What makes Tenzo’s heart melt, though, isn’t the scene itself. It’s the way they’re gravitating towards each other. Kakashi’s nose is buried in Sakura’s hair, lips brushing her forehead, and one of his arms curls around her shoulders. One of Sakura’s arms loops around his neck, dangling down to brush his chest. The other hand’s squarely over his heart — like she’s making sure he’s still there, still breathing. That brings tears to his eyes as he turns and follows Snail back onto the balcony. “Isn’t it cute?” she whispers when the door shuts behind them.
“…yes,” he admits. Former student or not, he’s never seen Kakashi sleeping so peacefully. Never. If she makes him happy — well. There’s stranger places to find love.
- - -
Suddenly, Sakura’s everywhere. He can’t decide whether it’s heaven or hell. It feels like she’s in his apartment constantly. Sometimes it’s to make supper. Sometimes she stops to steal one of his (many, many books) and ends up sitting across from him, talking, for hours. One time, he comes home to find suds splattered across his carpet in the wake of a very wet Bull. He notices his sodas going missing, even though she hates grape flavor. He starts stocking her favorite flavor in self-defense.
He eventually figures out why her evening visits seem so sweet: because they’re so perfectly mundane. She figures out how to broil saury exactly the way he likes it, even though she’s not much of a fish person. Every time he dives into his food like it’s gourmet, Sakura grins like he’s handed her the moon. If she cooks, he washes the dishes, no matter that he’s Hokage. She never makes dessert, so he starts bringing some of her favorites home. She hates his toilet paper. He changes it. He’s allergic to anything in the ragweed family, so she makes him his own version of a relaxing tea without chamomile. In return, he buys a tiny lilac tree and leaves it on the balcony because she loves lilacs. He steals the mushrooms from her donburi. She fries eggplant for his bowls because he loves it.
The night he finds her standing in his kitchen, sickly white from the pain of her headache but still determined to make supper for him, his heart almost lurches out of his chest because he realizes. His heart still beats fast when she smiles at him and his skin prickles beneath her touch, but this — this silent dance, making note of tiny details and caring for each other — is what love survives on. Love might be born of a single spark, an instant in time, but fires need fuel to keep burning. This could have been a wildfire, devastating and disastrous and gone. Instead, it is home.
If he was a better man, he might talk himself out of this, try to pull away from Sakura and the way her joy makes his life sweeter. Kakashi can’t bring himself to do it. It feels like dousing a light in a dark room — even unrequited, loving her makes everything more bearable.
- - -
Sakura ends up frustrated because she’s looking for reasons to hate him, to be angry at him, anything that could possibly disqualify him as a partner. All she finds is the exact opposite. He remembers her favorite brand of tampons, and stocks them in his own bathroom. When she gets a cold, he abandons his apartment and makes her homemade miso soup in her own kitchen. Without eggplant. She cries into the soup because she’s aching, and her nose is stuffy, and she’s coughing like a dog barks — but he doesn’t leave, not even after she starts crying. He just scoots the tissues closer and summons a ninken to help keep her warm.
She tries to retaliate by being more thoughtful and it backfires. When she drops coffee off at his office in the morning, he brings her anmitsu in the afternoon. She cooks him enough food for a week’s lunches and leaves on a mission, smug she’s outwitted him. She comes home to freshly laundered sheets and a new bathrobe. She steals his old, worn out socks and replaces them with new ones. He steals his sword back and gives it back with new leather on the handle and a new sharpening stone.
She complains to Ino about this and Ino laughs until she can’t breathe. “Seriously, Forehead?” she wheezes. “Are you kidding?”
“I wish I was,” Sakura grumbles. “How am I supposed to stop liking him? I already know most of his bad habits, like being late and leaving dishes in the sink. This is just —“ she grabs a nearby pillow and shrieks into it in frustration.
Ino laughs so hard she falls off the couch. “God, Sakura, you’re going to keep me young just from laughing at your dumb ass,” she says once she can breathe. “Look, if you want an older man, I think I’ve got the perfect guy for you. He’s a jounin, not ANBU, but he’s pretty good, and he’s cute. Maybe all of this is just because you haven’t gotten any non-sensei dick in… what, like a year?”
Sakura drops the pillow back on her face and tries to smother herself. “Please don’t call it sensei dick,” she moans into the pillow. “That makes it so fucking weird.”
“Oh, come on, like you’ve never called him that while you’re in bed,” Ino says, dragging herself back onto the couch. Sakura just growls and doesn’t dignify the words with an answer. “Wait, really? Never?”
She hurls the pillow at Ino. Hard. “No, I have not,” she grumbles. “Why do I still even talk to you, Pig? You’re so gross sometimes.”
“Okay, so no sensei —“
“DON’T CALL IT THAT!”
But she lets Ino set her up. And if she’d set her up with Sam before The Realization, Sam could’ve been it for her. He really could have. He’s tall and tan, with dark brown hair that actually shines in the sun, and a smile that could make angels weep. She’s pretty sure his body would put Lee to shame, despite him being a whole year older than Kakashi. But… it’s not quite right. She goes on a second date, and then a third. On the fourth, they walk through town and end up sitting on top of the Rokudaime’s head, just like that first date with Sasuke. He kisses her again, and her body hums in response. It’s the kind of thrum she feels beneath her skin, one easily stoked to a flame. Before Sam, only Kikyo and Kakashi could make her burn like this. She tries so, so hard to focus on him, not to let her thoughts wander to the way Kakashi looks when he smiles or how his skin feels under her hands.
She fails. She knows she fails because Sam pulls away from her after she straddles his lap and smiles at her so wryly it hurts. “Trying to forget someone else?” he says.
Her heart drops. “I — please don’t think you’re a rebound —“ she stutters.
His smile softens. “No, I don’t think that. But I…” he sighs. ”I’m trying to forget someone, too, in my own way.” She slides off his lap and sits next to him, curious, as he stares over the village. “I got married, and I shouldn’t have. I thought this woman was the love of my life, that I needed a shinobi partner, but… it was a mistake. It turns out I was in love with my best friend all along. I didn’t realize until she moved to the daimyo’s court a couple of years ago. She still visits, but…” he shrugs. “I’m not going to drag her back into this. She’s a civilian. She deserves peace.” The night wind whisks around them, the gentle whistle the only sound. Then he turns to her, glint in his eye. “Yours?”
“He’s the second biggest asshole I’ve ever met,” Sakura mutters. “And he’s… ugh, I don’t even know how to explain it. He’s a genius, and he’s got a body that’s not fair, and behind that stupid fucking mask he’s so —“
Sam interrupts her, eyes wide. “Wait, wait. Mask?” She nods. “Sakura-chan… are you in love with the Rokudaime?”
She blushes and buries her face in her hands. “I wouldn’t call it love,” she mumbles. “Just… a really stupid crush. A really stupid crush that he keeps making worse by bringing me dango and anmitsu and making sure my favorite sodas are in his fridge.”
Sam laughs, and it rings out. “Sakura-chan, if he’s bringing you dango, I think it’s safe to say he’d be fine with it if you told him you like him.”
“That’s what you think,” she grumbles. But… she has to wonder. It'll have to wait until he's back from his trip.
- - -
Kakashi leans on the windowsill and looks out over Sunagakure. The hidden village has always been reputed for its bloodthirstiness. More than a few people in Konoha — idiot council included — have warned him, repeatedly, that Suna’s the second most likely to shatter this precious peace. (The first, of course, is Iwa. That surprises nobody.) But he trusts Gaara. The former jinchuuriki knows the price of war, and how dearly the peace was bought. Rogue Suna nin might be an issue, but Gaara won’t be ordering attacks on Konoha any time soon. Despite the peace, Suna’s thriving.
“So how many times has that nephew of mine been ‘troublesome’ so far, eh?” Kankuro asks, propping himself up against the wall.
Kakashi huffs out a laugh and turns, eyeing the puppeteer. “Maa, I wouldn’t know,” he answers calmly. “Shikamaru doesn’t bring him by the office very much.”
“Damn,” Kankuro mutters. “I was hoping I could use him as an example to get out of marriage myself.” He wrinkles his nose. “Yada yada, keep the blood line strong, all that garbage. Yeesh. And it’s not even like they’re giving me any good choices! If they’re not ugly, they’re so sand-brained they can’t clap their hands without help!”
This time, the laugh’s real. “My sympathies in your struggle,” Kakashi drawls, glad Kankuro can’t see his smirk.
“Yeah, yeah. Surprised you’re not fleeing your council, Hokage-sama,” he says, casting a weather eye on Kakashi. “You’re the last of your clan, and you’re a damn good ninja. They haven’t been harassing you into anything?”
He’s even more glad for the mask now. The council has been harassing him, but… none of the women they’ve presented him have been Sakura. Some of them have been pretty, intelligent, skilled, both shinobi and civilians. Sena was one of their offerings, prior to her move, but she just laughed and patted his hand when they shoved her into his office. “They have,” he manages. “But I’m very picky, you see. I need a woman who appreciates Icha Icha.” (It’s Sakura. Sakura appreciates Icha Icha, no matter how loudly she protests about it being filth. She’s ghostwriting Naruto’s continuation of the series. Naruto wrote most of Destruction on his own. It’s good, but Sakura helped with the fifth book, Icha Icha Nemesis, and it’s the best in the series.)
Kankuro cackles. “Well, that’ll keep them off your back for a while,” he chortles. “Say, speaking of women in Konoha — how’s Pinky? She shacked up with the Uchiha yet, or do I still have a chance?”
Kakashi’s a highly trained ninja. That’s the only reason he doesn’t take a swing at the Kazekage’s brother. “She’s… well. She and Sasuke aren’t together, no. They get along, but I don’t think he liked her last girlfriend very much,” Kakashi answers, carefully dodging the question.
“Aw, man,” he sulks. “Of course she’s into girls. I mean, I can’t blame her. Have you seen girls?” Gaara steps into the meeting room on the heels of his brother’s statement. Kakashi’s never been quite so glad to see the brusque young Kazekage.
“Kakashi-sama,” he greets him calmly, eyes roaming around the room before he takes his seat. “My councilmen will arrive shortly. How is Konoha?”
“As good as ever,” Kakashi answers, slipping into a seat. “Naruto sends his love.” He pauses before adding, “I hope you don’t expect me to relate that at full volume.”
Gaara chuckles, leaning forward and stippling his fingers. “No, the words are enough,” he says. “Naruto is well, then? He writes, but he…” Gaara purses his lips. “His letters leave something to be desired.”
“They always have,” Kakashi says with a chuckle of his own. “Boruto’s growing quickly. If I don’t make it back to the village in time for Sakura-chan’s birthday, Naruto said he’d make me teach Boruto chakra control.”
“A grim fate,” Gaara says, smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. Then it fades. “And Sakura-san continues to refuse the Uchiha?” Kakashi nods. “Good. Chiyo-sama would return from beyond the grave if she thought Sakura-san was wasting her ability. I do not particularly wish to be haunted.”
The door opens and admits the Sunagakure council, then, and everything becomes business. It goes surprisingly well, and he manages to wring a few more concessions out of the council for the trade agreement than he’d expected.
That night, he finds himself restless. Perhaps it’s because of the festival below. He can imagine how Sakura would love it, flitting from vendor to vendor to find all the perfect baubles, how she’d laugh — he groans and goes to the rooftop. Instead of staring peacefully into the sky, though, it’s interrupted by fireworks. Half of them are exactly the same shade as Sakura’s hair. After staring down into the street for a while, eyes roaming the crowds, he sighs and shrugs out of his embroidered flak jacket. Without it, without the Konoha headband, he’s a very believable old man — especially if he keeps his head down and hobbles.
Evidently, his guards aren’t expecting him to leap into the street and join the crowds. He doesn’t try to lose them, but honestly… if they can’t keep track of one measly Hokage, should they really be ANBU? It’s liberating to meander through the crowds, entirely alone for the first time in years. Perhaps it’s the bliss of being alone that makes him careless. After wandering through the throng for an hour, he sees a bar sign just around the corner of a side street.
He enters and finds it to be calm, despite the main street’s festivities. An older woman’s behind the bar, polishing glasses — not old, perhaps just a few years older than him. Kakashi claims a seat at the bar. “What’ll it be?” the woman asks, voice strangely croaky.
“Aa, just some sake,” he answers with a smile. There’s a bottle and cup in front of him in short order, despite the way the woman’s eyeing him.
“Don’t recognize you. You a traveler?” she asks, turning back to her glass polishing.
“Of sorts,” he answers, pouring himself a cup and sipping it. ”Do you mind if I ask what this festival’s for? It’s very lively.”
“Ah, it’s…” she chuckles and sets the glass aside. “Well, about a decade ago, some rogue ninja kidnapped Kazekage-sama. We almost didn’t get him back, but Chiyo-sama healed him. The festival thanks her for her sacrifice, and celebrates the safe return of Kazekage-sama.”
He blinks. Has it really been almost a decade? It has. “To the safe return of the Kazekage, then, and the defeat of the rogues,” he says, refilling his cup and raising it to the bartender.
She smiles in return, and it makes something on the side of her face stretch strangely. He glances down and finds a large scar across her throat. “Aah, my own present from shinobi,” she says, turning away as if to hide it. “Is your sake cool enough?”
He sips at the cup and hums in agreement. “Just the right amount of warm,” he assures her. She stiffens up, like she’s offended, and then she squats to rummage under the bar.
“It shouldn’t be warm at all,” she grumbles. “I’ll not have travelers going around saying ‘that Yui, she serves warm sake when you ask for cold’.” She straightens, a new bottle in her hand, and sets it down in front of him. “There. That’s cold sake.” Compared to the other bottle, it’s certainly far cooler. There’s already perspiration beading on the outside.
“Thank you, Yui-san,” he says, finishing his last cup and pouring another. While his alcohol tolerance isn’t quite as high as Sakura’s, he can still get at least halfway through a bottle of strong spirits before he even starts getting tipsy.
“So what brings you here?” Yui asks, hunching over the bar to hide her scar. He feels a little bad for noticing it, but… it’s hard to miss.
“Trade,” he answers with a hum. The colder sake has a very smooth zing, one that makes his mouth water. “Had to work out some new agreements, you see. Nobody likes getting swindled.”
She hums in response. Before she can say anything else, one of the people in the booths comes up to the bar for more drinks. By the time she’s finished serving them (a bottle of sake and six mixed drinks), he’s two more cups in. It isn’t until he fills the cup a fourth time that he notices something’s wrong. His hands aren’t responding right. When he tries to pour, he ends up sloshing it onto the bar. “Sorry, Yui-san,” he says. Or, well, he tries to say it. All that comes out is a mumbled slurry of words.
Yui turns at the sound of his voice, but she doesn’t do anything, doesn’t say anything. She just folds her arms and watches him as he tries to set the bottle down. But there’s two — no, three bars — and they keep moving. He finally manages, but when he moves his hand away, it knocks the bottle over. He watches it tip, eyes hazy, and realizes he’s about to pass out when the world starts tilting. He sees Yui mouth something. Maybe she says it. He can’t hear anything, and everything’s dark. Kakashi figures out her words just as he hits the ground.
I look forward to making you suffer, Copy Nin.
- - -
He wakes up, vision blurry, to strange surroundings. It looks vaguely like a basement. Yui’s leaning over him. “Ah, you’re awake,” he hears her mumble. “Good thing I kept an eye on you. Should’ve known you’d be resistant to drugs.”
“Drugs?” he repeats, brain swimming too much to really comprehend his situation.
“Mm. An old woman like me, I’ve got to have a backup for when people get rowdy in my bar,” she says, turning away. He hears bottles clinking against each other. “So I keep a bottle of good sake laced with knockout drugs in the freezer. They start getting rowdy, they get served a special bottle, and then the rowdy isn’t a problem.” She turns around, tapping a needle in a way Kakashi recognizes. “Now hold still, Hokage-sama.”
He tries to fight, to break his cuffs, but whatever she’s drugged him with is potent. His limbs don’t want to respond, and his chakra doesn’t answer him. The prick of the needle precedes the world beginning to swim again.
(in another world, he chooses a different bar, and nothing happens; nobody kidnaps him; nothing changes, but that is not this one)
- - -
“How the hell did you lose the fucking Hokage?” Tenzo bellows at the ANBU who’ve just reported to him. “He’s one man! With white hair!”
“H-he got lost in the crowds, taichou,” Viper answers, squirming beneath his gaze. “We tried to track him, but he cloaked his chakra, too!”
Tenzo sighs and runs a hand through his hair. “Crow!” The other ANBU snaps to attention. “Mobilize the other ANBU. I want this entire city run over with a fine-tooth comb.”
“Of course, taichou,” Crow answers with a bow. “Will you be joining us?”
“Eventually,” he says. “First, I need to inform the Kazekage that Hokage-sama has disappeared in his city.” And send a message to let Naruto know, too, if we don’t find the grump, he grumbles to himself. Why did I want to stay in ANBU again? Being co-commander is a damn hassle.
- - -
The next time Kakashi regains consciousness, they’re in an oasis. It’s at least mid-day, if not later. If he stares, hard, he can see trees in the distance — that means they’re not far from the border of Fire Country. Four people have joined Yui — three men and one woman. The other woman and two of the men move with the careful awareness of shinobi.
He doesn’t let on that he’s awake. He doesn’t let his breathing pattern change, or his eyelids flicker; he watches through barely slit eyes to get a feel for the camp. The fog clears a little, and he recognizes the telltale thrum of chakra inhibitors around his wrists. Despite the inhibitors, though, a tiny trickle of chakra still comes when he calls. It’s not much, but… he waits until all of the shinobi-trained people are outside of camp or distracted. Then he slowly, slowly, raises his hand and bites his thumb. He’s used this jutsu so often he’s not sure he needs chakra for it any longer, just the blood. He certainly doesn’t need the words or the hand signs.
He presses his hands to the ground and funnels chakra into his fingers. A second later, a puff of smoke appears between his legs and blows away to reveal Pakkun. The dog opens his mouth, but Kakashi shushes him. From there, Pakkun figures it out himself with a glance around. “Got it, boss,” he whispers. “I’ll be back.”
The dog doesn’t waste any more time before scampering out of the oasis, so quiet the sand barely shifts beneath his paws. Kakashi watches him go and closes his eyes once the tiny brown dot fades out of sight. Ten minutes later, someone comes over and doses him again. He slips under, hoping help comes soon.
- - -
Pakkun stops, halfway between the oasis and the forest, and debates. Konoha’s slightly farther from his current position, but he’s not sure Suna would be the best people to rescue Kakashi. The Sand brats seem okay, but… He thinks about it for a minute. Then he decides on Konoha and takes off, leaving a tiny dust devil in his wake.
I’ll get the kids, boss, and it’ll be okay, he thinks as his paws eat up the miles. He runs and runs until the moon comes out, and until the sun rises, and then he keeps running because he’s not going to let his human down.
- - -
“What do you mean I don’t get to leave for lunch? It’s super late!” Naruto demands, springing from his seat and slamming his hands on the desk. “I want ramen, and I promised Hina-chan I’d meet her and Boruto!”
Shikamaru sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Naruto —“
“Hokage-sama.”
“Acting Hokage-sama, you have a meeting with the council at 2:30. They have some objections to Rokudaime-sama’s proposed amendments to the education system, and —“ Shikamaru explains. He gets interrupted.
“It’s Kakashi-sensei’s shitty amendments. Why do I gotta defend ‘em?” Naruto grumbles, sinking into his chair. “Can we at least —“
Two things happen, almost in tandem. A messenger hawk, decked in full Suna war gear, taps at the window. A second later, the office door slams open and admits… absolutely nobody. Shikamaru blinks. Then he looks down. A familiar ninken’s standing there, caked in sand and mud, almost swaying with exhaustion. “Pakkun?”
“Yo,” the dog says, turning his head up. “Set me on the desk, would you?”
“Hey! Shika!” Naruto shouts as his advisor bends over and picks the dog up, setting him squarely in the center of the desk. “Gaara says those dumb ANBU lost Kakashi and they can’t find him in the town!” Naruto spins around as he relays those words, the Hokage cloak swirling around him. “Do we — oh. Hey, Pakkun.” It takes a second for Naruto to realize who he just greeted. “Ehhh? Pakkun?!?” he squawks. “Where’s your boss?!”
Pakkun wobbles a little. “Well, you just got the letter about him disappearing,” the dog says. “Hey, can I get some water? I’ve been runnin’ for more than a day.” Almost before he finishes, Snail-san sets a bowl of water in front of the pug. He drinks, and drinks, and then sits back up. “So Kakashi summoned me yesterday. Didn’t think nothin’ of it until I popped in, and he’s trussed up like a birthday present in the middle of some oasis. Stunk like drugs and chakra inhibitors, too. Not sure how he managed to summon me, but…” he takes another drink. “Here I am. Smelled about five people in the camp. They’ve probably moved him by now, but I should be able to track him pretty easy. We better hurry, though, cause all of those people smelled angry.”
Shikamaru opens his mouth to say something, mind already flickering through possibilities — and they all get derailed by a burst of the most powerful killing intent he’s felt in years. Mongoose-san slips out of the shadows, slowly reining their intent back in, but their eyes are fixed on Pakkun. “Drink your fill,” they growl, the words dripping with rage. “I’m going after him.” Then they turn to Naruto and say, “Send a cleanup team after me.”
Naruto gapes. “H-hey! That’s no kind of attitude, ANBU-teme!” he shouts. “The hell kind of ANBU are you, giving up on Kaka-sensei so fast?”
Dark eyes flicker from the window back to Naruto. “Nanadaime-sama, the cleanup team is not for the Rokudaime. It’s for the idiots who took him.”
Naruto’s rage fades away. “Oh. I guess that’s a good idea, then! Thanks for volunteering for the rescue team! Shika, see if you can find that bastard —“
“No,” Mongoose says. “I’m going alone. Anyone else will only slow me down.” They hold their arms out to Pakkun and the damn dog jumps into them, crawling up and resting on the ANBU’s shoulder.
At that, Naruto’s spine snaps straight and he crosses his arms, scowling at Mongoose in a way that sends chills down Shikamaru’s spine. He intervenes before Naruto says something truly troublesome. “Mongoose-san, don’t forget you are ANBU. You take your orders directly from the Hokage, and disobeying them —“
Clunkssssh. Mongoose’s porcelain mask thumps onto the desk and slides through the papers. “Then consider this my resignation.” Though her hair’s soot black, he knows the green eyes that burn into him for a second before twitching back to Naruto. And then, the soot-black of the henge begins to fade into pink.
“S-S-Sakura?” Naruto gasps. “You’re ANBU?”
“Was,” she says, tilting her head to one side. “Don’t try to stop me, Naruto.” With that, she’s on the windowsill and pushing off, disappearing quickly into the distance.
They both stare after her for a minute, mouths wide. Then they turn to each other. “Sasuke?” Shikamaru asks, hand already on the doorknob.
“Find Kiba and Sai, too,” Naruto orders, mouth firm. “They’ll need to follow Sakura’s scent.”
Shikamaru nods. “Medic-nin?”
“Eeeeh, pick one,” Naruto says, brow furrowing. “The only ones I know of are Ino and Sakura-chan, and…” he shrugs.
“Inojin can stay with Temari. I’ll have them ready to go in no time, Hokage-sama.”
- - -
Distantly, Kakashi becomes aware of a slapping noise. He doesn’t realize someone’s slapping his face until a jolt of pain finally sneaks through to his brain and jerks his eyelids open. “There you are, Ho-kage-sama,” a man’s voice snarls with so much loathing the title feels like a curse.
“Yo,” Kakashi mumbles, trying to focus and take in the details of his surroundings. His eyes finally stabilize and land on the person who woke him up — a middle-aged man with a scratched Suna hitai-ate.
He half-expects the spittle that lands on his cheek. That it’s his bare cheek, though? A glance down tells him he’s in his underwear and nothing else. “You’re really just like all those damn stories, aren’t you?” the man snarls, prowling around Kakashi. He takes the chance to assess his bonds. Muscles weak from the drug. Chakra still cut off. Tied like a hog for a New Year’s Feast. “I hoped, hoped, that the great Copy Ninja, hero and Hokage, wouldn’t be like everyone said. Maybe you had a good reason for pardoning that piece of shit and letting him get away with everything he did. But you’re just a lazy idiot, aren’t you?”
“Aa, is this about Sasuke-kun?” Kakashi asks, trying to keep his tone light. “He really has changed, you know —“ a fist slams into his cheek and slams his head back against whatever metal he’s tied to.
Yui’s voice comes out of the darkness. “You would think this is about the Uchiha brat,” she says, words thick with disgust. “No. He’s a brat who played follow the leader until he couldn’t milk it any longer. He at least had the decency to kill that slimy bastard, even if it didn’t stick.”
“Orochimaru,” Kakashi realizes. This time, the fist comes from the left.
“Yes, that’s what most call him,” the man hisses. “Do you know what we call him?”
Kakashi shakes his head, trying to keep it from swimming more. “We?”
And then at least a dozen people melt out of the shadows. Each and every one of them is marred in some way, save for the first Suna nin. One’s missing a hand. Another, an eye. Yet another has thick, ropy scars banding their arms. And each of them has something to say.
“We,” Yui says. “We survived him. After we escaped from that bastard, we went to Suna. They’re murderous devils, every one of them, but at least they kill their rogues instead of letting them run wild.”
“He took my eye,” the first person says. “And he didn’t even have the decency to numb me. He dug it out of my head while I begged him to stop, and he did it because he heard I might have some Uchiha lineage about five generations back.”
“He used me as a test dummy,” the one with a hand says. “He cut off my hand and put it back on, and cut it off and put it back, until he couldn’t do it any more. It took twelve hours before my hand died too much to be re-attached.”
All of their stories make him wince and cringe. He didn’t want to pardon Orochimaru. If it’d been up to him, he would’ve hung the bastard by his toes and let him bleed out — but that wasn’t what the other nations agreed on. “I’m sorry,” he rasps as Yui approaches.
“Sorry doesn’t give me back my sister,” she says. “It doesn’t give me the job he took from me when he ruined my voice. It doesn’t do anything.” But then a slow, sadistic smile creeps across her face. “I get first,” she coos, holding out her hand. The Suna nin hands her a kunai, the edges so sharp he can see them from here.
“Torturing me won’t fix anything, either,” Kakashi says. He’s starting to shut down. He can tell because he doesn’t feel panic or fear or anything as she walks closer, kunai gleaming.
“It’ll make me feel better,” she spits as she raises the kunai.
- - -
Sakura runs. She’s never been so glad for the pre-packed bag she keeps just inside her apartment door, because it means she doesn’t have to stop. The only thing she stops for is to filch a skewer of meat from a street stand. “Hey! Get back here!” the owner bellows.
“I’ll pay later!” she shouts back, holding the skewer up for Pakkun to nibble on. “Direction?”
“Due east and then north after a while,” Pakkun says between bites of the kebab. “You’re the best, Sakura-chan.”
“I try,” she says lightly. But the words feel like a betrayal. Kakashi’s missing and suffering and she — she’s feeding his dog and smiling.
She doesn’t even bother stopping at the gates. They’d try to stop her. She just soars past them and into the trees. The skewer gets flung away when Pakkun’s finished and he smacks his lips. “Start heading north here,” he says after an hour or so of flying through the trees.
“Got it.” With every step, she’s closer to Kakashi. With every step, her anger builds.
- - -
He spits bloody saliva yet again and smacks his lips, trying to get rid of the taste. It took his captors hours to get tired of playing with him. None of it is practiced or measured. It’s just violence for violence’s sake. The one with the missing eye decided to trace his scar with a scalpel and make tiny incisions all around his eye, like it’s going to be removed; Yui pressed the kunai just deep enough into his throat to make him bleed, but not deep enough to kill him. The person with scars on their arms cut bloody rings into Kakashi’s biceps. The amputee ran a senbon through the skin of his forearms, over and over again, ‘to let you know how it feels to have your hand sewn back on so many times you lose count’. Each of them had their own special torture for him, based on what they’d suffered at Orochimaru’s hands.
But they’re gone now. They’ve been gone for several hours, long enough for Kakashi’s wounds to clot. He even managed to get a little sleep, despite the pain. For all their passion, these people can’t compare to Ibiki’s training program. The only one of them left is the Suna rogue — who’s sitting in the doorway, straddling a chair and snoring. It’s the only door out, but he still finds himself deeply disappointed in the shinobi for sleeping. Chakra suppressed or not, Kakashi knows a dozen ways to sneak past even a light sleeper.
He closes his eyes and focuses on the rope around his wrists. It’s several layers deep, and wrapped tightly, but he’s been feeding his muscles his single tiny thread of chakra for hours. He’s nowhere near Sakura’s level of expertise at this, but he’s been able to slowly, slowly stretch the ropes out. They should be loose enough for him to slip free soon — or so he hopes. His internal clock’s telling him daylight’s not far off. That means his tormentors will return soon. While he could stick around and wait for tomorrow night — he’d really rather not.
Forty-two minutes later, he feels something snap in the ropes. They go slack. He watches the rogue ninja carefully, so carefully, as he slowly slides his hands from the ropes. Nothing. It takes second to undo the rope around his feet. When the rope slides to the floor, he picks it up and advances across the room slowly. It’s been at least three days since he ate anything, probably longer. He’s also dehydrated — the only water he’s had was the freezing water they dumped over his head a dozen times last night. Between that and his wounds, he’s not in as good a shape as he’d like to be.
It’s still as easy as breathing to slip the rope around the Suna nin's neck and choke him to death. He wheezes, tries to hit Kakashi or call out, but utterly fails. Kakashi frisks the body and finds the man woefully lacking in weapons for a rogue nin. Three kunai, two with exploding tags on them, a handful of senbon, and… “Really? A condom?” he mutters to himself. The man’s sandals are a touch too large, the pants a little too tight, but he steals them anyway, feeling quite justified.
He’s been in better situations, but he’s been in worse ones, too. He glances out the door before stepping into the hallway. As he walks, he wiggles the tip of the kunai into the seam of the chakra inhibitor cuffs and tries to pry them open. He turns a corner, just as the metal starts to slide apart — and there’s a civilian coming down the hall toward him. There’s no chance she didn’t see him. The corridor’s well lit and her eyes are straight forward, even if she is at the far end of the hall. She freezes at the same time he does.
“Shit.” Kakashi streaks straight for her, hoping he can get to her before she raises the alarm. He’s too slow, body still recovering from the drugs.
She slides around the corner she entered from and takes off, shouting, “He’s out! The copy nin is out!” He glances both ways and follows her with a sigh — the air’s fresher that way. Closer to the entrance. Another ninja slides into view, this one holding a ninjato. Kakashi rolls his eyes and ducks beneath the ninja’s swing, coming up inside the man’s arm reach. A fist to the jaw sends him flying. Kakashi wants to execute the man, eliminate the risk, but he doesn’t know how much time he has.
One hall. A sniff leads him to the fresh air when he finds three doors, but there’s three shinobi there. One of them starts out with a startlingly weak katon — a second later, one of the others fans its flames with a wind jutsu. It turns into a fiery hurricane, arms spinning. He dodges most of them, but one kisses the skin of his stomach and makes him stumble. Katon Girl starts making signs again and he sacrifices one of the kunai, planting it squarely in her eye before she can finish. It’s one of the kunai with the exploding tags, too, so he sacrifices a tiny thread of his available chakra to activate it as it leaves his hand. Wind Guy leaps to check on her, just in time for the tag to explode. He waves the smoke away, careful to stay on guard because the third one —
“Those were my friends, you fucking asshole!” the girl shrieks, boiling out of the cloud with two katanas drawn. He dodges, glances at the blades, and decides discretion is the better part of valor.
So he bolts past her, down another fucking hallway, and —
Something hits his neck. He claps his hand to his neck because it hurt, like a horsefly bite, and nearly impales his hands on a senbon. Much to his dismay, the senbon’s sticky. “Fucking poison,” he groans, but he’s not going to give up. Not yet.
Another bite, just below his shoulder blade. He slips into a doorway, following the flow of fresh air, and stops dead. It’s a massive arena, with ceiling vents to the outside covered in iron gratings. Two more bites, one right after the other, this time hitting the back of his legs. “Ah, we can’t have you leaving yet, Kakashi-san,” a strange new voice coos. “There’s still so many people who want to meet you.”
His vision starts swimming. “Fuck… you…” he manages to groan before he hits his knees.
- - -
Finally, after stopping at the oasis and following the scent trail north, they’ve found its end. “The trail leads through here, Sakura-chan!” Pakkun barks, pointing straight at the rusty door embedded in the hillside. “And… I think I smell fresh blood.”
Her hands clench. “Is that so?” she mutters, stepping forward and assessing the door. There’s a half-dozen different keys on it — one that requires blood, one that requires a chakra signature, and so on. After looking it over, she raises her foot and kicks.
One kick bends the door inward, like crumpled foil. The second makes the hinges shriek. The third sends it flying down the hallway, metal screeching against the floor until it comes to a stop. Pakkun trots forward without bidding, nose to the ground.
At the first junction of hallways, she pauses and waits for direction. Pakkun lifts his head and growls before saying, “I think someone’s close, Sakura-chan.”
“Good,” she says. She felt the threatening chakra, but it’s never bad to have a confirmation. A second later, an immense man rounds the corner. He’s at least as wide as Choji, but… “What kind of steroids do you have to take for that muscle definition?” she calls out, itching for a fight.
- - -
This time, Kakashi resurfaces far sooner. They haven’t moved him from the arena — instead, they’ve dragged him into the center of the room and tied him to a pole there. This time, they’ve been a little more cruel with their restraints. He’s on his knees, hands tied above his head and feet tied behind the pole. There’s just enough slack in the rope to make it feel like he can stretch his arms if he moves… but all moving does is jostle his wounds.
“You shouldn’t have tried escaping, Hokage-sama,” he hears Yui say. He looks up and she’s squatting in front of him again. “Now people are even angrier because you attacked their friends.” She offers him a smile, so soft it’s cruel. “And we have new friends for you to meet, too!”
“A pleasure indeed,” the voice that preceded his unconsciousness purrs from somewhere behind Kakashi. “You know, I’m not offended by you pardoning Orochimaru. No, for me… it’s personal.” Someone walks to Yui’s side and Kakashi glares at them. Their face is vaguely familiar — dark red curls around a square face — but he can’t place the man. “You see, my mother was a shinobi. She wasn’t very good, though. After she gave birth to me, the Mizukage offered her a mission. If she could seduce a Hyuuga or an Uchiha, get with child, and bring it back to the village… why, she’d have riches beyond her wildest dreams.”
He closes his eyes. He knows where this story’s going now. “And she was successful. She came all the way back home before someone tattled about the immigrant girl who slept with an Uchiha. They sent only the best to get rid of the threat.” Something sharp drags along his cheek, slicing into his skin. “And I found my mother’s pregnant body with a hole in her chest. Cauterized, of course, since it was lightning that dealt the killing blow. That young, there was no chance for the baby to survive outside of the womb.”
“Here I thought you were innocent of atrocities beyond pardoning that snake,” Yui snarls. “You deserve everything Akane-san can give you and —“
Something screeches in the distance. It’s a familiar sound, one he wouldn’t recognize if it wasn’t for his experience. Metal on metal. Something large. Yui’s head snaps back and her eyes narrow. “I’m going to check that out. Have fun, Akane-san.”
And Akane lives up to the name of the village he came from. He starts by delicately carving kanji into Kakashi’s chest. As he carves, he talks. “You know, I must really have done something right for you to be delivered to me so neatly. My friends and I were all in Suna, waiting for you to leave so that we could ambush you on your way to Konoha. Imagine my surprise when I hear someone’s already kidnapped you.” He licks his fingers and digs them into the carved wound, grinning when Kakashi winces.
He’s starting on the second row of kanji when something thumps. He lifts his head. Kakashi listens, too, hopeful but confused. Thump. Thump. Thump. The sound comes closer and closer, echoing in the hallway outside the arena door. Akane frowns and stands, reaching into his pocket to retrieve a remote. Lights click on, revealing — he doesn’t know how many people, standing around the edges of the room, watching Kakashi with almost lustful eyes. And at the door… something flies into the room. It takes a second for him to realize it’s a body. Yui’s body. She thumps to the floor and slides to a stop.
“You should get better guards.” His heart leaps. Thump. Thump. Sakura steps into view, dressed in her ANBU uniform, someone’s foot in one hand. The only thing missing is her mask. He follows it down to realize she’s dragging one of the biggest, most musclebound men he’s ever seen… like a toy on a string. “He looked nice, but he couldn’t fight for shit,” she says, and then she hurls the second body into the center of the room. The man rolls to a stop, face up. There’s a bloody crater where his ribs should be.
“Ah, the valiant rescuers appear!” Akane says, clasping his hands. Then he tilts his head. “Where’s the rest of your people? There are quite a few of us, you know.”
“They would’ve slowed me down,” she says, stepping farther into the room. “Besides, I don’t need help to deal with you.” Chills go down Kakashi’s spine as her chokuto rasps its way out of her sheath.
“Oh, I think you will,” Akane chuckles. Suddenly he’s at Kakashi’s back, one arm around his body and dragging him to his feet. Faintly, Kakashi realizes his feet have been unbound and wonders when that happened. “After all, you wouldn’t want your precious Hokage-sama to get hurt, would you?” he snarls, pressing a kunai against Kakashi’s jugular.
Sakura bares her teeth, her lips curving. It’s not a smile. It’s the look of an angry predator. “You might want to worry about yourself a little more.” Her sword flashes green —
and then she’s in front of him, blade swinging so close to his chest he can feel the hum of her chakra. Blood splatters. Akane drops the kunai and staggers backward, one hand missing. Sakura disappears. A second later, Kakashi hears the most unearthly, unholy keening he’s ever heard — it’s high pitched and it stretches and stretches and s t r e t c h e s —
Akane’s head flies past him and rolls to a stop in the middle of the floor, followed by his body. Instead of the clean cut of a beheading, his neck’s a pulpy, stringy mess. Kakashi’s stomach turns a little as he realizes Sakura pulled the man’s head off with her bare heads, that the shrieking noise was Akane’s vocal cords snapping. After a heartbeat of silence, Sakura steps forward and kicks the body so that it rolls closer to the wall. Then she looks around the room and says, bestial curl in her lips, “If you run now, you might survive.”
Another heartbeat. Then someone shouts, “You bitch!” That serves as a signal. Everyone lunges forward, eager to attack.
“Sakura — let me down —-“ Kakashi says, struggling against his restraints. There’s no way she can handle all of these ninja on her own, even if they’re all bad. She cocks her head and glances back at him. She doesn’t say a word. She just smiles before she turns to face the crowd descending on her.
And she destroys them. He doesn’t blink, can’t blink, as she moves. Part of him wishes for the Sharingan again so he can watch it later and pick it all apart. She’s in front of him, sword blazing and one hand moving as she charges — one handed seals? When did she — and then she’s in the middle of the crowd, slashing upwards and bisecting someone lengthwise with one hand. The other slams into someone’s chest and they crumble, water following her hand as she leaps away. The water turns into a snake, strangling the first person it runs into. She disappears, only to reappear above someone’s head, blade dropping to split their skull and skewer them like cheap meat. She disappears and she’s behind someone, pulling out their spine — someone else, kicking them into the wall — her sword through someone’s throat, her fingers sparking as she drives them into someone’s eyes — more seals, and someone begins shrieking as they run in circles — her fist bursts through someone’s chest —
He wonders, for a second, if he’s hallucinating. She’s in a dozen places at once, like movement in a long exposure photograph. He breathes, and half the room is dead. He blinks, and only she remains, standing over a heap of bodies with her sword dripping. He blinks again and finds her in front of him. She’s dripping in blood and gore, hair clumping against her neck, but she’s smiling at him as she cuts him down. “Kakashi,” she breathes as he slumps, reaching out and cupping his cheek. Her fingers slide against his skin, wet with blood, but he doesn’t care.
He leans into her hand and smiles at her, even as his head starts to spin again. “Yo, Sakura-chan,” he says, faintly aware he’s slurring his words, that the darkness is closing in again. It’s okay. She’s what he sees when he closes his eyes.
- - -
When Kakashi loses consciousness, her heart stops for a second. But his heart’s beating beneath her hand. It’s sluggish, but it’s there. Even using her own techniques, designed to use as little chakra as possible, she’s already down to a third of her capacity. She bites her lip and sets to triaging. It’s easy to close up the words carved into his chest. Sakura spends a little more chakra there than she should, making sure the wounds won’t scar. She’s not going to let him walk around for the rest of his life with dog of Konoha, child-murderer, worth less than dirt on his chest.
She’s low enough after that that she taps into her seal. She’s been working on it in her off time, tweaking it just a little to make it so that she can use little bits at a time. Even if she hadn’t, she has no qualms with breaking it open for Kakashi. She heals the rings carved into his arms and seals up the clotted pinpricks all along his forearms. For those, she doesn’t work on the muscle, just heals the skin over enough to keep him from bleeding out.
The burn on his stomach’s bad enough that she doesn’t want to do anything to it here. It needs debrided in a sterile environment. Rather than heal it, she surrounds it with a thin film of her chakra. It serves both to keep the wound in something like stasis and to numb sensation. There’s a gash on his throat, long lines cut open down his legs, and more than a few of his fingers are broken. She heals the open wounds, tugs the broken bones into alignment, and dribbles water down his throat. He’s badly dehydrated, judging by the way his skin responds to her pinch.
“Fucking idiot,” she mumbles, leaning in and wiping the blood from his face. Her fingers are still bloody enough that it just smears it. “Why am I doomed to love dumbasses?” She glances around and then up at the ceiling. “Well, that’s one way to leave.”
- - -
At noon, four shinobi land outside a hole in a hillside. “Scent leads through here,” Kiba says, sniffing a couple extra times just to be sure. “And I smell a hell of a lot of blood, too.”
Ino leans over, inspecting the doorway. “Yeah, Forehead’s been through here,” she sighs. “She’s the only person I know who regularly punches through solid steel hinges. Can’t say I blame her for her temper, considering —“ she pauses and glances at the stoic man two steps behind her. “…that someone kidnapped her old sensei.”
“Do you also feel this rage, Uchiha-san?” Sai asks, shaking out a scroll and urging a flock of rats onto the ground. They skitter into the tunnels below without further bidding. “Naruto feels great rage under many circumstances, but I believe I would only be so angry if someone were to threaten Ino or Inojin.”
Ino suppresses her growl. Sasuke doesn’t answer. He just steps forward and looks down into the stairway. “This is one of Orochimaru’s old bases,” he says, glancing back at them. “Small. Primarily used for… the beginning stages of experiments. Odd that anyone else knows of it.”
They wait for the rats to return before they venture below. “Signs of combat in several places, but one more than the others,” Sai tells them. “Shall we proceed?”
They pass the door halfway down the first hallway, the metal bent and warped. Farther down, there’s spatters of blood on the walls. “Not hers,” Kiba and Ino chime in unison. They glance at each other and Ino explains as they keep moving. “Too high up on the wall. That volume of blood has to come from an artery, and she’s not tall enough to have an artery up that high.” There’s a trail of blood on the floor, and Ino doesn’t realize they’re following it until they make another turn.
“The arena’s ahead,” Sasuke says, strain in his voice. “It… he pitted some of his experiments against each other there.”
“That’s where… whatever happened,” Kiba says, glancing at Akamaru. “It stinks too bad to be anything else.” A minute later, they step into the arena.
For all her years as a shinobi, Ino’s stomach still churns. Bodies litter the floor like leaves in the woods. Some of them are in pieces, some of them strangled or desiccated, some with bloody craters in their chests. Eye sockets gape, holes burnt through to the back of their skulls. Senbon gleam from necks, despite the blood coating everything. A few look as if they died of fear, which… “Holy shit,” Ino says. She’s at a loss for words.
“Holy shit,” Kiba echoes her. Akamaru leaps over the bodies and sniffs at the biggest pile, shaking his head, before trotting to the center of the room and sitting beside a bloodstained pillar. “What’d you find, boy?” Kiba’s less delicate with the bodies, kicking them out of his way to get to the pillar. “This blood…” he frowns. “It’s definitely the Hokage’s. I can also smell Sakura, but she wasn’t bleeding.”
“Here,” Sai calls from the back of the room, straightening to his feet. Ino leans around Sasuke and sees an iron grate, crumpled just like the door. “Inuzuka-san, was this their exit?”
Both dog and man bound over to sniff the grate and its surroundings intensely for a moment. “Yeah, I think so,” Kiba finally says. “Otherwise, the trail ends here.”
Ino nods and wanders back to the post, where she swipes a finger through the blood. She gives it a cursory sniff and her eyes narrow. “Hey, Kiba, does this smell like rohyngan to you?”
“Oh, yeah,” Kiba says. He doesn’t even turn around. “Meant to say that. Nasty shit, especially in large doses. No wonder Kakashi was out of it.”
“That’s your Hokage you’re talking about, you ass!” They leap out of the uncovered vent a minute later to follow Sakura’s trail, though Kiba’s nursing a new lump.
- - -
Sakura’s exhausted by the time she gets to Suna. Despite the lab being technically within Fire, Sunagakure was still closer than Konoha. She loathes soldier pills, but she’s taken two and a half since she left Konoha. Kakashi hasn’t woken up since she left the arena, despite being over her shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Her iron control’s wavering, making the film over his burn dip in and out.
Of course that means she causes quite a fuss when she lands in Suna’s hospital, covered in blood and hauling an unconscious kage. “Hokage-sama needs a trauma team, stat!” she barks at the receptionist. “He’s unconscious, likely drugged, and suffering from dehydration and starvation. I’ve stopped his bleeding, but there are multiple large wounds, as well as burns and broken fingers.”
The receptionist blinks at her and then stands. “O-of course, ANBU-san.” And then, someone tries to take Kakashi from her arms. In a blink, she’s a foot away and her sword’s drawn, angled towards the intern and the receptionist. “I’m not letting go of him until I have a surgery table and Konoha ANBU here,” she growls. “Get moving.”
“A-ANBU-san —“
“I said get moving!” Sakura shouts. In short order, there’s an operating room open. She lays Kakashi down on the table and grabs one of the ubiquitous skin-safe markers in the room. “Slash wounds here, here, and here,” she tells the medics flooding into the room, marking them as she goes. “Deep wounds here, punctures here —“
It doesn’t take long before the other med-nin are working on the wounds. Sakura requests a bowl of water and starts filtering his blood, trying to get some of the drug out. The entire time, she keeps one hand on Kakashi’s chest, over his heart. The water in her bowl’s starting to cloud when a familiar chakra touches her senses. “Sakura, he’s safe,” Yamato murmurs, his fingers brushing her arm. “I’ve got him.”
She gently tugs the orb of water away from Kakashi’s skin and drops it into the bowl before turning towards the voice. “You sure?” she says, voice a little muzzy. Yamato nods. “‘kay.” And then she lets go — the last thing she remembers seeing is the flash of the fluorescent lights as her knees buckle.
- - -
Kakashi’s never been quite so glad to wake up to the sterile stench of a hospital. It’s not a Konoha hospital — the ceiling’s brown, not white, and the air’s too dry — but it’s not whatever hellhole his kidnappers hunted out to keep him in. Plus, he’s wearing a mask, even if it’s only the plain kind surgeons use. He’s content to rest in the quiet, dozing in and out, until someone slams the door open. It bangs against the wall and he jumps, reaching for a weapon that’s not there.
Tsunade glowers at him, hands on her hips. “You!” she barks. “I am getting entirely too fucking old for this shit, do you hear me? What the hell possessed you to go running off without your ANBU and get kidnapped?”
He tries to move, but his muscles are still weak. For all her bluster, Tsunade’s surprisingly gentle as she helps him sit up and hands him a glass of water. He drinks it in two gulps and whispers, “Sakura?”
Tsunade’s eyes soften, just a little. “She’s in the next room. Chakra exhaustion, relatively minor wounds. Ran for hours to get to you, fought whoever the hell had you by herself, healed you enough to keep you alive, she ran you all the way to Suna for treatment, and managed to purge some of the shit in your blood before she passed out.” She arches one eyebrow at him. “Maybe your little crush isn’t as hopeless as you think, brat.”
He scowls at her, but then the reality of what just happened sinks in. He drops his head into his hands and groans. “Now everyone’s going to think the Leaf is weak,” he says, contemplating the blanket spread over his lap.
“Mm, I don’t know about that,” Tsunade says. “When the cleanup team went in, they recovered the bodies of 3 different S-ranked rogue nin. We also had to basically flush your entire system because of the amount of rohyngan in your blood.” She clucks and Kakashi glances over to see her shaking her head. “The average amount to induce loss of consciousness in a healthy shinobi your size and weight is roughly a third of what they hit you with. Those suppression cuffs practically turned you into a civilian, and you were wounded, so it’s honestly a fucking miracle you’re not dead.” She sighs and collapses into the chair beside his bed. “And, incidentally, the cleanup team that went in wasn’t ours. It was Suna’s. Sakura left plenty of chakra lying around, so they know she single-handedly defeated almost everyone in that base, and they’re not being shy about spreading that around.”
He sighs and lifts his head to look at his predecessor. “I shouldn’t have gone on that walk… what a mess.”
“Damn straight you shouldn’t have!” Tsunade barks. “You know how much chakra I had to pour into you to keep you from looking like a damn quilt? Unbelievable. I was relaxing, having a good time… and then the news came in the damn window about twenty seconds after I won a bet. Ugh.”
He offers her a weak smile. “Ah, sorry for the fuss.”
“Sorry for the — you brat! That’s all you have to say?!”
- - -
“Hey.”
“Yo.”
“You’re the biggest idiot in all of Konoha. You know that, right? I’m pretty sure Naruto was smarter than you fifteen years ago.”
“You’re so cruel to your poor Hokage, Sakura-chan.”
“…I’m glad I got to you before it got worse.”
“So am I.”
- - -
They’re both back in Konoha in time for Sakura’s birthday, but things are… odd. The chuunin at the gate give her strange looks from the corners of their eyes. She, and Kakashi, and the rest of the Hokage’s entourage, walk through town instead of taking the rooftops, so that everyone can see he’s okay. In between watching Kakashi, she notices… a lot. Street vendors she’s known for years are eyeing her and whispering. Shinobi who usually ignore her (well, when she’s not doing their physicals) stare her down. More than a few civilians shuffle out of her way, like they’re worried.
“…Why is everyone staring?” she asks Kakashi from the corner of her mouth. “Is there still blood in my hair or something?”
He chuckles, shooting her a quick, fond glance. “Ah, Sakura-chan, it seems people have been telling tales while we were gone.” Her eyes go wide and his laugh’s a little louder now. “Did you think nobody would find out?”
“I — yes — no — not exactly?” she says, flushing and staring down at her feet. She can’t exactly say ‘I wasn’t thinking rationally, I just needed to save you’.
“Congratulations,” Kakashi says, and there’s a dark undertone to his voice for a second. “You’re officially just as scary as Sasuke-kun and I.”
“Thanks. I hate it,” she mutters. She’s incredibly glad when they enter the tower because it means people aren’t staring. Then she realizes —
“Sakura-chan! WHAT THE HELL?!?” Naruto bellows, shooting to his feet. “Why didn’t you tell me about ANBU and all that other stuff?” For all his bluster, she can see real hurt and anger in his eyes.
“Sorry, Naruto,” she says, scuffing the toe of her sandals against her heel. “But ANBU’s supposed to be secret, you know? Everything else just kind of…” she waves her hand. “It was related.”
“And what about that attitude, huh?” Naruto’s scowl only deepens.
Shikamaru interrupts then with a delicate cough. “I believe there are some matters the Rokudaime needs to attend to?”
“Mm, it can wait,” Kakashi hums. “What’s this I hear about an attitude?” Sakura pales and then flushes. She hadn’t realized — oh, she’s so screwed.
“Kaka-sensei, you’re never going to believe what she did!” Naruto starts, and then he relates the entire tale. By the time he’s finished relating her words and actions — including her resignation from ANBU — she’s sitting on the floor, face in her hands, embarrassed beyond words.
“So fierce, Sakura-chan,” Kakashi says when the story’s over. And strangely, there’s a thread of admiration in his voice. She peeks up, through spread fingers, and her stomach jolts. That fondness is there in his gaze again. Something strangely like hope curls through her.
- - -
Kakashi groans as he sinks into his couch. “I’m the Hokage,” he whines. “Do I really need to debrief myself?”
“Yes,” Shikamaru, Tenzo, and Sakura all answer in unison. He doesn’t miss the heated glance Sakura sends him, though, and it makes him shiver at the prospect of being ‘debriefed’. “Hokage-sama, we need —“
“You write shit reports, Kakashi,” Sakura interrupts Shikamaru. “I already have my part of this filled out, but you know why we need records of this stuff. So start talking, mask boy, and I’ll start writing.”
He’s glad for the mask because it conceals the quirk of his lips. “So cruel, Sakura-chan,” he complains mournfully. And then he starts talking.
“What the hell kind of bartender keeps rohyngan on hand?” Sakura mumbles at one point.
Shikamaru chimes in a little later with, “You summoned Pakkun after they put those cuffs on? Are you sure?” He shoots his advisor an annoyed glare, but nods and continues. By the end of the story, Sakura’s broken three pens. Tenzo looks like he wants to go dig up his kidnappers. Shikamaru, as always, looks blasé about the whole thing. “How troublesome,” the man finally says, after tapping his fingers together for what feels like forever.
“I didn’t realize there were still people angry about what you’ve done, taichou,” Tenzo murmurs.
Kakashi burrows further into his cushions. “That’s the job, Tenzo,” he replies, eyes going half-lidded. “For a long time, I was Konoha’s favorite weapon. I did what I was told, and I was good at it, and I always came back.” He stops, thinking of some of the times he nearly didn’t, and then shakes the thoughts away. “Me making it back usually meant someone else was never going to make it home. Sometimes, it was someone who didn’t deserve a home. Other times…” he trails off.
“Aa, speaking of weapons,” Shikamaru says, stopping short of taking the finished scroll from Sakura. “Someone sent me an updated Iwa book.” Shadows slink into the corner of his messenger bag and retract a minute later, holding a thin book in their coils. He picks it up, flips through, and then turns it to face Kakashi with a smirk. “Looks like they put the pieces together.”
WANTED:
Haruno Sakura, alive
Aliases: the Jade Flicker, Final Flicker, Thunder Blossom
Responsible for the assassination of Clan Head Chiren Jan; suspected involvement in the deaths of multiple merchant leaders; suspected involvement in the death of multiple information brokers; responsible for the death of Sato ‘Akane’ Jun, S-ranked Mist rogue-nin; responsible for the death of Ito Kagome, S-ranked Iwa rogue-nin; responsible for the death of Aoki Tsume, S-ranked Suna rogue-nin.
Affiliation: Konohagakure
Strength: S-Rank
Abilities: Kenjutsu; iryojutsu; ninjutsu; taijutsu; genjutsu
FLEE ON SIGHT IF YOUR RANK IS BELOW JOUNIN. EXCEPTIONALLY DANGEROUS.
Alongside the picture of a masked Sakura in her ANBU gear, there’s a headshot of Sakura he recognizes from one of the many newspaper articles after the war. There’s also a blurry picture, clearly taken from a surveillance camera, where a low-resolution, very bloodied Sakura points her sword at a Suna medic-nin, Kakashi’s limp body hanging over her shoulder.
Kakashi can’t help his grin. “Ah, you’ve really made it, Sakura-chan!”
Her last pen nails him squarely in the forehead. “You’re an idiot!” she snaps. “How the hell am I supposed to go on covert missions when everyone knows who the hell I am? And now everyone knows you ordered all of those kills, even though we’ve got a treaty…” She moans out loud, the sound woeful. “We’re so screwed.”
Shikamaru’s grin widens. “Officially, of course, Iwa and Mist are both very angry. They want an apology and all sorts of troublesome concessions. Unofficially… well, you’ve received seven marriage proposals, enough silk to make a tent, and so much sake Tsunade might drown in it. It seems most of the people you went after weren’t too far from being taken out by their own ANBU.”
“That still doesn’t help me being recognizable!” Sakura snaps, though she’s brightened at the prospect of gifts.
“Well… you did resign from ANBU…” Kakashi drawls. He promptly cringes back into the couch when she turns her baleful gaze on him. “What? You did! You can rejoin, but you’ll be benched for at least six months for insubordination.” She stares at him. He stares right back. “It turned out okay this time, but it might not have,” he says flatly. “What if you’d ended up captured, too? Do you think I would’ve enjoyed seeing them cut you open?”
She blanches, but then she takes a deep breath. “Understood, Hokage-sama,” she says. There’s something curious in her voice, though, and he narrows his eyes.
“Aa, well, if that’s all… I’ve likely got trouble waiting at home,” Shikamaru says, pushing up off the couch. “Good night, Hokage-sama, Tenzo-san.”
“Ah, I’ll go with you,” Tenzo says, words tripping over each other. Kakashi cuts his gaze towards the man, eyeing him suspiciously. “Send me a copy for the ANBU records, please, Sakura-san?”
Does he know about Sakura sleeping with me? He thinks about it for a minute and dismisses the idea. He would’ve said something.
Shikamaru goes down the stairs, Tenzo trailing. Then it’s just him and Sakura for the first time in weeks. She bites her lip, evidently trying to decide on something, and then she pushes herself to her feet, moving away from the coffee table where she wrote her report. He stands too, glancing around to make sure there’s no peeping Tenzos, and raises an eyebrow at her when she stops in front of him. “Sakura?”
Her arms wrap around him with almost bruising force, crushing him into her for a hug. “I’m… you’re here,” she whispers.
He winces a little, but returns the hug, threading his fingers through her hair and resting his chin on top of her head. “Thank you for coming for me,” he replies, thumb stroking the hair it can reach. “Even if it was a bad idea.”
“I wasn’t particularly thinking about it being a good idea,” she mumbles. “Or, really, thinking at all.” He lets out a questioning hum and she answers. “I heard someone took you, that you were in trouble and I… kind of went out of my mind a bit. Like Naruto said. Just the thought of someone wanting to hurt you…” Her hands flex against his back, turning into fists for a second and then back, fingertips pressing into his skin with such force he really might be bruised later. And then, in something below a whisper, “People don’t get to touch what’s mine.”
“Maa, so possessive,” he rumbles, ignoring the warmth when she says he’s ‘hers’. She doesn’t mean it. Not the way he wants. “You should’ve been more careful. It would have been fine.”
“Would it?” she says, looking up at him. “Would it really have been? Because I would have ripped their throats from their bodies with only my teeth if they’d gotten much farther. They’re lucky I let them die quickly.”
He sighs and lets his hand drop from her head to her cheek. He can’t help stroking her cheek with his thumb, and he almost melts when she leans into the touch. “You have a long life to live, Sakura. Don’t throw it away jumping in to rescue lazy old perverts,” he murmurs. She bites her lip and pulls away, almost gnawing on it as she drops her eyes. He waits her out — whatever she wants to say, it’s bothering her. Eh, probably looking for a good way to explain why she got so worked up this time. She usually follows orders —
Then she finally speaks and his brain stops functioning. “I wouldn’t enjoy it without you around,” she mumbles, a bright blush spreading across her cheeks. He gapes, unable to parse what those words mean — if they mean what he thinks they mean — but before he recovers his mental abilities, she’s gone. He watches her sail off the balcony edge, her pink ponytail fluttering behind her, and his brain kicks into gear as she fades from sight. Kakashi opens his mouth to yell her name, to call her back, anything. She’s already gone.
Ino’s never seen a man look quite so spooked as the Rokudaime does when he slinks into Yamanaka Flowers three days after his return. “Good afternoon, Hokage-sama!” she greets him, mildly curious. The only flowers he’s ever bought before this are carnations. He leaves one at the cenotaph every Sunday he’s in town, has for decades — but today isn’t Sunday.
“Good afternoon, Ino-san,” he greets her, hand coming up to scratch at the back of his head almost sheepishly. “I, ah…” And then she sees a blush creep up over the edges of his mask. “Flowers.”
She smothers a laugh by turning it into a smile. “What kind of situation do you want flowers for, Hokage-sama?”
The blush grows darker. “Ah… something that means love.” She opens her mouth to ask what kind of love, but he’s looking down as he mumbles, “Not red roses. She deserves… I want something special.”
Ino’s stomach drops at the same time her heart leaps into her throat. What if they’re for Sakura? wars with what if they’re for someone else? inside her thoughts. “Romantic love, then?” she manages to say. “Is — is this for an established relationship, or something new?”
“Estab— well, sort of new— except —“ And Ino’s jaw drops as Hatake Kakashi, kage, hero, and legendary ninja, stammers over a woman.
She exhales, long and slow, and puts her ‘Sakura’s-best-friend’ in a box, pulling the florist Ino to the front. Though there’s people passing by, she and Kakashi are the only ones in the shop, and she’s glad of that. “Hokage-sama, if you tell me about your relationship, I can help you decide on a bouquet,” she says, offering him a perfectly even smile.
His shoulders rise a little, defensive, but then he takes a deep breath and they drop. “Ino-san.” His voice is calm and deep.
“Hokage-sama?” she answers, eyebrow raising.
“This is a matter of utmost secrecy. You cannot give away intelligence before the operation is completed. Do you understand?” he intones, like it’s a fucking S-rank mission. She just nods. He steps closer to the counter and glances at the door before speaking, voice a careful whisper. “They’re for Sakura.” Her eyes double in size and she barely stifles her gasp. “I— I think I love her,” he continues. If Ino’s eyes could fall out of her head, they would. “I have for years. And she’s — when she came after me —“ he exhales and runs a hand through his hair, trying to find the words.
“You think she might feel the same, and you want to tell her,” Ino finishes for him, smiling in reflexive joy. “Don’t worry, Kakashi-sama. I’ll make you the perfect bouquet.” She turns, ready to go clip flowers, and then swings back around. “How big do you want to go?”
“As big as you can make it,” he says, eyes crinkling in a smile. “And then make as many more as you can.”
Ino chokes on air. “Are — are you sure about that?” she wheezes. “It’ll be —“
“It’ll be worth it,” he interrupts firmly. So she goes to work. Camellias, in red, yellow, and white; their pinkest carnations; snowy white chrysanthemums mixed with gardenias, with forget-me-nots and violets tucked everywhere there’s room. And, of course, she nestles a sprig of cherry blossoms in the very center. And then she does it again and again, until she runs out of flowers. Eight bouquets, each only barely small enough to fit in their largest vases, decorate the counter.
“Will this do, Hokage-sama?” she says, biting her lips and glancing over the flowers.
“Perfect,” he says, and she can see the way his face creases into a grin, even through the mask. “Thank you, Ino-san.”
“Ah, do you maybe want Sai to deliver —“ she starts.
“No, no,” he says, flapping his hand at her dismissively. “Bear, Weasel, Cat!” In an instant, three ANBU are behind him. “Help me carry these, would you?” Ino’s not sure who’s more stunned, her or the ANBU.
And then Cat snickers — a snicker Ino knows very well. “Of course, Hokage-sama,” she says, picking up two of the vases. “Finally decided to get off your ass?”
“Shush,” he chides her before turning back to Ino. “How much?”
“Ah, fifteen hundred ryo?” she says, hesitating a little. It wouldn’t be the first time someone’s ordered something big and then reneged. Kakashi’s also famous for bouncing on bills…
A heartbeat later, there’s two thousand ryo under her nose and the shop is empty of vases and lovestruck Hokage. Ino stares at the money, wide-eyed, and then bursts into giggles. Sai and Inojin come into the shop not ten minutes later, home from the academy, and she’s still giggling like a madwoman.
- - -
When three days go by without any sign of Kakashi, Sakura starts despairing a little. Did I ruin it? she wonders, sorting through patient charts. He’s going to hate me now, she mourns, stitching up a torn muscle. He’s never going to talk to me —
“Yo, Floral Green!” a familiar voice interrupts her thoughts, in between the scheduled ‘poking the meat’ and ‘stabbing the jello’ parts of her hospital lunch. She looks down as Pakkun hops onto the bench beside her.
“Hey!” she says, instantly a little happier. “What’s up?”
“Boss wanted me to play messenger dog again,” he says with an eye roll, turning around and presenting her with the back of his neck. Indeed, there’s a note tucked under his collar, a scratchy henohenomoheji on the outside. She reaches out and takes it, but before she opens it, Pakkun turns around and put a paw on her knee. “He told me to tell you ‘it’s okay to say no’, by the way.”
She blinks, because that doesn’t make any sense. Then she opens the note and it makes a little sense.
Sakura,
I know your shift’s over at five. Dinner at my apartment around seven? I’ll cook.
There might even be fresh dango.
p.s. I heard dog hair doesn’t stick to Iwa silk.
Strangely, there’s… none of the telltale characteristics of a Kakashi note. Usually, his notes are written on a scrap of paper or a receipt, words scratched out, barely legible. Instead, the note’s on good paper. There’s no ink blots or scratched out words anywhere in sight. She can even read it at first glance. If it hadn’t been delivered by Pakkun, she’d think it was a fake. “Uh, Pakkun?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re sure it was Kakashi that gave you this note? Not… I dunno, someone henged into him?” she asks, eyeing the note a little dubiously.
Pakkun’s sniff is almost offended. “Of course I’m sure! Those Inuzuka punks might be too dumb to tell who’s who half the time, but I know Kakashi like the back of my paw. It was him.”
“…okay,” Sakura says, eyeing the note strangely. “Tell him I’ll be there, would you?” With that, she gets up and wanders away, forgetting her tray of food entirely. She manages to weasel out of her shift an entire half hour early by finishing her surgery early and filing the paperwork in record time.
She calls Ino as soon as she gets home.
“Moshi moshi, Yamanaka residence!”
“Sai! Put Ino on the phone!”
“Hello, Ugly. Ino is —“
“PUT HER ON THE PHONE. NOW. OR YOU WON’T BE CAPABLE OF MAKING MORE CHILDREN.”
“…..what the fuck, Forehead? Sai just ran into the kitchen, turned off the stove, and dragged me over here. What did you say?! I’ve never seen him so pale.”
“Threatened his balls. Listen, Ino, I need your help.”
“Don’t you always?”
“No, seriously. I got a note from Kakashi at work today and it’s so weird.” She reads the note out. Ino stays silent the entire time — so silent Sakura wonders if Ino put the phone down.
But she finishes, and a minute later Ino says, “That’s a note, all right.” There’s something like laughter in her voice and Sakura can’t help her sigh.
“No shit, Shikamaru!” she snaps. “But what does that even mean? Dog hair doesn’t stick to Iwa silk? What makes Iwa silk different?”
“Uh, I’m pretty sure that’s just Kakashi-speak for ‘wear something nice’, Forehead,” Ino says with a scoff. “Maybe he had a shitty day and wants some eye candy.” She pauses, and Sakura hears the devil possessing Ino in the silence. “Maybe he had a really shitty day and he wants to slip you some sensei dick.”
“I told you not to call it that, Pig!” Sakura hisses into the phone, flushing angrily. But that does make sense. He knows she’s single, and he doesn’t know — or at least, she hopes he doesn’t — about her crush. It’s perfectly normal to hit up a friend-with-benefits for the benefits part after a bad day. “I… yeah, okay. Thanks. I’d better go or I’m going to be lateloveyoubye.” She rushes the last few words out and slams the phone down before rushing to the bathroom. This is the first time Kakashi’s started anything — or rather, the first time he’s booty-called her instead of her ambushing him. She’s not going to be gross.
Somehow, she ends up spending more time getting ready for this… thing… than she has for any date in years. There’s half a dozen dresses from Iwa and she debates between two for at least ten minutes. She ends up settling on one vaguely reminiscent of her genin outfit, though far more mature. The qipao-style dress is the color of crushed mulberries, with tiny black blossoms embroidered all over, and simple white edging. There’s matching slippers. Given that the slit in the dress goes nearly all the way to the top of her hip, she debates switching to heels or wearing shorts beneath, but decides against both. While she might not have tits like Tsunade’s, she knows she has nice legs, and the ankle-length red silk frames them perfectly.
Then she fusses with her hair for a solid hour, trying to decide if she wants to tug the mid-back lengths into a bun, or a ponytail, or wear a headband, or a braid… After she puts a braid in for the the tenth time and unravels it, she groans and slumps forward against her vanity for a minute, the impact sending her jewelry box sliding. When she straightens back up, she sighs and grabs the box, deciding to look through. Maybe if she finds earrings, she’ll be able to decide on her hair.
She pokes through the box, but it’s not until she shakes it that she catches a gleam of something red in the back. Sakura frowns and digs through the chains, reaching for the gleam. It’s one of her mother’s hair combs — Sakura remembers seeing her mother pin her hair back with them when she was little. It’s one of the only things that’s remained a constant in her life: when, or if, she ever marries, she wants to wear the combs just like her mother did. Her mother still has the other, but she gave Sakura the fancier one when she turned 18. It’s whale bone, carved into the shape of a spray of cherry leaves, and carefully painted in a dozen different shades of green. Just slightly left of center is the only thing on the comb that’s not green: a cardinal, perched on one of the branches, his breast gleaming with minuscule rubies. She’s never had a reason to wear it before.
Almost hesitant, she sets the comb in front of her and reaches up, twisting the right side of her hair back from her forehead in a knot, pressed tight to her head. Then she weaves the long teeth of the comb into the knot and looks in the mirror. Perhaps it’s her imagination, but… she almost looks like a woman, even to herself. After another long moment of lingering, she eschews lipstick and leaves, locking her apartment behind her and actually walking through the village for once.
She comes to a stop at Kakashi’s apartment door and hesitates for a second, glad he’s penthouse so nobody else can see her nerves. Sakura’s never come through the door of his apartment before. Ever. She’s always come in through the balcony. She stares at the door for a long minute, screwing up her courage to knock, and —
The door opens right as she raises her hand. “Yo,” Kakashi greets her, towel in hand. Sakura has to bite her lip to keep her jaw from dropping. In fifteen years, she’s never seen Kakashi like this. His jounin uniform’s nowhere in sight, and neither is his mask. Instead, he’s wearing a deep blue shirt, the first two buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, over the dressy pants she’s pretty sure he wore to Naruto’s wedding. She has to pinch herself to stop staring at his collarbones, so pretty and out in the open. “Supper’s almost ready,” he says, stepping aside to let her in. “And, uh —“ he pauses. “You’re — that’s a pretty — you look good.”
Sakura follows him in, confused beyond words. Why is he stuttering? Her confusion keeps her from noticing the changes to the apartment right away. Then something brushes her arm and she snaps back into herself just in time for her to see — “Flowers,” she breathes, turning and looking around the apartment. “So many flowers.” There’s a vase on the coffee table, camellias scattered on the bookshelves, carnations peeking out from behind Kakashi’s sparse few pictures… anywhere and everywhere there’s any room at all, there’s flowers. It’s like a tiny forest of flowers.
“They — you’re — the flowers are for you.” Kakashi’s deep voice interrupts her thoughts. But there’s something tremulous, almost excited, in it. She spins toward the kitchen and finds him standing there, studying the carpet, hands buried in his pockets. He clearly wants to cross his arms, but he’s refraining.
“They are?” she breathes, bending down to touch the vase on the coffee table. And then, some of the flower language she remembers from the Academy filters into her brain as she touches the delicate petals. Camellias. Waiting, longing, in love, depending on the color. Gardenias, secret love. Forget-me-not, true love. She swallows, heart nearly beating out of her chest as she stands and looks at Kakashi. “But… why?” she asks, taking a few steps closer — close enough to see the tenseness in his jaw.
- - -
“But… why?” she asks, and he doesn’t have an answer. He’s faced down shinobi and legends and gods. She, this, terrifies him more than any of them.
“I think why not is a better question,” he says, throat tight. “But I —“ he shuts his eyes, grits his teeth, tries to find the courage for this. “I don’t know how to be happy. I never have. My entire life feels like a a — a slideshow of ‘what’s the worst thing that could happen’ constantly happening. But sometimes you smile, and you laugh, and I… it’s like air after drowning.” He pauses, and waits, to see if she has something to add. He wants to open his eyes, but if he looks at her now, he’ll never say it. “I’m not sure I know what love is, but I think I love you, Sakura.”
He didn’t think he had any expectations. How could he? He hoped and he prayed and he wished but reality has never bent to his will, so why should it now? But she is silent. Whatever he imagined, it was not silence. Her chakra is still in front of him, unmoving. She hasn’t left, hasn’t fled. He opens his eyes.
She’s standing there, tears in her eyes and hand over her mouth — but they are not tears of anger or rage. Her eyes are hopeful. “Why?” she whispers, an echo of her last question.
He doesn’t have an answer again. He just shrugs, tries to find something to say, and then words won’t stop pouring out of him because he looks at her and she’s like a fever dream, a bright bloom peeping out of a forest of flowers. “I don’t know. I wish I did. I woke up one morning, and you weren’t there, and I realized I wanted you there every day for the rest of my life because of your smile and your scent and the way you say my name and how you hug me when you’re happy —“
Something slams into him and he stumbles back for an instant before correcting to stay on his feet, only to find himself with an armful of Sakura. She looks at him, just looks, eyes swimming with tears and joy, and smiles. It’s like a ray of light, of hope, slashing through the dark parts of him that remain. “I… I don’t know for sure, but I think I might love you too,” she whispers.
He answers her by sliding his arms around her waist and drawing her close, by kissing her and kissing her and never wanting to let go. In her red silk dress, limned by the sunset’s golden light, she looks like a heaven-sent flower. “Then I can die happy,” he whispers back.
“No dying,” she says, a soft scowl on her face. “I absolutely forbid it.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
It turns out to be a good thing Kakashi chose to make sushi. Anything else would have burnt by the time they remember the rest of the world exists.
- - -
Somehow, this feels like a dream, but it’s more solid than any of her dreams have ever been. Even her nightmares don’t feel this real. They’re tucked into one of his huge armchairs, Sakura perched on his leg, his arm draped around her waist. Despite the plate of fresh sushi cradled carefully between them, they’re spending more time talking than eating. “To… to be honest, I always figured you’d turn me down,” Sakura admits, eyes averted. “Sex is one thing, but… a relationship means being at least a little public.”
“Why would I turn you down?” he asks, poking at the sushi on the plate. “You’re too good for me. Beautiful, young, smart, strong…” he trails off and kisses her gently before nabbing a piece of sushi and shoving it into his mouth.
“I’m also stubborn, mean, and a pain in the ass,” she says, looking back at him. “How come you never told me, you ass?”
He sighs and finishes chewing before he answers. “I didn’t want you to feel obligated to love me,” he says quietly. “I wanted you to live. If Kikyo made you happy, if you still wanted Sasuke, I didn’t want to take those things from you. And you deserve better.”
She cuffs his ear gently. “Better? Better than what?” she demands, stealing the chopsticks from him. “Kakashi, you’re literally a hero of two wars. You helped save the world. You’re a kage and a genius —“
“And I’m broken,” he interrupts, his voice somber. She raises an eyebrow at him and aims for a piece of sushi for herself. “Sakura… my PTSD is never going to go away. I’m fourteen years older than you. I was supposed to be your teacher, and I failed you. I still stand and talk to Obito and Rin long enough to make me late to work most mornings. I’ve accidentally strangled more than one of my partners because they weren’t careful about waking me up. I haven’t —“ he exhales. “Earlier, I… that’s the first time I’ve said ‘love’ and meant it in decades.” He offers her a wry grin. “I guess emotionally stunted geniuses are your type, hm?”
“Maybe you never heard it, but there’s a saying my mom liked to use on me every time I got upset about something going wrong,” Sakura says slowly, reaching out and cupping his cheek in her hand. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger — and you’ve survived so much, Kakashi. I don’t know if I could’ve stayed as strong as you, for as long as you have. You’re incredible.” She punctuates the words with a kiss.
- - -
Snail eyes Cat, and Cat’s gaze is canted sideways, through the balcony door. She’s also giggling gleefully, enough for Snail to hear the tiny chortles. “Neh, Cat-san, are you really sure you’re okay with…?” She waves her hand towards the Hokage’s apartment, where Sakura’s curled into Kakashi’s side in one of the large armchairs. His arm’s draped around her shoulders and, despite the plate of fresh sushi cradled carefully between them, they’re not eating very much at all. They’ve been like this for half an hour and only 4 pieces of sushi are gone. Instead, they talk and trade soft kisses.
Cat turns her head and tilts it a little, assessing Snail calmly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Uh, that’s your ex and her old teacher,” Snail says, incredulous. “Why would you be okay with it?”
Cat snorts and slides down to lean against the railing, still out of sight of the lovers inside. “Because they’re happy, and I think they have the chance to make each other happy for a long, long time.” She rolls her neck, side to side, and then she looks straight at Snail again as she asks, “Define love for me, would you?”
Snail leans back, confused. “Uh, when you… care a lot for someone? They… make you happy?”
Cat hums. “The best definition of love I’ve ever read is ‘wanting the best for someone, even if it’s not you’. For me, true love’s never been about passion, or sex, or any of the shit you read about in bad romance novels. It's about finding someone who completes you, who’s your complement, who wants the best for you in the same way you want for them, because when you’re focused on making each other happy, the rest is easy.” A heartbeat and then she adds, “Also, communication. All the love in the universe isn’t worth shit if you clam up and tell lies and nonsense instead of talking it out like a grown-ass woman.”
She thinks about that for a minute, and… she likes the way it sounds. It’s strange, but sweet, and it fits them. Then something strikes her — “Wait, does that mean you still love her?”
She can almost hear the soft, slow smile in Cat’s voice when she speaks. “I’ll always love her in some way, but romantically? No. She could’ve been it for me, but I would’ve driven her out of her head with boredom.”
“You? Boring?”
“Comparatively, yes — or did I accidentally take out three S-ranked criminals and like thirty other rogue nin while I wasn’t looking?”
“Okay. That’s fair.”
- - -
Eventually, they realize they should sleep. Sakura looks at the clock, bites her lips, and looks back at Kakashi. “I… should probably go home, shouldn’t I?” she says quietly.
“You could,” he replies, the hand around her waist gently stroking her side. “Or you could stay here. I have it on reliable authority my bed is comfortable.”
“Only if you make me an omelet in the morning. My omelets never turn out right,” she says, wiggling out of his grasp and stretching as she stands. He hums, the sound close enough to a yes that she accepts it. He follows her to the bedroom, and somehow, they fall into place in each other’s bedtime routine. They’ve never done this before. Not like this. There’s been missions, always, but… it’s not the same. In Sugawara, he didn’t walk into the bathroom to brush his teeth while she sat on the toilet. She didn’t steal his shirt as soon as he slipped out of it or hang her dress in his closet. Almost every other time they’ve spent the night together, it was preceded by frenzied touches and arousal. This is just… nice.
“You’re the only person I’ve ever seen who brushes their teeth like a dentist,” Sakura mumbles as she crawls over him to get into bed.
“And you’re one of five people I know who prefers to sleep against the wall,” he points out as she wiggles down under the covers and lays her head on his chest. “You don’t feel trapped?”
“Why would I?” she asks, curling her chilly feet under his legs. “You know damn well I’ve never met a wall I can’t destroy with my pinky finger. Besides, I like having something — or someone — at my back.”
“Mm,” he murmurs, nuzzling her forehead just above her seal. “Speaking of people at your back…” he trails off and she opens one eye to peer up at him. He looks just a little worried. “How do you — I don’t —“ He huffs and starts over. “How public do you want our relationship to be?”
“Up to you, dear,” she mumbles, already half asleep. It was a long day at the hospital, and that’s without taking into account her nerves. “According to village gossip, I’m basically the town bicycle.” She feels his body go stiff and snorts into his chest. “What, you’ve never heard them? There’s rumors about me sleeping with you, Sasuke, Genma-san, Yamato-senpai, Shizune, and even shishou. I’ve also heard that I’m secretly Naruto’s second wife, that Ino, Sai, and I are a triad…” She shrugs. “It bugged me for a while, but shishou said she had the same thing happen to her, even before Jiraiya started writing Icha Icha. So, really, it depends on how much you want to sully your reputation.”
The hand around her shoulders pulls her a bit closer. “I’m pretty sure I stopped having a good reputation when I started reading Icha Icha in public. And the news about your dashing rescue hasn’t changed the rumors at all?”
She blinks. “…you know, I have heard less of them this week. Do you think if I go kill a hundred or so more rogue nin, they’ll stop?”
He smiles into her hair and murmurs, “It’s hard to tell.” He says something else a minute later, but she’s already too far gone to make sense of it. For once, she doesn’t dream, something that usually only happens when she’s absolutely exhausted or freshly fucked. Sleeping in Kikyo’s arms had given her the same dreamlessness, the fizzy warmth in the morning; nobody other than Kikyo and Kakashi have done that. Even Sasuke.
She wakes up in the morning to find his hands roaming her body — skimming over her legs and sides, fingers trailing up her arms and over her neck. They shifted in the night so that he’s spooning her, giving him plenty of access to her, but his touches don’t turn sexual until she whines and wiggles her hips against him. Then they become more adventurous, sliding beneath her shirt as she leans her head back to kiss him. It’s an awkward angle, but she loves the way he feels wrapped around her.
When he finally slides his fingers into her panties and finds them saturated with her wetness, his head drops to her shoulder as he groans. “Too much for you to handle, old man?” she teases him, rolling her hips gently.
“Never,” he rumbles, voice deep from both sleep and arousal. She can’t help her shudder. She adores morning sex when it’s good, and Kakashi’s never been anything but. This time, though, their usual fervor seems slowed. She has the day off, but she knows he has to go in to the office. He still takes his time, making her shudder and shriek her way through four orgasms before he so much as slides into her. Her only other attempt at having sex in this position went badly, but… this is nice. She wants to touch him, to run her hands all over him, because he’s hers and she can’t believe it, but being in his arms like this feels like a fever dream. It’s the most sensual sex she’s ever had, somehow as reverent as it is lustful. She’s used to love bites and hickeys, prepared for them. She’s not prepared for him to groan, “Mine,” against her ear when he finally comes.
She’s not prepared for the wild tumult of emotions inside her at the thought. His. Her once-crush on Sasuke was the last time she ever wanted to be someone’s. All of her relationships since have been… the only person she saw a future with was Kikyo. The rest weren’t bad, but there was no burning desire inside her to be theirs, to be by their side for as long as the fates allowed. But this — now — she claps a hand over her mouth and tries to quell the tears of relief and happiness that spring up. It doesn’t work. They start sliding down her cheeks.
“Sakura?” Kakashi says, pulling away and turning her onto her back so he can hover over her. “What’s — did I do something wrong?” There’s so much worry, so much concern on his face, that it makes the tears fall faster.
“No,” she hiccups, reaching for him and pulling him to press her forehead to his. “You — being yours — I didn’t realize how happy it would make me.” He blinks, and the concern fades into happiness, the worry into a warm smile as he wipes away the tears with his thumb and presses a gentle kiss to her lips.
“I… you don’t know how glad I am to hear that,” he whispers, cradling her face in his hands and not moving for a minute. It feels like he draws away far too soon. She turns her head to watch him slip into the sweatpants he kicked off a few minutes ago and grab the robe hanging on the back of his door. “And I hope you know you’re the only person who’s ever gotten breakfast out of me,” he grumbles playfully. “If you want to wash up, everything’s pretty easy to find. Let me know if you need anything.”
He leaves forty-five minutes later, a half-hour after he’s supposed to be at the tower. She slips the key to his apartment onto her keyring and tidies up, humming happily the entire time. The mulberry silk dress stays in his closet, and she filches some of his jounin gear. It’s all the same stuff as she normally wears, just a size or two larger. She wishes she could wear his shirt all day, but she has a shift at the hospital. His shirt smells like hints of sweat and scent-blocking soap, the kind only ANBU are supposed to use. Of course he still uses it. She lays it aside sadly when she changes into her hospital uniform.
- - -
Kakashi almost floats through the day. Shikamaru notices his good mood, but doesn’t say a word. Not even the immense stacks of paperwork left over from his trip to Suna phase him. Sakura’s working noon to midnight at the hospital, so he takes advantage of Shikamaru’s four o’clock ‘smoke break’ and lays in wait for her in her office. Twenty minutes after he gets there, she breezes into the room, nose buried in a medical chart. He takes great glee in grabbing her waist and spinning her towards him to steal a kiss. At first, she squeaks, but then she realizes it’s him and relaxes into the kiss. He kicks the door shut and pins her against it, kissing her breathless. She tastes like hospital coffee and dango.
He’s never liked the flavor of dango so much. “Missed you,” he breathes against her ear when she pushes him away to catch her breath.
“I missed you too, you menace,” she grumbles, weakly slapping his chest. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be doing Hokage things?”
“Technically, anything I do is a Hokage thing,” he tells her before kissing her again. “Therefore, kissing you is a ‘Hokage thing’.”
“Smartass.” But she winds her arms around his neck and drags him down, making him just as breathless as he made her. When he finally decides to leave, he leaves behind a box of dango on her desk. In truth, he doesn’t expect to see her again that day. Technically, he doesn’t.
That’s because sometime in the middle of the night, he feels the mattress move beneath him and cracks open one eye. Sakura’s crawling into bed with him, hair damp, dressed only in one of his shirts. “S’kra?” he mumbles into his pillow.
“Shhh, go back to sleep,” she hushes him, nestling into the space between him and the wall. He obeys, drifting off with the scent of flowers in his nose.
- - -
For the next day or so, it’s like they’re living in a dream. The next day, Sakura’s ten to ten at the hospital. That leaves her a few hours in the morning to track down her teammates and invite them to a dinner. She leaves Ino a note, knowing that she’ll spill everything if she calls or talks to her friend in person. Naruto tells her Hinata will be back tomorrow from her mission, so she calls a restaurant and reserves a room. Tsunade’s camping out in Shizune’s spare room, and she plans to leave in the morning — but she promises she’ll stay for Sakura’s dinner.
Even her hospital shift goes well. Only a few people hit on her. Nobody’s sick, nobody screws up, nothing happens. She wonders about it for a minute, wonders if the shoe’s about to drop, and banishes the thought. If the universe decided to be nice to her for once, she’s hardly going to complain.
That night, she actually beats Kakashi to his apartment. She has tomorrow off, so she brings clothing, hoping he’ll eschew work and lounge around the apartment with her. He wakes her up with kisses, and it turns into more slow, sensual morning sex. “You’re sure you can’t skive off today?” she pouts, watching him dress.
“Aa, I wish I could, Sakura-chan,” he says, honest sadness in his voice. “But the old bats —“ she clears her throat. “The elders want to discuss something today, and they refused to re-schedule again.”
She fixes him her one and only breakfast specialty, scrambled eggs, and watches him go. Then she steals his shirt and goes to the market. She’s trying to decide which pre-made donburi she wants to stock up on for lunches when Bull finds her, message tucked into his collar. He grins at her the entire time she’s reading it, something strangely gleeful in his face.
Sakura-chan,
Please come to the small meeting room of the tower at 13:30. The elders want to talk about how you rescued me.
p.s. miss you.
p.p.s. bring coffee.
Sakura smiles at it because the note’s so very Kakashi. At this point, she’s pretty sure he’s entirely incapable of not putting post scripts in everything. She wonders, for a moment, why the elders want to talk about his rescue. “Mmm, probably just about the ANBU thing,” she decides.
She’s at the tower by 1:10, hoping to pop into his office and see him before the meeting. “He’s talking to the elders,” Izumo informs her over a stack of forms. “And boy, I don’t know what’s going on in there, but I actually heard him shouting earlier.” Her eyebrows almost touch her hairline. Kakashi doesn’t shout, especially outside of battlefields. “Yeah, exactly.”
Though she lingers there for a minute, he doesn’t show up so she goes to the meeting room and waits. And waits. Kakashi being late is practically a guarantee, but the elders? The longer she waits, the more worried she gets. The door opens fifteen minutes after the meeting was supposed to start. She turns, prepared to greet whoever’s entering, but the greeting dies on her lips. Kakashi stalks into the room, fury radiating from every inch of his body. Some people, like Tsunade, get loud and blustery when they’re angriest. Kakashi, though, becomes still and precise — likely a legacy of his years in ANBU and Root. His back’s straighter than she’s seen it in years, hands perfectly limp at his side, fingers brushing against where his kunai would be if he were armed. When he pulls his chair at the raised dais out, it goes exactly as far as it needs to for him to slip into it. There is no door slamming or chair throwing — only icy, deadly fury.
The elders follow after him, as well as Shikamaru, but she pays far less attention to them. Kakashi meets her eyes as the council settles into their chairs and Shikamaru slips paper into the typewriter. It’s been years, at least since the end of the war, since she saw this much anger in his eyes. She offers him a tiny smile and mouths kai, hoping her surprise distracts him. He blinks, and she sees the fury recede a little. He glances at her and raises a hand in the seal — the genjutsu she slipped over his cup of coffee disappears. A little of the tension goes out of his shoulders as he picks it up, and he offers her a tiny eye crease.
Then Koharu speaks. “Hokage-sama, would you like to relate the points of our discussion to Miss Haruno?”
“No,” Kakashi says, every bit of the lost tension seeping back into his voice. If anything, his back gets straighter.
“I think —“ Koharu starts. Kakashi’s head whips towards her, eyes narrow. She closes her mouth and gulps. “I would be honored to, ah, explain, Hokage-sama,” she says instead. Then she sets her arms on the table and turns back towards Sakura. “Haruno Sakura, we are grateful for your strong and immediate response to Rokudaime-sama’s kidnapping and imprisonment. However —“ Sakura resists rolling her eyes. Of course there’s a however. “In the course of your response, you disobeyed two direct orders from the acting Hokage and threatened him.”
“I didn’t threaten —“ she sputters.
Homura cuts in. “So you did not tell Uzumaki-san ‘don’t try to stop me’, then, as was reported by other people in the office?”
“I did, but —“
“A threat,” Koharu intones. “There are, though, additional matters to be considered in your… rescue. Sunagakure kindly provided the autopsies of those you attacked. Over half of the people you attacked died to jutsu neither we nor Suna could identify, which means you have either stolen forbidden jutsu or created your own without reporting their creation. Your reckless behavior also revealed your status as a Konoha ANBU operative, allowing nations to connect previously unaffiliated assassinations to us.”
She swallows. The jutsu are hers, but she honestly hadn’t thought much about the Jade Flicker being connected to Haruno Sakura after Shikamaru told them about Iwa’s reaction. Homura watches her for a second and then he continues, “Given that the actions you took were successful, Rokudaime-sama believes your punishment should be minimal. However, what you did not only endangered Konoha, but showed complete disregard for those above you. Our initial suggestion was that you be stripped of all shinobi status.” Her breath leaves her. “However, we recognize your past years of service and heroism. In light of that, we are prepared to re-instate you as a full jounin after a six month suspension, provided you comply with certain conditions.”
She takes a deep breath. Then another. “And the conditions?”
A twinge of killing intent flickers across the room, just for a second. She glances up at Kakashi, who looks more like a wrathful god by the minute, before looking back to the elders. Koharu speaks this time, like they’re tag teaming her. “You will not be allowed on solo missions. You will not be allowed to return to ANBU. You must inform us of any and all jutsu you have created, as well as how to execute them, in order for the information to be placed in the Konoha archives.” She relaxes a little. Those aren’t the worst conditions. But Koharu opens her mouth again, and Sakura feels a sense of dread. “And if you wish to take missions with a jounin team rather than work as a medic-nin or a teacher, you must marry Uchiha Sasuke and help him rebuild his clan.”
- - -
Kakashi watches Sakura’s jaw drop in slow motion. “You want me to what?” she almost shouts, leaping to her feet. “Why the hell —“
“The Uchiha knows you well. You are the foremost kunoichi of your generation, you have no kekkai genkai which would interfere with the inheritance of the Sharingan, and you have not entertained any serious relationships in several months,” Homura says. “We feel this is an optimal solution that strengthens Konoha and allows you to retain independence.”
“They feel it’s an optimal solution,” Kakashi manages to grind out through clenched teeth, eyes pinned to his lover. “I told them otherwise.”
“It is an optimal solution,” Homura interjects. “Despite Miss Haruno’s accomplishments, she is a relative nobody in Konoha. She has no clan to back her up. Her family is merchants and genin. We cannot allow insubordination of this level to go unanswered. Were she part of a clan, someone whose family showed their dedication to Konoha… it might be different.”
Sakura just… stares, her eyes flicking between the two elders and up to him, for a minute. Then she squares her shoulders and visibly calms herself. “You seem remarkably intent on losing all access to the Senju archives,” she says, face blank.
He blinks, and he can feel the confusion emanating from the two at the table just below him. “What on earth do the Senju archives have to do with this, child?” Koharu snaps.
Sakura smiles. It’s so like Tsunade’s sly grin that he almost laughs out loud. “Tsunade-shishou loathes the Uchiha and everything to do with them. Four years ago, Tsunade-shishou made me the official heir to the Senju on the sole condition I never marry Uchiha Sasuke or carry his children. If I do, everything reverts to the daimyo.”
Kakashi can’t help the grin that breaks across his face, and yet again he’s glad for his mask. He didn’t know about this — but it makes sense. Four years ago puts the change not long after Tsunade threw the Iwa bingo book at his head. “Why were we not notified of this?” Homura demands, standing to his feet.
Sakura’s shrug is like silk. “The daimyo has her will on record, and shishou filed the copy here herself. It’s not my fault you never noticed.” Her eyes dart up to him, and though they’re still deadly serious, he sees a gleam of playfulness in them. “I’m willing to tell you about all my jutsu, and I’m even willing to follow the other conditions,” she says. “I’m not willing to be forced into being an Uchiha broodmare, even if I didn’t have a partner. And I do.” Her gaze softens as she stares at him, something questioning in them. Tell them if you want to. It’s okay.
Both elders startle at that. He cocks his head, just to check. You’re sure? She nods, the movement incremental. His anger doesn’t leave entirely, but excitement replaces much of it. He’s — if they tell the elders this, now, they’ll expect marriage from them. And children. Both are things that severely frighten him… and yet, he finds himself strangely excited by the idea of white-haired, green-eyed little devils. “Aa, are those conditions acceptable?” he says, eyes fixed on hers as he leans forward. “Or would you prefer to let the Senju archives go and have the Hatake bloodline die out?”
Koharu drops something. Homura chokes. Shikamaru’s hands drop onto the typewriter keyboard, ruining his transcript. Koharu slowly, slowly turns towards the dais, raising her head to look at him. “I — am I to understand that you are, ah…” she trails off, clearly searching for a way to put it.
“Sakura-chan, would you like to answer or should I?” he sings out. Koharu’s gaze darts back to the pink-haired woman, who’s now struggling to hide a grin.
She sighs at him, but it’s a fond sigh. “Kakashi and I are involved, yes, and it is… serious,” she says, eyes darting to the side.
“Hmph,” Homura grumbles, finally rid of the frog in his throat. “A likely story. How are we to know this isn’t some plot you’ve cooked up? Everyone knows you’re soft on your old team.”
A second later, three black blurs materialize in between Sakura and the elders — all ANBU, one wearing a cat mask, the second a bear mask, and the third a snail mask. “Ah, I believe all three of us can confirm the… reality… of a relationship between Haruno-sand and Hokage-sama,” Bear says, voice a little uneasy. “There are also multiple other ANBU that can… corroborate.”
Kakashi blinks at Grizzly, startled that Tenzo knew and never said anything. He decides to put that aside for later, though. “Some of them could even corroborate all night long,” he says cheerily, resting his chin on his fist. He should be a little calmer and more serious, he knows, but he’s too elated about Sakura escaping the elders’ edict.
“Kakashi!” Sakura snaps, flushing bright red. He just twinkles at her and returns his gaze to the ANBU’s standoff with the elders.
“What kind of evidence do you have?” Koharu says, peering at the operatives. “And take your masks off! I want to see if you’re biased.”
He knows who Cat and Grizzly are, but he’s never seen Snail unmasked. She reminds him of a brunette Hinata, face soft, round, and sweet. “Most of the evidence we have is rather inappropriate to repeat out loud, honored elders,” Kikyo says, sweeping into a bow. “Of course, if you would like me to narrate the occurrences I was… witness to, I can.” Then she twists around, eyes Sakura, and turns back with a grin. “Also, I’m pretty sure that’s Hokage-sama’s shirt.”
The elders glance between the ANBU, clearly frustrated. While Tenzo might be able to be convinced into a lie like this, the other two are unlikely to be biased. Everyone knows Kikyo and Sakura dated. Though they’re still on good terms with each other, what reason would she have to lie and say Sakura’s in a relationship with Kakashi instead of herself?
“…very well,” Koharu grumbles. “Away with you, ye devils.” They disappear, just as quickly as they appeared. “I suppose we shall… rescind that particular condition. However, your jutsu must be recorded, demonstrated, and stored in short order, do you hear me?”
Sakura nods. “I don’t know if anyone else will be able to use most of them, but sure.” That makes him raise an eyebrow at her. She sees it and explains, “Despite my intense training and my seal, my chakra pool remains rather small compared to some. All of my jutsu were developed based on my medical knowledge and my extensive chakra control. There are a few that are easier to use than the others, but even those are likely best performed by medic-nin.”
“Like?” he prods gently. She wrinkles her nose at him but answers.
“One of them is a genjutsu based on the same principle as the infinite tsukiyomi. Rather than relying on images the caster has to craft beforehand, or optical illusions, it uses the power of the brain against itself. When chakra’s applied to certain areas in the brain, in certain ways, it stimulates them. That’s what makes genjutsu cast with the Sharingan so effective — it calls on the brain of the victim rather than the caster. This jutsu stimulates the part of the brain most responsible for hallucinations, as well as the parts that regulate certain functions. There are three variations of this one. One makes the brain overproduce the chemicals that appear when someone’s afraid, and removes upper limits on chemical production, making the hallucinations something their mind thinks is terrifying. It also places a shunt in the victim’s chakra system that uses their own chakra to keep fueling the illusions. If the genjutsu is allowed to keep going long enough, they basically end up scaring themselves to death.”
She takes a deep breath and continues. “The other two variations are much the same, but instead of producing fear chemicals, they each produce two different kinds of… more pleasurable chemicals. Recent psychological studies suggest information gained from painful torture is actually less likely to be accurate, so I worked with Ibiki-san to develop these two variations. One overwhelms the target with sexual hallucinations and pleasure, while the other basically makes them hallucinate something closer to their ideal world. These two are… far harder to kill with, though it is theoretically possible.” She glances at the elders and then back to him. “Due to the nature of the genjutsu, medic-nin are best suited to cast it. It’s also optimal for them because it uses far less chakra than typical genjutsu, leaving them with plenty for healing.” She pauses for a second before adding, “I told Ibiki-san he should feel free to claim it as his own. Did he not…?”
Homura coughs. “T&I has, ah, always had a certain amount of… freedom… in the ways it operates.”
By the time they’re done quizzing her about all the jutsu she’s created, it’s nearly six. Kakashi’s also equal parts terrified and turned on. For all his discussions with Sakura, he didn’t know she was creating jutsu like these. Some are terrifying in their simplicity. Others are terrifying because of how simply she explains them, like her ‘chikiri’. Before the elders can leave, he flickers next to her and then away, depositing them both in his office. “What do you mean, you ‘made shiden better’?” he demands. “It’s already good! And since when have you been able to use lightning?”
She laughs and executes a few one handed seals before holding her hand in front of his face. Rather than the vibrant energy of a chidori or a shiden, her skin’s barely illuminated. Lightning crackles over her fingernails and extends farther out, like tiny knives. “Based around the idea of chakra scalpels and chidori. It’s mostly useful when I need to cauterize something, honestly, since it’s short range,” she says, shaking it off her hand. “I’ve been working on all f— mmmh—“
Even if she hadn’t just spent four hours talking about creating intricate jutsu with ease, he’d have kissed her. He might have waited until they got somewhere more private first, but his office is empty and she’s too beautiful for him to handle. “So much for that dinner, huh?” he says when they break apart.
She grins. “I actually called in and reserved a private room at Ryuusei for us at seven, and then I did the rounds to invite everyone.” Then her face falls a little. “I… do feel kind of bad Sasuke’s going to be last to find out.”
“If he wanted fresh news, he should’ve stuck around,” Kakashi says with a sniff before he drops another kiss on her lips. “Besides, him staying away so much is part of why the late scarecrow got the worm.”
She snorts and then squints at him. “Wait, are you saying I’m a worm?”
“No, but I do enjoy it when you squirm,” he purrs, sinking his hands into her hair as he kisses her again. They’re both breathing hard when they break away from each other, but there’s a Look in her eye.
“We need to go get ready for dinner,” she says gently, dodging his attempts to drag her into another kiss. “Or at least I do.”
He pauses, mid-attempt, and pulls back. Her voice’s mostly even, but there’s a tiny wobble to it. “Sakura?” he says. She raises an eyebrow at her. “I — if you don’t want to tell the others yet, we don’t have to. We can say the dinner’s about the meeting with the elders.”
She smiles and reaches up to stroke his face. “The thought is appreciated, but… I don’t want them to hear about it from someone else. They deserve the truth. All of them.” She flushes a little and glances away, adding in a tiny mumble, “Besides, I… don’t want to hide you.”
They just stand there for a few minutes, foreheads pressed together, savoring each other.
- - -
Tsunade’s a lot of things, but an idiot isn’t one of them. Sakura doesn’t just arrange dinners like this out of nowhere. The tiny team dinners at Kakashi’s, certainly. But a restaurant? The last time she did something like this was for Ino’s birthday. From the moment she passes through the doors of the yakiniku restaurant, she’s on alert, looking for any possible signs of what’s going on.
It results in a splitting headache very quickly. Naruto’s just as loud as ever, and he and Sai still don’t quite get along like they should. Ino’s bellowing at them doesn’t help either. After a little while, she just claims a seat at the table and rubs her temples. She senses Sakura before she sees her, so she knows exactly when to bat away the glowing hand aimed at her. “I swear it’ll be all better if they would just shut the hell up,” she groans. “Is the sake here yet?” A bottle of her favorite slides into her line of sight. She blinks at it and turns her head, eyes narrowing on her apprentice. “Okay. Spit it out. Who’s the father and when are you having it?”
Sakura chokes and sputters, “Shishou! I — you — I’m not…” She mouths the last word.
“Well, what is it? You wouldn’t be buttering me up with the good stuff if it wasn’t something big.” She doesn’t object, though, grabbing one of the water glasses from the end of the table and pouring a shot into the bottom of the cup. “Yell at them, would you? My head hurts too much.”
Sakura obeys, and Tsunade watches her as she shakes sense into both of her teammates. It’s not long after that that the second-to-last person — Yamato — arrives, and the food follows shortly after. They’ve been eating for fifteen minutes when Kakashi finally shows up, simply flickering into existence on the chair beside Sakura. “Yo.”
She glances at her successor and wonders. But he’s not leaning towards Sakura, not touching her or holding her hand, any of the telltales of new couples. While he’s not wearing his flak jacket (which amounts to dressy wear for Kakashi), everyone else is a little dressed up as well. It goes onto her list of possibilities. Between the sake and the food, the atmosphere mellows quickly. They’re waiting for desserts when Sakura clears her throat and stands, brushing off her dress — and it is a dress, something high-necked and green. Another sign something’s up. “So, uh, I… arranged this dinner for… to tell you all something,” she says, and there’s already a flush on her cheeks. “I wanted you to know b-before rumors started going around, and… you’re my friends, so I wanted to tell you the truth.” She clenches and unclenches her fists, exhaling hard. “And I — the truth is — I’m — we —“
“Sakura,” Tsunade hears Kakashi murmur, so quiet she can barely hear it from her spot on the other side of her apprentice. Sakura’s head jerks towards him. Tsunade doesn’t have time to blink before Kakashi’s on his feet, mask around his neck, hands cradling Sakura’s face as he kisses her. Sakura stiffens for a heartbeat and then she melts into him, her hands sliding up his chest and fisting in his shirt, dragging him close.
For a few blissful seconds, the room is so deathly silent she swears she hears a soap bubble pop. And then everyone reacts. Naruto, unsurprisingly, falls out of his chair. Hinata gasps and smiles, hands going to her cheeks. Sai… stares. Shizune chokes on her sake, and her on-again boyfriend spits out his senbon. Yamato groans and drops his face into his hands. Gai starts sobbing in joy. Ino pumps a fist in the air, an almost manic grin splitting her face as she shouts, “You go, forehead! Get that sensei dick!”
Tsunade herself can’t help her fierce grin as she shouts, “About fucking time, you brats!”
She’s pretty sure it was ‘sensei dick’ that breaks the couple free of their kiss, Sakura as red as her namesake. A tiny flush is even visible over the edge of Kakashi’s mask, already back in place. “Ino! I know I told you —“ Sakura starts.
Naruto recovers at that moment and leaps to his feet, slamming his hands on the table. “KAKA-SENSEI! WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?”
“Aa, it was a kiss, Naruto,” Kakashi answers, his eyes grinning. “I thought you knew that by now. Poor Hinata-chan, never getting any kisses.”
“Not that! How the hell did you — you took off your mask and kissed Sakura and I still couldn’t see shit!” Naruto screeches. Then he pauses, eyes wide as he reels back. “Wait. What the hell?! You kissed Sakura-chan?!?”
The entire room bursts into laughter at that because it’s so incredibly Naruto. Kakashi’s the first one to speak as the laughter dies down. “I kissed Sakura because I’m dating Sakura, Naruto.” His eyes crease up, and even with the mask on, Tsunade can tell his grin is huge. “I like her.” Something about the softness and the sweetness of his voice when he says that wrenches at Tsunade’s heart. She’s thankful that Shizune pokes her in the side just then, or she might have cried. Instead, she hands over a handful of ryo.
“And I like him,” Sakura chimes in right after Kakashi. “I — I know it’s weird, but…” she bites her lip and glances around the table.
“Trust me, this in no way, shape, or form is nearly as weird as how I found out,” Yamato groans from behind his hands. “I’m scarred, I tell you. Scarred.”
“As long as they’re happy,” Tsunade says, shooting the wood user a glare. “I guess I didn’t have to bribe you away from that Uchiha with the Senju library after all.”
- - -
That snaps Sakura out of the hazy state Kakashi’s kiss put her into and back into reality, reminding her harshly of the day’s events. There’s a considerable amount of chatter going on around the table, though Naruto’s still standing in the middle of the floor, frozen in shock. She snorts and then she whistles. Everyone, even Naruto, claps their hands over their ears and turns to look at her. “Okay! There’s a second reason we told you this tonight, so please listen carefully!” More than a few people frown in worry. Hinata drags Naruto into his seat and nods to her.
She takes a deep breath, but Kakashi starts talking first. “Sakura disobeyed direct orders from an acting Hokage —“ he nods to Naruto, “— when she decided to rescue me. The elders decided... well, they rather decided to make an example of her.” He pauses. “Their initial plan was to strip her of her shinobi status entirely.”
Naruto leaps to his feet again, mouth open, but Sakura scowls thunderously at him. He pauses and slowly, slowly, lowers himself back into his seat. “Kakashi managed to… well, technically it was ‘talking them down’. They wanted to permanently ban me from ANBU and solo missions. They also wanted me to give them the information on all of the jutsu I’ve created.”
“You’ve created jutsu on your own?” Tsunade interrupts, mouth tight.
Sakura scowls darkly at her, but answers. “What, like it’s hard? I only made, like, fifteen.” Ino chokes on her sake and tries to say something through her sputters, but Sakura speeds on. “We’ll talk about that later! There was one more condition. In order to be able to take missions outside the village, they…” She exhales. “They wanted me to be an Uchiha baby machine.”
“They WHAT?!?” Tsunade bellows, slamming her fist into the table and sending a crack down its middle. While her reaction’s loudest, it’s certainly not the only one. Sakura almost laughs at the amount of killing intent suddenly roiling in the room, seeping from the pores of every single ninja there — even Gai and Hinata. “I should’ve known those crusty-ass dirtbags would pull something like this! Why, I ought to —“
Sakura whistles again. “Please let me finish, shishou!” she gently scolds her teacher. Tsunade sulks, but sinks back into her seat. The killing intent abates a little, but still lingers as she continues. “They didn’t know that Tsunade made me the heir to the Senju five years ago, and that the only condition she had on the inheritance was I could never marry Sasuke or have his children.” Ino leans over and high-fives Tsunade, quite unexpectedly, and Sakura bites back a giggle.
“It turns out they don’t want to lose the Hatake and the Senju at the same time,” Kakashi hums, sliding his arm around her waist.
“That reminds me — why didn’t you tell the elders in that meeting you had with them?” Sakura asks, eyeing her boyfriend out of the corner of her eye.
“If you asked them to choose between the worst Uchiha in history and the best Hatake, they’d dance on the Hatake’s corpse,” he grumbles. “We’re… not nearly as valuable to them, so it wasn’t enough leverage on its own.” He pauses and then adds, “Also, I didn’t have your permission,” before dropping a tiny masked kiss on her nose.
She flushes a little as she returns her attention to the table. “So we didn’t want you guys to hear about… the stuff that was said during the meeting… and think we were trying to keep secrets, or that we didn’t want to tell you, or anything like that!” She smiles nervously, glancing around the table.
“My dearest, most eternal rival… WHAT A COOL AND YOUTHFUL SPIRIT YOU REMAIN!” Gai says, the words starting quietly and then quadrupling in volume as tears begin sliding down his face again. “Not only have you discovered a truly youthful spirit to keep by your side, you discovered a despicable plot to keep you from each other and conquered it with vigor!”
Hinata coughs gently as Gai’s shouts taper into quieter mumbles. “I’m glad for you, Kakashi-sama, Sakura-chan,” she says, her smile warm. “I hope you make each other happy.”
“He already does,” she says, smiling back just as warmly.
“Don’t think I forgot about all those new jutsu, bitch,” Ino says, leaning over the table and glowering at her friend. “What the hell do you mean, ‘only fifteen’? Most people don’t create jutsu at all, and if they do, it’s one or two!”
“Aa, she probably means the same thing she meant when she said she ‘made chidori better’,” Kakashi says, dragging her back down into their seats as she scowls at him.
“You made — Forehead, what the fuck?!” Ino shouts.
Of course, Sai waits until a lull in the conversation to put his two cents in. “Please answer a question for me, Sakura.” She blinks, but nods, a little wary. “Hokage-sama is very skilled at not allowing others to see his face. Did you see his penis or his face first?”
“SAI!”
(Later, she does the math, and realizes she did see his dick before his face. That stays secret.)
- - -
She already has a little bag, stuffed with clothing, so they waste no time returning to his balcony. As soon as they’re on his balcony, his will to resist touching her breaks. All night, he’s been holding himself back from stroking her hair, holding her hand, because he didn’t want to let the cat out of the bag too soon. The more he drank, the harder it became to resist. He reaches out and pulls her back against his chest. She’s soft and lovely and he can say she’s his, he can shout it, he can tell the world if he wanted to. She gasps, surprised but not startled, and leans her head to one side so she can catch his eyes. It exposes her neck, long and pale in the moonlight, and he cannot resist running his lips from her ear to the neckline of her dress. “Mmm,” she hums, almost a purr.
“I want you,” he murmurs, dragging down his mask so he can drop kisses along her cheek.
“How much?” she whispers as he trails his fingers over the lacy arms of her dress.
“So much it hurts,” he replies, flickering them inside. Immediately, she drops her bag and kicks it into the corner of his room before spinning in his arms and dragging his face down to hers.
“Did you think of me today?” she asks before she kisses him, hot and deep.
“Always.” His hands roam, finding her zipper and tugging it down slowly.
“I don’t mean thinking of me,” she purrs against his mouth, tugging at his belt buckle. “Did you think about me on my knees, Kakashi?” He swallows and nods, pulling the zipper down farther. “Did you think about how I sound screaming your name?” Another nod. He tugs at her sleeves and drags the dress down a little. “Did you think about how my pussy feels, wrapped around your cock?”
“Yes,” he groans, pulling her dress down as far as it’ll go. She slithers out of the top and lets it pool around her waist. His fingers skim across her skin, softness alternating with scars, as she tries to tug his shirt off. He resists for a few seconds and then lifts his arms so that she can drag it over his head. “Right up until the damn elders started talking about how they wanted to punish you, you were the only thing I could think about. The way you taste, the way you moan —“
“You missed me that much?” Sakura’s smile is devious as her hand slides into his pants and runs across his erection. “Poor old Kakashi…”
He growls and steps forward, pushing her up against the closed door, crowding her against it so that she has to yank her hand free. “You know I hate being called old,” he snarls, yanking her down so that her legs bracket his hips and his erection grinds against her. “Do I feel like an old man, Sakura-chan?”
“I don’t know, do — nnngh —“ He interrupts her by biting her neck at the same time he flicks his thumb across the cotton-covered swell of her clit. Kakashi recognizes this bra, this set of panties — the same ones she wore when she jumped him last year after their spar. Only his fondness saves them from being torn off. Instead, he tugs them down over her hips, just enough to expose her pussy. She’s already wet, not soaking but glistening. He can’t resist dragging a finger through her moisture and sucking it clean.
After a second of thought, he drops Sakura’s legs, letting them slide to the floor so that gravity takes her panties. The instant her legs are free, she wraps them back around his waist, panties dangling from one ankle and brushing against his back. “Did you miss me?” he pants into her ear, rolling his hips into hers as he tugs one breast free from its lacy covering. “Did you miss my cock, Sakura?”
“Fuck, yes,” she whimpers, rocking her hips into his, her eyes half-lidded. “You know I love your cock, Kakashi, I love how it feels inside me and the way you fuck me and —“ This time, he interrupts her with a kiss. A second later, her other breast’s free, resting on the dark green lace, and he tweaks her nipple as he kisses her harder. It distracts her from the sound of his zipper coming undone, the soft rustle of him pushing his underwear aside.
He slides into her and she almost shrieks into his mouth, eyes rolling into the back of her head. “Is this what you wanted?” he says, breaking away from her lips. ”Were you dreaming about being split open on my cock all day?”
“Yessss,” she moans, the sound unmuffled. It takes a second for her to catch his rhythm, but only a second. He fucks her, pressed up against the door, his face buried in her neck. Even without his usual caution, she still orgasms before he does. Twice. Like this, his thoughts a little blurred by alcohol, in the dark, it feels secret and lewd — the way stories narrate affairs — and everything seems even hotter because of it.
“I can’t wait to tell everyone you’re mine,” he mutters, his hips slowly picking up speed. “Can’t wait — to let them know — you’re off limits. Mine.” The last word’s more a snarl than anything else. He doesn’t regret it.
“Yours,” she hisses back. “I’m yours, Kakashi, and you’re mine.” Something about the way she growls that word, the way she tightens around him, pushes him over the edge.
“Yours,” he whines, vision going white for a second as he spills inside her. “Only yours.”
When he comes back to himself, they’re both shuddering and sweaty, spent, pressed up against the door. They look at each other as Kakashi pulls away, and she leaks, and then they burst into simultaneous laughter. “This dress better not have cum on it,” she gasps after a minute, tears rolling down her face from laughing so hard. “I will kick your ass so far —“
“Aa, my pants…” he mopes, glancing down at the smeary stain of fluid on the front of them.
“This is your fault. I have no sympathy for the devil.”
“Even if you do enjoy ‘sensei dick’?”
“I’m going to fucking murder Ino.”
Mebuki alternates between asking worried questions and scolding her. “He’s so old, Sakura! He didn’t groom you? Are you sure? He never gave you any presents —”
“Mom,” she eventually snaps. “He wasn’t even my teacher for six months. The only things he ever taught me were water-walking and how to catch fat cats. He only remembered my birthday once before I turned twenty, and the only thing he gave me was a gift certificate to the dango place!”
She looks a little abashed, but not entirely. “I just… I worry about you, my little flower,” Mebuki says after a minute. “You’ve gone so far, and you’ve done so much. You’ve done things I didn’t even know were possible. The only thing I can still beat you at is cooking —“
“I promise I want this, and not because Kakashi brainwashed me,” Sakura interrupts again. “He…” She flushes and looks down at the teacup in her hands. “He said he’s had feelings for me since he was crowned Hokage. And he never said anything. Not until…” she trails off. “Not until he thought I might feel the same way. He was worried about my reputation, Mom. He’s just…” She throws her hands in the air. “I don’t know how to describe him. He’s a gigantic asshole and he makes me happier than I’ve ever been. Happier than I was with Kikyo, even.”
Mebuki smiles softly. “Bring him over for dinner, then,” she says. “If it’s that serious, I need to get his measurements so we can get started on his wedding kimono.”
“I — Mom!”
(She ends up adoring him.)
- - -
After a week or so, Kakashi notices rumors cropping up. Or, rather, Kikyo comes into his office one day and draws his attention to them. “Hokage-sama.” He nods at her, eyebrow raised. “Were you aware there are rumors about you and Sakura-chan?”
He sets down his pen. “What kind of rumors?” he asks carefully. “I know, ah, Sakura shared some information with me recently about being called…” he hesitates.
“The town bicycle?” Kikyo says, as blunt as ever. “Yeah. Old news, though. These are all pretty new. I’ve heard a few people saying she’s a gold-digger, after the ‘Hatake fortune’.” He snorts at that.
“Ah, yes, a piece of land with a broken-down house and bad memories,” he drawls. “A grand fortune indeed, isn’t it?”
She offers him a wry smile and continues. “Another one says she’s using you to make sure Sasuke stays pardoned, that you’re blackmailing her into sleeping with you to get funding for the hospital, and…” She pauses. “Well, the last one you probably expected.”
The look on her face, her reluctance to share this rumor, tells him exactly what it is. “It’s about me being her old teacher, isn’t it?” he asks, eyes flat.
She wiggles her hand. “Ssssort of? It’s… more about how long you’ve…” Her mouth pinches tight. She doesn’t finish the sentence. He doesn’t need her to.
“Thank you for letting me know,” he says after a long minute of silence. He glances up at the rafters. For once, he’s glad to see Genma’s mask. Nobody spreads gossip as quickly as Genma does. Honestly, he’s not sure why some of the contents of that dinner haven’t been circulated around Konoha already. “Would you like to know something, Kikyo-san?” She arches an eyebrow at him. “I don’t think the elders like me dating Sakura very much. It wouldn’t surprise me if they were behind all of these rumors.”
She blinks at him, eyes wide. “…why would they —“ It strikes her. “This is about them wanting her to be a Uchiha baby machine, isn’t it? They want to break you guys up.” Her eyes narrow. “I spent four years waiting for you to get your head out of your ass. Like hell am I letting some shitty rumors break you up before you’ve had a solid chance at dating her. And if I wanted her to be with a cranky shinobi with weird eyes, I’d still be with her.”
Kikyo spins and stalks out of the office. He watches her go, a little amused, and calls up to the rafters, “Aa, Robin?” An instant later, Genma’s in front of him, perfectly still and straight. “Everyone knows you’re where gossip starts, Robin-san. Is there a reason I haven’t heard any rumors about the news Sakura shared at dinner?”
Robin huffs. Then he pushes his mask back on his head. “Permission to speak freely?” Kakashi nods. “I’m not that much of a fucking asshole, sir. That shit was private. If I hear something on duty, it’s fair game. But if it’s something personal like that…” He shrugs. “Yeah.” Then a gleam flickers in his eyes. “That being said, sir, I would take great pleasure in spreading the awful, awful news about how the elders wanted to use such a heroic kunoichi as a human incubator and tried to break her up with you to do it.”
Kakashi’s pretty sure Genma can see his grin, even through the mask. “Dismissed, Robin,” he says lazily, going back to his paperwork. And after that, he keeps an ear out.
A week later, he hears someone talking about “how disgusting it is, trying to make a loyal kunoichi spread her legs for some traitor!” And that’s the mildest thing he hears. He laughs all the way to the dango shop.
(It ends up being the impetus behind him finally being able to replace the elders, because they’re clearly not able to make good use of the village’s resources, hide-bound and stuck in the past, clinging to what-once-was)
- - -
When Kakashi brings flowers home for their three month anniversary, he clearly doesn’t expect the scene he steps into. She’s been working at the hospital, mostly, and not taking many missions. That she’s there shouldn’t be a surprise. But — well, his apartment’s always been bare. Now boxes are stacked up against the walls. Sakura’s kneeling in front of a bookcase, carefully shelving her books according to the library system. It’s efficient. “Hey sweetie,” she greets him, distracted by the books in her hands.
“…what is all this?” he says, voice a little strangled. She looks up to find him bewildered, confusion all over his face. “Did you rob a box store?”
She exhales, sets the books down, and stands up. “I… I haven’t slept at my apartment in six weeks,” she says quietly, fingers twisting together nervously. “Half of my clothes are already here. I… I probably should’ve asked, but…” She swallows, staring at the ground. “Want a roommate?”
After a second, strong arms wrap around her and yank her into the air. Kakashi spins for a few seconds, swinging her with him, before he kisses her. “Hell yes,” he answers when she pulls away. “I didn’t want you to feel pressured —“
“The only pressure I’m under is from Ino. She won’t believe I’ve never called you ‘sensei’ during sex,” Sakura grumbles. “I keep telling her the truth, and she’s…”
Kakashi snorts. Then he looks at her, eyes narrow. “…is that something you wanted to do?” he asks, a little hesitant. “I’m not sure…”
She squints up at him, considering. “I… I don’t know.” She really doesn’t. Thinking about it doesn’t make her excited, but it doesn’t repulse her. It’s been the same for a few other kinks she quite enjoys, so she reaches for the carefully packed away lust and draws on it to look up at Kakashi and purr, “Do you want to fuck me silly, sensei?”
He twitches. She waits. They stare at each other in silence for a minute, gaging each other’s reaction. “Nope?” he asks her, eyebrow raised.
“Nope” she replies. “Just kind of… weird. I think I like calling you Hokage-sama more.”
“Ah, you’re in luck,” he murmurs, leaning forward to kiss her. “I happened to like that, too.”
(they attempt the sensei thing one other time, almost mid-act, and while it doesn’t repulse either of them, there are other names they’d rather use for each other)
- - -
On their six month anniversary, they invite people over. Hinata’s out of the village, as are Sai, Yamato, and Tsunade. Naruto’s there, though, and he brings both children with him. Inojin’s there, too, but he’s significantly better behaved than any of the Uzumaki. Shizune and Genma bring Gai, since Lee’s out with his genin team again. And Kikyo… brings someone Kakashi recognizes.
He knows her as Snail, the soft-faced brunette Hinata lookalike that vouched for their relationship before the elders. Kikyo introduces her as Morita Sango. Sakura blinks and then tilts her head. “Wait. Kikyo and —“
“Yes, like the manga,” Kikyo says with a sigh. “Please don’t. I’ve heard all the good jokes at least three times, and most of the bad ones more than that.”
Kakashi has no idea what they’re talking about, so he just crinkles his eyes at Sango in a smile. “Pleasure to meet you, Sango-san.”
“It’s my pleasure to formally meet you, Hokage-sama,” she responds with a bow. He notes her careful distinction and smiles to himself.
He watches the couple through the night, though he still pays far more attention to Sakura. Part of him wonders if Sango’s a reaction to his relationship with Sakura. It’s been years since Kikyo dated her, and they’ve both had other relationships, but he can’t help wondering. He’s never been one for public affection, but he tries to keep it to a minimum tonight, just in case. He notices, though, that Kikyo doesn’t react to his hand on Sakura’s waist or to Sakura dropping her eggplant onto his plate or any of the other dozen tiny things he didn’t realize showed how intertwined they are. After dessert, when everyone’s scattered around the apartment chattering, Sakura jabs one pointy elbow in his ribs while nobody’s looking. “Is there a reason you’re staring at Kikyo?” she hisses beneath her breath.
He grumbles as he rubs his side and answers, equally quiet, “I… was worried about her watching us together.”
Another, sharper jab. “Kakashi, she broke up with me five years ago. There’s no way she still has any kind of romantic feelings for me. Nobody holds on that long.”
He raises one eyebrow at her. “Nobody, hm?” She blinks at him and then flushes bright red.
“Well, not nobody, but — she’s fine! I’ve gone on double dates with her and her girlfriends before!” she scolds him.
“Yes, but —“ He believes her, but he’s still careful about how much affection he shows when Kikyo or Cat is present. As Genma said, he’s not that much of an asshole.
They’re curled up in bed, much later, when Sakura suddenly says, “I thought about being with both of you once.”
“…both of who?” he asks, fairly certain he knows the answer.
“You and Kikyo,” she mumbles.
His eyebrows go up. “Oh, is that so, Sakura-chan?”
“Not like that, you pervert!” she scolds him, flushing pink. “I mean, I’m not going to say I — I never thought about that kind of thing — but this isn’t it!” She buries her face in his chest and continues talking from there. “She’s the only other person I’ve ever been able to see a real future with. When I — when you and I started dating, it made sense of something she said when we broke up. She said, ‘maybe the love you need is hidden in plain sight’. I guess she knew?” He nods in response. “And that… that made me think that maybe she didn’t want to break up with me, she did it so that I’d keep looking.” A heavy sigh gusts out of her. “So I thought maybe we could all be… together? All of us. As a couple. But with three people. But she’s —“
“’The biggest lesbian in Konoha’,” he says dryly. Kikyo’s not quiet about her sexuality. He suspects the Inuzuka elders have something to do with her insistence on being loud about it.
“Yeah,” she says. “And I don’t know if I could share you, anyway.”
“I know I couldn’t share you.”
- - -
Sasuke returns to town a day before Sakura’s twenty-sixth birthday. Ever since Kakashi pardoned him, whispers and glances follow him when he visits. This time, there’s something… different about them. Rather than looks of anger, fear, hatred, there’s a surprising amount of pity and sympathy. His first stop, as always, is the Hokage’s office.
Instead of the bushy head of white hair he expects to see dozing over reports, Naruto’s sprawled in the chair. “Sasuke!” he shouts, leaping to his feet. “Right on time, y’know!”
“Mm,” he replies. “Kakashi?”
“Eh, he took today off,” Naruto says, reaching up and scratching at the back of his head almost nervously. “There’s some big meeting tomorrow, so he said he wanted to give Sakura-chan her present today.”
Sasuke nods and hands over his most recent report, finished before the fire that morning. “I was hoping to talk to Sakura, actually. I can find her with Kakashi?” Naruto nods and begins to say something, but Sasuke doesn’t linger. He never does. Instead, he flickers away and closes his eyes to meditate for a few seconds.
Though he’s no sage, Kakashi’s chakra has always been easy to track when it’s not cloaked. Fittingly, it’s just as white and violent as lightning. Since having the sharingan removed, his reserves seem to have doubled in size. Between the amount and the feeling, it’s rarely hard to find. By contrast, Sakura’s seems to blend in to the environmental chakra. If he were a sensory nin, he might be able to find her with regularity, but he’s not. He just knows the basics.
He finally locates the rokudaime’s chakra in his apartment, rather than the sparring grounds like he’d expected. Sasuke frowns, but sets off in that direction. If he’s already finished with Sakura’s birthday spar, perhaps they intend to go for lunch — or perhaps they haven’t started —
For the first time in almost twenty years, he almost trips over his own feet, of his own accord. He flails, but manages to stick to the railing of Kakashi’s balcony, and almost wishes he didn’t. And then he proceeds to curse the rinnegan. Rather than finding Sakura and Kakashi in the middle of lunch, or preparing for a spar, they’re… He closes his eyes, like it’ll change the image, like it’ll wash away the image forever burned in his retinas of Sakura, splayed across the dining room table with Kakashi’s face buried between her legs.
He leaps away, uncaring of the direction. Whatever he thought to find, it was not that. Though he hasn’t been waiting for Sakura, exactly, there were still vestiges of him that assumed she’d be his wife. There’s someone, a civilian, that he thinks he might be able to love — but he felt like he needed Sakura’s blessing first.
Sasuke lands back inside the Hokage’s office. Naruto swivels around, takes one look at him, and breaks into laughter. “Ha! Got an eyeful, huh? That’ll teach you to go wooshin’ away!” Sasuke just sighs in response. “Don’t feel too bad, y’know, I think just about all of us have done it now. Hinata showed up here to turn in a mission report once and —“ Naruto wiggles his eyebrows. "'course, it was real late. Guess they figured they weren’t gonna get peeped on.”
He can’t help snorting at that. “Perhaps,” he answers dryly. “Or perhaps they wanted to ‘get peeped on’, as you say.”
Naruto’s eyes almost pop out of his. “T-they — why the hell would they wanna get seen, bastard?!?”
- - -
Sakura’s first clue that Sasuke’s back in town is the phone ringing halfway through her quiet supper with Kakashi. She pauses the videotape and answers — to the sound of Ino’s raucous laughter. “Hi, Pig,” she sighs. “What’s going on now?”
More laughter. She picks up the cordless phone and goes back to the couch with it on speaker, waiting for Ino to finish cackling. Kakashi raises an eyebrow at her. She just shrugs and snuggles back into his embrace. “Forehead,” Ino finally wheezes. “What a way to break it to a man!”
“…what are you talking about?” Sakura asks, genuinely confused. “Break what to who?”
“Sasuke stopped by to see if I had any plans for you tomorrow,” Ino says, laughter still in her voice. It sounds like a non sequiter at first. “Imagine my surprise when he told me he went looking for you earlier and found you drowning your boytoy in pussy!”
Sakura chokes on air. “What?” she squeaks, and feels Kakashi’s entire body go still.
“What did I tell you about not drawing the curtains before you get it on?” Ino gasps out before laughter overcomes her again.
“Shit,” Kakashi grumbles, dropping his head on top of her. And then again, with more feeling, “Shit.” After a few more long minutes of Ino’s insufferable laughter, Sakura hangs up on her best friend and feels perfectly justified.
“Well… guess we don’t have to tell him now?” she manages to say.
“I would’ve preferred telling him,” Kakashi says.
Sakura meets Sasuke the next day for lunch and has trouble meeting his eyes. They barely speak until they’ve both finished eating. Then Sasuke starts fiddling with his chopsticks. “So… Kakashi,” he eventually says.
“Kakashi,” she replies, eyes on the table. “I… I wanted to tell you, but he said the only real way to get you a message was through emergency channels, and I didn’t want to freak you out. I’m sorry you had to find out like that.”
“Mm,” Sasuke hums. “Why?”
She exhales. Surprisingly, that’s the first time anyone’s asked that question. There have been scads and scads of others, but not that one. “Because…” she starts, and has to stop. “I don’t have words for it, for him. It’s like trying to describe the way sunlight feels. Everything seems easier when he’s there, when I know I can go home and talk to him and trust him to take care of me.”
He nods and stands, leaving enough ryo on the table to cover his half of the bill. Sakura does the same, and then they walk to training ground three in silence. “Do you know why I was looking for you yesterday?” he says, standing in front of that center pillar.
“…to say happy birthday?” she guesses.
He turns a little and looks at her. “I… there might…” He exhales and starts again. “I wanted to make sure you would be okay if I happened to bring home a wife.”
Her jaw drops. “Huh?”
He shoves his hands in his pockets, shoulders up defensively, in a movement that’s so like Kakashi Sakura almost laughs. “Once I figured out what I’d have to do to revive the Uchiha, you were always… I always thought you’d be the person I married. But you moved on, and I started looking at other people. At first, I thought maybe Karin, but —“ he wrinkles his nose a little. Sakura agrees. “Last year, I stopped in a small town. There was a woman who helped run a food stand, and she was…”
Once he goes quiet, Sakura waits. She’s learned these silences aren’t improved by pushy questions. Eventually, he starts talking again. “Everything, everything, in her life has gone wrong. She’s never had anything. And somehow, she’s still joyful. She’s still excited about life.” She hums, a questioning sound, and he interprets it correctly. “She walks with a limp because she fought a slaver to keep him off her sister and he broke her hip — and she calls herself blessed.”
That description makes something tick in Sakura’s brain. “…this woman, is she short and blonde? Brown eyes?” Sasuke twitches, but nods, eyebrow high. “What’s her name?”
“Naya,” he says slowly, like it’s a trap.
She takes a breath and almost laughs. If she ever believed in the concept of red strings, of fate, this would make her lose her mind. “Sasuke, I know her. I was one of the ANBU that wrecked that slaver’s caravan. If I hadn’t spent half my chakra on her hip, she wouldn’t be able to walk at all. That man didn’t break her hip. He crushed it.” He inhales, visible eye widening. “Yeah. Take a chunk of ice, put it in a bag, and drop a rock on it. That’s what her hip was like when we got to her.” She lets herself smile a little. “And the entire time I was healing her, she told me not to worry about it, to go check on everyone else. I told her to go to a clinic if she didn’t want a limp, but…”
“Then you know a little of her,” Sasuke says quietly. He stares at Sakura for a few long, quiet minutes. “I would have loved you, Sakura,” he finally says. “But I don’t know if I could have loved you the way you needed to be loved. If I… I don’t think I would have changed for you. Not like I might for Naya. She — she’s like a quieter Naruto, I suppose. She’s full of hope and love, and I think… I think she needs me.” Sakura cocks her head to the side. Again, he elaborates, and she’s stunned beyond words. This is the most she’s ever heard him speak outside of their dates. “Not because she’s weak, or incapable. But she takes care of everyone, and nobody takes care of her. I want to take care of her.”
And at that, there’s a flicker of something in Sasuke’s dark eye. “You’re — you’re scared of her, aren’t you?” Sakura wonders out loud. “She makes you feel things, and want things, and that scares you.”
“…yes,” he admits after a few long, tense minutes.
“You can’t be brave unless you’re scared. I would know.”
(she goes home that night, and she does not linger over what-could-have-beens; she is happy with what is)
- - -
For Kakashi’s birthday, he asks Sakura for a spar. Nothing else. She buys him a present, but he tells her, “I’m not opening it until after you fight me.”
“Fine, you ass,” she grumbles, but there’s excitement in the words. When they get to the training ground, Hinata and Ino are there with the kids. Suspicion dances across her face, but then Gai rolls up, Lee behind him. Kakashi’s never been so happy to see green jumpsuits.
“Yosh, my rival!” Gai greets Kakashi. “I look forward to this amazing show of youth! Lee, are you excited?!?”
Lee offers them both a thumbs up. “What better way to test strength than to compare the youth passed down to the next generation?!? If Sakura-chan can best Kakashi-sama, then we shall know her strength has surpassed his, and the challenge will be won by Kakashi-sama! If Sakura-chan loses, then Gai-sensei wins!” It doesn’t make a lot of sense, but Gai’s good at obfuscating, and Kakashi did tell him to come up with a good excuse to be there.
Sakura eyes the two men and shrugs. “Uh, sure. I guess.” Then she squints at Lee. “I’m not going to be your eternal rival, though. Just so you know. That’s Ino’s spot.”
“I would not dream of coming between you and your rival, Sakura-chan!” Lee shouts. Then Tenzo ambles up, hands in pockets.
“Yo,” Kakashi greets him.
For once, the prim man replies with an equally desultory, “Yo.” Sakura raises an eyebrow at him, another question in her eyes. “Ah, he let me know you were planning on sparring,” Tenzo explains. “I haven’t gotten to see you fight in a while, and I was going to get called out to fix the ground anyway…”
“Aah,” Sakura says, smile curling up her lips. “Well, prepare to watch your senpai get his ass kicked, Yamato-taichou!”
Really ought to ask her why she still calls him Yamato, Kakashi muses, doffing his hat and stretching. They’re standing across from each other soon, his blood already rushing in excitement.
“Three… two… one… FIGHT!” Ino shouts, her voice carrying across the training ground. They’re already moving, both leaping into the air to launch their attacks. Her sword sails over his head, trimming a few errant hairs, at the same time his kunai flies by her face. She bares her teeth at him and disappears, but there’s no sign of a body flicker. Then she’s behind him — no, beside him — on his other side — he doesn’t know how she does it, but senbon come sailing at him from all three sides. He dodges on pure instinct. Only one grazes him, and he claps a hand over it to check for poison. It’s the only medical jutsu he’s ever stolen. Nothing.
He strikes back when she appears on the ground, casting a genjutsu that she has to take a second to break, just long enough for him to leap forward with shiden in one hand. She leaps away and he spins just in time to see her crack the ground, trying to throw him off balance. It doesn’t work — it just makes more material for his next idea. Another genjutsu, long enough for him to cast a jutsu that gathers the broken land into huge boulders that rain down on her. She breaks them all with ease, but they make the exploding kunai far harder to dodge.
They start the spar at noon. It is nearly three when they call it. Kakashi’s chakra reserves are far larger than Sakura’s, but her precision control means far less goes to waste — and she’s learned how to make the most of every drop. They’re both bruised and a little bloody, but they’re down to the dregs of their chakra. Plus, Tsunade’s standing at the edge of the training field, next to Gai, staring at them. (Well, she’s staring at him, and he knows why.)
“Satisfied you’ve beat the shit out of each other?” she says when they approach. They both nod, a little too winded to say much. Kakashi slumps against the handles of Gai’s wheelchair to catch his breath, playing up just how exhausted he is. (Not much, though. Age is starting to creep in a little.)
“A tie!” Gai booms. “Our record becomes 88 to 88! You remain a worthwhile rival, Kakashi!”
Tsunade snorts and pulls a long, thin box from her obi, tossing it to Sakura. “Here. Open that for that ass you call yours, would you? He doesn’t look like he’s up to much.” Sakura examines the box, eyebrow raised as she glances between the two of them. “He had me commission it from a friend. Got done just in time for his birthday, too.”
“Go ahead, Sa-chan,” Kakashi says, nodding at her. She shrugs and flips the tiny latches on the side of the box. He holds his bath as she cracks the box open.
Silence.
- - -
Sakura’s entire brain stops. Absolutely nothing happens for a few seconds — and then it restarts, almost running over with words and feelings and thoughts. Inside the box are three delicately carved kanzashi. All of them resemble the one she inherited from her mother, but there are small changes. What’s plain leaves on the other comb has been turned into clusters of carefully carved diamond shapes. They still resemble leaves at first glance, but looking closer reveals the new design. The cardinal is gone. Instead, tiny sakura blossoms, delicately carved from rose quartz, dangle from tiny chains among the diamond-leaf branches. “What?” she finally manages to breath, raising her head and looking at Kakashi.
But he’s not where he was. Instead, he’s kneeling in front of her with another box, this one wider and taller, in his hands. “I, uh, I wasn’t sure —“ he clears his throat. Even with his mask up, she can tell how nervous he is. “Shikamaru told me Temari wanted a ring instead of kanzashi. Apparently that’s something people do. I didn’t want to spoil the surprise, so… I got both. And extra. Just in case.” She blinks at him, speechless, and he tugs his mask down before he opens the box. Inside, there’s a beautiful silver ring — tiny emerald leaves surrounding rose quartz — and a necklace that’s like a cascade of the diamond-leaves and the delicate quartz flowers. Matching earrings dangle on either side of the necklace.
“What?” she repeats, unable to muster any other thoughts.
He swallows. Her eyes dart up to meet his and stay there. He’s… unusually pale, too. Then he speaks, his voice so low she has trouble hearing it. “If you are spring, and I am winter, let me melt in your wake forever.” Kakashi clears his throat again, voice louder this time. “Marry me?”
And then it all floods in, what all of this means and why he’s doing it, and she can’t help stumbling backwards as her legs try to give out. Tsunade’s there, arm around her back, as tears well in Sakura’s eyes. She half-sobs, shock and joy bursting out of her, and then she sees Kakashi pale. I haven’t answered yet, she realizes.
Before Sakura knows what she’s doing, she almost tackles Kakashi. It almost knocks the boxes out of their hands, but they stay there as she breathes out a shaky, “Yes.” It’s like that unlocks her voice, and her next words are in a shout. “Yes, yes, yes! I love you, I love you, I love you so much, yes!”
His shoulders sag in relief. A second later, she pulls away and kisses him to the accompaniment of raucous cheering in the background.
(later, she frowns as she realizes she definitely heard at least one ‘sensei dick’ amongst all the cheering, because Ino will not let that joke go)
- - -
In late October, Sasuke comes to the village — married. Ino’s running errands when she hears commotion coming from the direction of the gates. She and Inojin, both equally nosy, push their way through the crowds to find… Sasuke helping a woman down the street. Ino assesses the woman in a minute and scowls a bit because this woman’s pretty. Her hair’s somewhere between Naruto’s sunshine yellow and Ino’s pale blonde, her gaze soft and intelligent like Shikamaru’s, skin sun-darkened from work. Through the traveling yukata, Ino can see hints of curves. And Sasuke’s arm is around her waist, helping her keep her weight off one leg. Who the hell— she wonders.
Then Sasuke sees her. “Yamanaka-san,” he greets her calmly. “I should like for you to meet my wife.” Ino chokes on air.
“W-wife?” she demands.
He doesn’t say anything until he and the mysterious woman are standing in front of Ino. “Naya, this is Yamanaka Ino and her son, Inojin. Yamanaka-san was in my class at the academy. Yamanaka-san, my wife, Uchiha Naya.”
“A pleasure to meet you,” Ino says in a daze, her manners taking over.
“The pleasure is mine,” Naya says, her voice sweet and low. “I look forward to getting to know you better.” And then they’re off.
- - -
Kakashi watches Sasuke over the next few weeks, rather amused by how much he’s changed in such little time. He’s still recalcitrant, still calm, but the darkness in his aura’s receded. Instead of moving into one of the old Uchiha houses, he has them all torn down. Kakashi puts them up in the apartments usually reserved for the Hokage’s guests while a new house is built. Winter rolls in bare days after it’s finished. The house is small. Compared to all the land around it, it’s miniscule.
After a little while, he mentions the change to Sakura. She just nods, but there’s something odd in her gaze. He raises an eyebrow at her and waits it out. “Have you… have you ever noticed how much like Naruto Naya is?” she says quietly.
“Naruto?” he says, startled, before he actually considers the idea. It’s odd, but it’s not a lie. Naruto’s loud, boisterous, and joyful. He’s persevered against all odds and made things better for everyone who met him. Although Naya’s not loud or boisterous, she’s warm and joyful. She’s survived her fair share of calamity, too. There are even similarities in their physical appearances. “I… you…” He squints at his fiancée. “Are you saying Sasuke’s in love with Naruto?”
She laughs and shakes her head no. “I think he could have, though,” she murmurs, eyes distant. “He feels this immense duty to rebuild his clan, so I don’t think he ever consciously considered being with a man. What would it have been like if the massacre never happened? Would he and Naruto be together, then?” It’s a strange thought, but he files it away quickly. He’s not in the habit of wandering around could-have-beens these days.
He realizes, the first time he and Sakura visit, that Sasuke dotes on his civilian wife. The house is furnished more Suna-style than anything, everything just the right height to make things easier for Naya to handle with her hip. There are a half-dozen plush rugs in the kitchen to make standing easier. He even hires a servant to help on Naya’s bad days. One day, he stops when he knows Naya’s out with Sakura. “Do you regret not marrying Sakura?” he asks over the hot tea.
Sasuke glances at him and takes a sip of tea before he answers. “Yes. And no.” Kakashi snorts; he knows where Sasuke learned that answer. “Sakura and I would not, I think, have hurt each other. Not on purpose. I would have taken her for granted, because she has always been there. She would have been an admirable Uchiha. But I do not know if she could have…” He falters. “Naya made me want for myself. Before her, everything I wanted was a reaction to the world.”
“And now, she feels like your world,” Kakashi mumbles into his cup. Sasuke doesn’t agree or disagree. He just takes another sip.
(when Naya begins to swell with child, Naruto laughs at Sasuke, who takes fewer and fewer missions outside of the village as she grows; Kakashi does not because he understands why Sasuke wants to keep careful watch over the woman who needs him so, because he knows what lurks in the shadows)
- - -
They fight to keep their ceremony small and traditional. They win. He’s fairly certain it’s because Sakura threatened to feed the daimyo’s representative his own spine. The reception ends up being huge, and loud, but the ceremony itself is theirs. Even Naruto wells up as they exchange sake cups. Kakashi’s never tasted a sweeter drink.
Standing next to Sakura and calling her his wife, he doesn’t feel like he’s 42. Though a few whispers still circulate, calling him a cradle-robber for marrying someone fourteen years younger than him, he can’t bring himself to care. His wife is sitting next to him, draped in a Haruno red hikifurisode, and she is hishishis.
Of course, it’s practically a rule that nothing can happen without something going wrong. In the middle of the reception, he’s sitting and watching his wife dance with her childhood love when Naya comes to the head table. “Hatake-sama,” she says, words very calm and quiet. He glances over and finds her, usually tan and joyful, pale and drawn. Given that she’s heavy with child, that’s alarming. “Might I trouble you to take Sasuke’s place on the dance floor? I would like to have him with me, as I believe I am about to give birth.”
He’s across the room in a second, cutting in between the two without even asking. “Rude, Kaka—“ Sakura starts.
He interrupts her. “Unless you feel like having the birth of the next Uchiha be a public event, you may want to get Naya to the hospital,” he whispers to Sasuke. Sasuke stops, just long enough for Kakashi to read the shock on his face, and then he’s gone.
“What the hell?” Sakura demands, tugging on his arm. People are turning to stare.
He glances around and winces. If Tsunade’s not in sight, that means she’s already too drunk to stand. Sasuke barely trusts the village med-nin to do checkups on him, let alone Naya, which means… “How fast can you change, Sa-chan?” he asks. She blinks at him. “I don’t think you want to deliver a baby in your wedding kimono.”
She squawks and spins, darting for the changing rooms in the back of the hall. That leaves him to make the announcement about why, exactly, the reception’s been interrupted — unless, of course, he can talk Naruto into it. He saunters back up to the front table. It takes about half a second for Naruto to show up. “Hey, hey, where’s Sakura-chan and that bastard?” he demands.
He curves his eyes into a smile and says, “The hospital, of course. Where else would Naya-chan have her baby?”
Naruto blinks, and blinks again, so slowly Kakashi has to smother a laugh. It’s like a lizard waking up from a nap. Then Naruto cheers and leaps onto the table. “Hey, hey, guys! Naya-chan’s on her way to pop out the mini Uchiha!” After a second, cheering follows.
Kakashi’s very happy for Sasuke. Really. And he definitely doesn’t tear up a little when Naya says, “Her name’s Sakada. We… we were going to name her Sarada, but we wanted to honor you. Both of you. So we changed it.”
Part of him worried, based on the stories he’s heard, that marriage would change their relationship. More than one bitter shinobi in their cups has raved at him about that very thing over the years. Nothing really changes. Their relationship was never perfect, and it stays that way. She still leaves too many things on the kitchen counter and the living room table. Though he tries, he never quite remembers to squeeze the toothpaste the way she likes it. Their biggest fights have been over petty, trivial things — like his inability to use a bookmark. More than once, they’ve woken each other up from nightmares and gotten attacked for their trouble. He has a scar across his left arm from when she came up swinging, chakra scalpels in hand.
Life, somehow, begins to unspool with more speed than ever before. Sakura stands as witness for Kikyo’s wedding to Sango. One day he visits Tenzo and finds him wrapped around Naruto’s favorite academy teacher, kissing the man with abandon… not something he foresaw. She takes over as director of the hospital, freeing Shizune to wander with Tsunade if she wants. (Instead, Genma moves in with her.)
He blinks, and she’s turning thirty. “It’s my turn to give you a present on my birthday,” she says, and hands him an envelope. He opens it to find a fuzzy black-and-white picture. His heart stops. “So… how do you feel about the name Miroku?”
It’s an accident, but it’s not a mistake. He hands the hat to Naruto a week before the baby’s born. He uses that week to move their things into their new house — he took Sasuke’s lead and tore down the house he grew up in. The new house has plenty of room, and so many bookcases it’s ridiculous.
And then, the last day of September dawns on a Sakura who’s pale and weak. Her smile tells him she thinks it was worth it. “Pink,” he says, very intelligently, when she hands him his daughter. In his defense, the only thing visible at first is the tuft of hair poking from the blankets. It’s darker, more red, than Sakura’s hair. It’s still pink.
“This is your father, Ichigo-chan,” Sakura whispers to the baby. Ichigo’s tiny, and wrinkled, and he honestly thinks Pakkun was cuter as a baby. But there’s still something inside him that warms, something he’s never felt before, when she burbles and shrieks at him.
- - -
Ichigo’s terrifying. She walks as soon as her body’s strong enough to handle it. By the time she’s a year old, she’s making short sentences.
By the time she’s a year and a half old, Sakura’s miscarried twice. Once Ichigo was born, they both agreed she should have a sibling. They’re not making immense effort to conceive, but they’re not preventing it. A week before Ichigo turns two, it happens again.
More than once, Kakashi wakes up in the morning to find her running diagnostic jutsu on herself — not to detect pregnancy, but to detect problems. Nothing shows up. Her uterus is the right shape, her health is good, her ovaries and eggs are fine. After the third miscarriage, she asks Tsunade’s opinion.
It’s exactly what she expected and what she didn’t want to hear. “You’re over 30,” she says bluntly. “You know full well that things get harder past 30. It’s still possible, and it’s not unlikely, but it wouldn’t surprise me if you weren’t able to carry to term again. After that wound you got from Sasori, it’s a miracle you were able to at all. Besides that? He’s over 40. You might not be the problem at all.”
Kakashi’s out of the village when it happens. The night he’s supposed to return, she sends Ichigo to sleep with her grandmother and sits in the kitchen in the dark, waiting. He sails in blithely, hurling his pack into the corner of the front room and singing out, “I’m home, petals!” She doesn’t respond. After a second, she sees him creeping into the kitchen, eyes wide. “…Sakura? Is everything okay?”
“Do you want a divorce?” she asks, hunching over on herself.
“Do I — what?” he says, looking like she slapped. “Sakura, why would I want a divorce? I love you. You’re —“
“I’m broken,” she croaks in response. “I… I don’t even know how Ichigo survived. If you stay with me, she might never have a brother or a sister. So much for rebuilding the Hatake.”
He exhales, long and slow. “Sakura.” She looks up at him. “Do you really think I give a flying fuck about the Hatake’s legacy?” There’s rage, barely contained, simmering just under his voice. “Do you think I married you for that?” She shakes her head no. “Then why the hell would I divorce you for something that’s not your fault?!?”
“Because my body —“ she starts to yell at him. Before the words make it out of her mouth, he’s across the kitchen and sweeping her into a kiss.
“Your body is yours, Sakura,” he breathes between kisses. “I love it because it’s you. I love Ichigo because she’s ours. Whatever child we end up having next, whether they’re blood or adopted, will be ours. You were more than I could have ever dreamed of on your own. Having a family with you is…” he trails off, unable to find words for it.
She buries her face in his shoulder and sobs. It doesn’t heal her heart. She still aches, still mourns the children she’s lost — but she keeps going. When she detects another spark of life inside her a month before she turns 33, she nurtures it carefully. She stops taking missions outside the village, even D-ranks, and cuts her shifts at the hospital in half. Lee takes her genin team.
At her six month appointment, Tsunade drops a stack of papers in front of her. “What are these, shishou?” she asks, almost afraid of the answer.
“You know what they are,” Tsunade says, dropping onto the doctor’s stool. “Read them. I don’t want you to think —“ she exhales. “Well.”
She reads them. When she reaches the last page, she looks up at Tsunade, eyes hard. “Okay. And?”
“A lot of people in this situation choose to terminate,” Tsunade says quietly, no judgement in her voice. “It’s only a possibility, but…” she trails off.
“No,” Sakura snaps. “Maybe — maybe if I hadn’t miscarried three times before this. Maybe if I hadn’t been fighting for this baby ever since I had Ichigo. But I have.”
Hatake Minarin is born in the middle of December with hair almost as white as Kakashi’s, the shade like pastel pink chalk. Even at birth, his eyes are such a vibrant green that Sakura cries when she sees them. Ichigo adores her baby brother nearly as much as her parents do.
By the time Ichigo’s six and raring to go to the Academy, the entire village knows Minarin will never be a ninja. He doesn’t start talking until he’s nearly a year and a half old. Loud noises, certain foods, certain clothing textures, can all send him into a frenzy that usually ends with him going silent and unresponsive. He’s severely myopic; even if he’s able to have corrective surgery once he’s finished growing, he’ll still need thick glasses. These, along with a dozen other tiny things, mean he can’t follow in his family’s footsteps. She doesn’t care, and neither does Kakashi. He’s theirs.
Sadly, the village isn’t as sanguine about it. She hears more than a few whispers that make her blood boil. The most common one, popular among the older women, is that Minarin is a ‘punishment’ for Kakashi and Sakura sullying the sacred bond between teacher and student. It makes her angry because he’s not a punishment. He’s a blessing. They don’t know how carefully he plays doctor with the ninken, how he sits and talks to them to make sure they’re feeling okay, how he always knows when she’s had a bad day at the hospital. He might not be a genius at killing people, but Sakura suspects he’ll be a genius at helping them.
- - -
“Aa, slow down, Sasuke-kun,” Kakashi chides his former student from the hospital doorway. For a second, abashment flickers in his eyes, and then he’s back to being calm and joyful. “You don’t want to break poor Naya-chan, do you?”
“You say that like I’m not a willing participant, Kakashi-sama,” Naya calls out to him from her hospital bed. Her eyes never move from the bundle in her arms, though. “Do you have the others with you?”
He nods and steps aside, letting the four brats behind him stream into the room. Sarada, as the oldest, always goes first. Always. She’s… a little more troublesome than he expected Sasuke’s child to be. He blames Boruto for that, honestly. Her brothers, Toshiro, Yuuto, and Daisuke, are as close in age as they could possibly be without being triplets. It’d taken every bit of his strength not to burst into laughter when they announced Daisuke’s name. They’re all good kids, but he hates to hear the way town gossip’s starting to paint Naya. He makes a quiet mental note to talk to Sasuke.
“Meet your little sister, Uchiha Kanna,” Naya says, finally looking up from her daughter with a huge smile. Sakada's an old hand at this by now, but she still stares at her sister for a long minute.
Then, just like last time, she sticks her nose up in the air and says, “She looks like Yuuto did. Sort of a prune instead of a potato. Still pretty ugly.”
Sakura bonks her god-daughter on the head for that remark as she passes by, hands full of things Kakashi wishes he didn’t recognize. Though chakra healing makes birth far easier, some things can’t be rushed — hence his familiarity with that damnable squirt bottle. He shudders and redirects his thoughts as his wife exits the bathroom and pulls him inside the room proper. As hospital director, Sakura rarely attends births. But Sasuke won’t trust the Uchiha to anyone else. Not yet. Shizune’s training a genin team now, with the intent of handing them over to Sakura as apprentices soon. “How long do you think it’ll take Ichi-chan to figure out —“
As if summoned, he hears familiar shoes smacking the tile floor. Seconds later, Ichigo slides to a stop in the hallway. “Did Aunt Naya have her baby?” she blurts as she stops, long limbs tangling up in themselves and almost tripping her.
He sighs as he looks over at his daughter. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”
She snorts, standing up straight and brushing plum-pink hair out of her face. “Like there’s anything I can learn in there, Dad. Half the time I end up explaining everything to the Inuzuka twins ‘cause old Nakano’s real bad at explanations.” She’s not wrong, per se. She’s intimidated stronger teachers than Nakano with her glower — though her eyes are almost as dark as his, there’ a green sheen to them that never fails to remind people of Sakura’s glare.
“And your brother?” Sakura says, eyebrow raised at her oldest. “Did you think about him?”
Ichigo huffs this time. “Yes, Mom. I called Auntie Hina on the way out of the Academy to let her know I’ll be late taking him to the park. She said she doesn’t mind watching him, as long as I give her details about the newest, ugliest Uchiha.”
Sasuke snorts, eye flickering over to Ichigo before going back to his family. Sakura deflates. “Ichigo,” she starts with a sigh. “You know that’s rude.”
“Yeah, but it’s true,” Ichigo answers, peering over the bed — or trying to. Though she’s tall for a seven year old, Sakada’s still taller, which gives her plenty of leverage to shove the other girl away.
“Stay away from my sister, you nasty,” Sakada grumbles. “You can’t see her unless you use manners.” Sarada might call her siblings prunes and potatoes, but she’s very protective. Nobody else gets to do that.
“Daaaad!” Ichigo inherited his social graces… or, well, the lack thereof. She’s so matter-of-fact and blunt that sometimes he wonders if they’re actually related to Sai.
“What do you want me to do?” Kakashi says, eyebrows high.
“You’re — you used to be Hokage, you can order Sakada to let me see the baby!” Ichigo complains. “I just wanna see if babies are as gross as I remember!”
“Behave yourself, or I’m sealing away your sword again,” Sakura finally snaps. Ichigo subsides, pouting.
“May I see the baby, please, Aunt Naya?” He watches his daughter inspect the baby like it’s something the ninken brought in and chuckles. At least he’s never had to play tea party, as Sasuke’s had to do once or twice with Sakada when she was very young.
He says as much to Sakura that night, as she curls up next to him, and she laughs at him. “Just for that, I’m training Ichigo to ask for a tea party while you’re on that mission.” He wrinkles his nose at her and she laughs again. “How does one tea party for every day you’re gone sound?”
- - -
Sakura watches her husband leave the next morning, a little worried. If she’d told him, he’d stay — that’s why she didn’t tell him. Since stepping down from his position as Hokage, he rarely gets the opportunity to go on missions that really need him. Those opportunities have dwindled even more since Minarin was born because he’s incredibly conscientious about making sure she has help when she needs it. Minarin’s almost four, now, and Ichigo just turned seven; if she needs help, all of the Uchiha are there. And, well, there’s not many other people who could have taken this mission. Kiri needed people who have experience with bloodlines manifesting late. Aside from his personal experience, he’s seen so many bloodlines that he’s practically an encyclopedia.
Besides, she’s…there’s every chance she’ll miscarry. Sakura doesn’t even know how she got pregnant, honestly, since she got her tubes tied after Minarin. She knows how much Kakashi loves the two they have now, and she doesn’t want to get his hopes up unnecessarily.
By the time the year turns, she almost regrets not telling him. What she thought was one baby with very strong chakra turned out to be twins. That means she’s not even at the end of her second trimester and she’s the size of a house. It’s so bad that Naruto, Sasuke, Yamato, and Sai have started taking turns helping her with necessary chores like shopping. Kikyo, who’s never been terribly domestic, nonetheless joins Naya in helping Sakura with household chores. While she can and does manage alone, their help makes things far easier — especially since she’s almost too wide for some of the store aisles.
Ichigo’s fascinated. She was old enough to realize what was happening when Minarin was born, but not old enough to comprehend. Every single one of Sakura’s medical books about pregnancy has been devoured. Some of the interns at the hospital now know less than her daughter. Minarin’s excitement is calmer, and tinged with more worry than she’d expect from a four year old.
And honestly, compared to her other two pregnancies, this one’s been pretty easy.
- - -
Kakashi reads his letter from Sakura first. He always does. Then he opens the note from Naruto and his soul leaves his body.
Kaka-sensei,
I know your mission’s important, but you might wanna see if you can come home early. I don’t think Sakura will tell you, but she’s… she needs a lot of help right now.
Naruto
He’s never finished a mission so fast. Most of the groundwork is in place for Kiri’s new training program. Mei doesn’t mind letting him leave early. He comes very close to popping a soldier pill instead of sleeping at the halfway point. Only the thought of the scolding that would bring stops him. He’s up again before daylight and moving, regardless of the fact he’s over fifty.
When Konoha comes in sight, he doesn’t even go to Naruto’s office. He reaches out for the familiar green-tea feeling of Sakura’s chakra and goes. He doesn’t know what he expects to find, or what he thought the problem would be, but —
He stands at the entrance to their veranda, arms akimbo, and stares at his wife. She’s watering Ichigo’s row of herbs, and even from behind, she’s… “Sakura?” he mumbles.
She straightens, one hand at the small of her back, and turns. “Kakashi,” she says, a smile on her face. “You’re home early.”
“You’re huge!” he blurts, at a loss for anything else to say, because she’s — the way she’s stooped forward a little, she looks almost as wide as she is tall. “I — you — huh?”
Instead of getting anger, she laughs, and oh, how he missed her laughter. “Twins, Ka-kun. A boy and a girl. I’m sending you to get snipped after this, just so you know.”
Pakkun, his nose white around the edges, trots by just then. “Good work, boss,” is all he says before the pug goes down the path to pick Ichigo up from the academy. It means nobody’s around to see the tears of relief and excitement, or the way he gathers Sakura into his arms and kisses her.
(he does, however, make sure there are plenty of witnesses when he beats Naruto up for that infuriatingly vague letter)
- - -
Hatake Tsumeko and Hatake Satoshi are born halfway through May. They’re not identical, but they look like someone put exactly fifty percent of both their parents into a vial and shook well. Their hair’s perfect bubble gum pink, like someone added lightener to Sakura’s hair, and their eyes a dark enough green to look black in some lights. Tsumeko’s named after Tsunade, Mebuki, and Kikyo, while Satoshi’s name is a nod to Sakumo. They promptly eschew almost every characteristic of the people their names honor.
Sakura’s thankful they didn’t come before Ichigo and Minarin, or she might have lost her mind. They’re not little geniuses like Ichigo; they don’t start walking and talking before she blinks. Instead, they’re little terrors. The walls turn into canvases, and the twins don’t always use paint or markers. (One particular incident means that they’re bathroom trained very quickly.) When they start walking — on a normal timeline — it doesn’t take long before the ninken's headbands and vests start going missing, often replaced with someone’s underwear and accented with messily varnished claws.
In the middle of a ‘family’ dinner (which is Team Kakashi, and all their various hangers-on, instead of just Mebuki), Naruto goes to the bathroom and doesn’t come out for far too long. They don’t realize until a clone comes up to them, wheezing with laughter, and says, “I’m goin’ to need you to heal me in a few, Sakura-chan.”
Sakura blinks at him, startled and confused, as seems to be her default these days. “Wha — what did you eat?”
Clone-Naruto cackles. “Wasn’t me. Missin’ any superglue lately? ‘cause I sat down, and —“
“TSUMEKO! SATOSHI!”
They crash Kakashi’s 55th birthday party by spiking the dango syrup with ground soldier pills. It’s the first prank they’ve pulled that’s really dangerous. If they weren’t three, she’d think they were trying to kill people. They’re not the terrifying kind of genius like Ichigo, but they’re intelligent enough that they should know better. She sits down with them, then, and talks. By the time the talk is over, they understand the lines a little better. Ichigo, barely eleven but wiser than some grown adults, talks to them after Sakura does. She dearly hopes it’ll help them keep from killing anyone.
Something else is what sends the point home. Three months after the party, when they would usually be looking forward to the turn of the year, they gather at the cemetery to bury Gai. Nobody — not even Gai himself — thought he’d be the first to go. Kakashi doesn’t cry.
Instead, he takes his mask off for the funeral. Though Naruto and Sasuke have long since seen his face, he still doesn’t go about maskless anywhere outside of their house. It doesn’t rain for the funeral. It doesn’t shine, either. The sunlight’s wan, spattered with clouds, the weather anemic in the way someone might be after a cold. The others leave after the grave is filled. Kakashi doesn’t. He stays, standing at the graveside. Lee’s on the other side of the grave, just as still. She almost stays at his side… but there’s something about the twins’ silence that makes her go.
On the way home, Tsumeko says quietly, “Mom?” She tilts her head towards her daughter. “Why… why did Gai-san die?”
Ichigo answers before Sakura can. “Gai-san was the same age as Dad, but… he broke his body trying to save the world a long time ago. That’s why he was always in a wheelchair.”
Satoshi breaks in, voice just as quiet as Tsumeko’s. “Mom and Tsunade-baa couldn’t heal him?”
Sakura sighs. “We tried, sweetie,” she says, looking down the path because it hurts to think about. “But… do you remember when I told you to think of the human body as a ball of string? When we use chakra to heal, what we do is pull out some of the string to get the body to speed up the healing. There’s only so much healing you can do before the ball of string runs out. Gai-san did things that pulled out some of the string in order to make his attacks stronger, and then we healed him, so —“
“He ran out of string,” Tsumeko mumbles. Then her grip on Sakura’s hand tightens. “Mom. You said solder pills —“
“Soldier pills,” Ichigo corrects her. Tsumeko keeps talking.
“That they use up some of the body’s string.” Sakura hums an assent. “Mom… did we make Gai-san die? He — he ate some of the dango at Dad’s party.”
She jolts and looks down at her two youngest, eyes wide. Minarin and Ichigo stop dead, both of them blinking at their siblings. What a question, Sakura laments. “I don’t think so, sweeties,” she reassures them. “It probably didn’t help his body, but I don’t think it’s what made him die. Shinobi… Shinobi usually don’t live to be very old, and Gai-san helped us win a very big war.”
“I’m sorry, Mom,” Satoshi whispers. “We didn’t mean to hurt anyone.”
Sakura drops his hand and ruffles his hair, like Kakashi did to her once upon a time. Then she d does the same to Tsumeko. “I know, sweethearts,” she says. “I know.”
Minarin speaks then, his eyes calm behind his thick glasses. “That’s part of being a shinobi. R-right, Mom?” He glances at her, a little bit of nervousness flickering across his face. “Something you don’t think about could be the difference between living and dying for someone else.”
“Right,” she says, smiling softly. “Come on. We don’t want to make Hokage-sama wait, do we?”
He doesn’t come to bed that night. When she wakes up at midnight and her husband’s still missing, she slips into a jacket and goes after him. He’s still there, though Lee’s gone. Though all of Konoha laughed at Gai and Lee, they were and are some of the most emotionally healthy shinobi in the village. Rather than lingering in grief, remembering only the saddest moments as so many people did, they taught themselves to linger in joy. When they were sad, they let it pour out instead of bottling it up. Consequently, Lee’s genin teams all require less counseling than any of the other cells. She can almost hear Gai shouting at his protege, Youth has not disappeared from the world because I have! Go forward and find the youthful leaves and blossoms of Konoha, and pass on the will of fire!
“He wouldn’t want you to linger,” she says to Kakashi now, stepping up to his side. He lifts his arm out of habit and she steps under it, pressing herself into his side.
“I know,” he rumbles after a long minute. Then he looks down at her. Though he has far more wrinkles now than he did the first time she saw his face, he remains strangely beautiful to her. “I just…” He sighs and turns towards her, dropping his other arm around her shoulders and pulling her close before dropping his forehead to rest against hers. “I never thought I’d live to be old,” he murmurs. “And here I am.”
“Here you are,” Sakura answers, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Here you’ll stay, I hope.”
His grip tightens around her shoulders. “I thought I’d die on the field, that I’d join Minato and the others on the stone,” he whispers to her. “And then you… you.”
“Me,” she says, smiling up at him. He returns a flicker of a smile before speaking again.
“I’m still going to die someday.” A pause, and there’s strain clear on his face. “I don’t want to,” he finally says. “I don’t want to leave you behind. Any of this. There were — there were days where breathing felt like too much. And now I just want…”
Her heart aches at the sadness in his voice as he trails off. “I know, love,” she reassures him, dragging him into a kiss. “I know.”
- - -
After Gai’s death, Sakura goes back to the hospital full-time. He’s never been enamored of the place, but he’s beginning to loathe it because it sucks her dry. She’s at home so little he begins to wonder if this is what single parents feel like. Kakashi might be a spry 55, but even he’s struggling. It feels like she’s gone from dawn until dusk, and when she comes home at night, she collapses into bed after eating.
He reaches his boiling point a month after the twins turn four, when she doesn’t come home for three damn days. She comes home and collapses. He calls Kikyo and Naya, who have been lifesavers for the last year. Ichigo comes over to pick Ichigo up for one-on-one training first thing in the morning. Minarin’s in school, so he doesn’t have to arrange anything special for him. Naya swoops in and steals the twins. Between the eight Uchiha children, they’ll be entertained for the day. And then he sits in the kitchen, sipping tea and waiting on his wife. It’s nearly ten in the morning before she stirs, which is the latest she’s slept in months. He waits patiently, listening to her move around the bedroom and bathroom.
“Good morning,” he says as she finally stumbles into the kitchen, still bleary-eyed.
“Morning,” she mumbles, beelining straight for the cupboard with the cereal. It’s not there, and she frowns, turning towards him. “Hey, Ka-kun, did you —“ she stops as she sees the box, sitting by his elbow. “…why do you have my cereal?”
“I wanted to make sure you’d stop long enough to talk to me,” he says. Confusion flickers across her face.
“What…? I talk to you all the time,” she says, the frown changing.
“Do you?” he asks, and he can’t stop himself from crossing his arms. “Is that why I’ve seen Naya this week more than I’ve seen you in the last month?”
Anger, vicious and ugly, flashes across her face and settles in as she snarls, “If you’re about to tell me you want me to stay home like Naya —“
He interrupts. “I never expected you to be —“
“Then why are you mad at me?” she demands, stepping closer to the table. “I’m not a civilian, Kakashi, I’m a damn good ninja and the best med-nin in history.”
“I know, and I’m not telling you —“
“I told you before I started back that I was going to be spending more time at the hospital.”
“I didn’t think it would be this much!”
“You never used to mind! What’s the problem now?”
And somehow, that’s the thing that makes his calm snap. He snaps up from the chair, seething in rage, as he shouts, “The problem is that you have children! The problem is that the twins asked me yesterday if you were punishing them for killing Gai!”
Sakura blanches, going so sickly white he worries for a second. “…what?” she breathes, swaying a little. “I told them —“
“You haven’t played with them in over a year, Sakura,” he says, anger still laced through his voice. “You were at their birthday party for a half-hour before someone paged you away. They think you’re staying away because you hate them, and that you hate them because they killed Gai.”
She inhales and reaches out, flailing blindly for the chair for a few seconds before she’s able to grab it. Then she sinks down into it, eyes distant and yet still present. “…they really asked that?”
He sighs, but nods. “I wouldn’t… this isn’t the kind of lie I would tell, Sakura.”
Sakura looks… lost. He hasn’t seen her this lost since she was a genin. “I can’t — what am I supposed to do, Kakashi? I can’t just stop. I’m the director!”
“Yes, you’re the director,” he says gently. “Why are you in the operating room? It’s peace time, there can’t be that much going on.”
Her shoulders droop. “You’d be surprised,” is all she says, still looking so woebegotten and lost that he can’t help bending a little. Kakashi moves around the table and stops in front of her, gently reaching out and stroking her face.
“They managed without you working seventy-two hours shifts before,” he tells her. “The people in the hospital aren’t the only ones that need you. We need you.”
Things… get better after that. She starts working less shifts, and spending more time at home. He’s thankful beyond words. They don’t fight often, but it makes him sick when they do. Their life together has been wonderful. It’s been so indescribably amazing that he wonders if it’s the universe’s way of paying him back for the first thirty years of his life. He doesn’t want to sully a moment of it with anger.
But the more he wants time to stop, the faster it goes. Ichigo graduates, and she ends up on the same team as Toshiro, along with a civilian boy. Initially, he discounts the civilian boy, and then he remembers how that bit him in the ass with Sakura. The civilian boy turns out to be far, far better at taijutsu than both Toshiro and Ichigo. Toshiro, unsurprisingly, excels in genjutsu, and Ichigo prefers ninjutsu — but it sticks in their craw that Souta beats them so handily. Hanabi, who’s proven to be one of the best jounin sensei the village has, uses every bit of that rage to push them forward.
He blinks, and Ichigo’s a chuunin. Minarin graduates to the next level of civilian school just before Tsunade dies. Sakura’s a ghost for months after that, her eyes often distant. She doesn’t really ‘wake up’ until the world attempts to go to hell again. In a startling turn of events, Suna does end up being the ones who try to shatter Naruto’s hard-won piece. It’s not at Gaara’s behest, though.
Rather, someone poisons Gaara. While he retains many of the abilities Shukaku gave him, his healing factor was never as potent as Naruto’s. He survives, but goes into a coma. Sakura offers to go over and heal him, but — Suna’s council examines the poison and finds it to be a compound often used by Konoha.
They declare war, and promptly march on Konoha. Kusa stands behind Suna, and that’s so odd that even Naruto finds it strange. Kusa, as a rule, tends to side with Konoha. Naruto sends out information gathering teams at the same time he sets up defense teams.
- - -
Ichigo’s fourteen, and she’s a chuunin, and she is so ready for this. Peace is great, and she’s not complaining, but there’s a part of her that wants something more than the easy missions she’s taken so far. The biggest challenge she’s had was a mission where rogue ninja decided to rob the caravan she was escorting, and that was… still stupidly easy.
And then she gets put on defense. With her parents. She pouts, but she doesn’t say anything to the Nanadaime about it. They’re part of a defensive line on the edge of the Rivers border, and for the first few weeks of the ‘war’, they only get infiltrators and old-fashioned spies in their camp.
And then, a month after they set up camp, an entire army shows up one morning.
She’s halfway through her breakfast, still dozy, when the alarm comes. Ichigo had patrol the night before, 18:00 to 0:00, so it’s more like lunch… but she chokes on the roof in her mouth when the sound goes off. “Whaddafug?” she demands as one of the nearby jounin leaps to their feet. It’s Kiba-san, someone from Mom’s generation, so he’ll know what that’s about.
“We’ve got incoming, brat,” he snaps at her. “Get your shit together. Fast.”
That brings her to full alert. For all that she’s a peace baby, her parent’s weren’t. They drilled into her the importance of always being prepared, of never being caught off guard. As a consequence, she’s seen some stores with less weapons than she regularly carries. She doesn’t leave the house without her father’s tanto, of course, but she also carries dozens of sealing scrolls with any and ever kind of weapon she could possibly want. And she’s good with all of them. She inherited her mother’s chakra control, which means she’s been able to learn many of her father’s stolen jutsu. She’s also got three ninken of her own — Kaede for tracking, Hag for fighting, and Gyuu for infiltration. Her genjutsu aren’t as freakishly good as Toshiro’s, and her taijutsu still lag behind Souta, but she is so ready for this fight.
Of course, she gets to the front line and finds her parents there. That means the chances of her getting a good fight are… basically negative. “Good morning, Ichi-chan,” Mom greets her. Dad just hums and turns his book to the side.
“Dad! Are you really reading weird porn? Right now?” Ichigo groans, covering her face in her hands and glancing around. There’s no physical line separating Rivers and Konoha, but there’s a line of shinobi just out of easy throwing range. If she concentrates, she can feel the chakra signatures of significantly more ninja than she can see. It makes sense. What doesn’t make sense is her dad’s weird habits.
“Aa,” is all the revered rokudaime hokage says.
“It’s psychological warfare, sweetheart,” her mother says. Then a wicked grin flashes across her face. “Also, he knows the latest book is almost ready.”
She groans again. Almost all of her mother’s team are involved in that weird series of books. Mom and Nanadaime-sama write them. Uncle Sai illustrates them, and he’s working on handing it over to Inojin-kun. Uncle Yamenzo (the name a product of the Hatakes’ eternal fight about whether to call him Yamato or Tenzo) proof-reads them before publishing, and Dad reads them. The only person who isn’t involved is Uncle Sasuke. “We’re at war, Mom.”
“Mhmm,” is all Mom says. Then her eyes flick out towards the other side of the battle line. “Ah, here come the negotiators. Be a dear and join your team, would you?” Ichigo rolls her eyes, but retreats. Thankfully, her assignment is to guard the leaders of this camp, so basically all she does is hide. That means she gets to see what’s going on.
Six shinobi, three with Suna hitai-ate and three with Kusa, approach. Once they’re two-thirds of the way to the Konoha line, they stop and the tallest of the Suna call out, “We are not without mercy, Konoha dogs. Surrender, and let us punish those who would harm Suna, and we will let you go peacefully.”
Mom hums and then turns to Dad, her voice echoing around the battlefield. “What do you think, honey? Should we let them pass?”
“Maa, sounds like trouble,” he answers, not even looking up from his book.
“You heard the man,” she says, turning back to the enemy shinobi. Then her voices goes flat and hard. “If you cross the line into Konoha, we will respond with force.”
And then Ichigo has to use a sight enhancement jutsu because the person at the front of the line says one of the dumbest things she’s ever heard, and she has to see what kind of idiot would say it. The man looks a little older than Boruto. That means he’s old enough to know better. “I don’t see any line, Haruno-chan.”
Ichigo hears the smile in her mother’s voice. “Let me fix that for you.” Then she squats and… flicks the ground. Nothing happens for a few seconds. The enemy ninja scoffs and opens his mouth just before everything shakes. Then the ground parts, slowly at first, and then faster. When the shaking stops, there’s a foot-wide chasm in the ground, stretching both north and south as far as Ichigo can see. “Does that help?”
Suna-Baka gulps, clearly terrified, but he stands his ground. “O-our offer remains.” Ichigo has to give him points for the sheer amount of guts it probably took him to say that.
Three days later, when she’s running on two hours of sleep and spattered in the blood of people both younger and older than her, a huge toad pops into existence, straddling the crack Mom put in the ground. “Stand down!” Nanadaime-sama shouts. There’s not enough chakra emanating from the person for it to be anything other than a clone, but she still stops fighting, as does her opponent, and listens. “Gaara was poisoned by some Kusa assholes! They wanted to start a fight ‘cause they thought they could beat us, but they didn’t wanna break the treaty themselves!”
Suna-Baka, one arm limp and bloody from Hag’s bite, turns to the Kusa nin he was tag-teaming her with. “Is that true?”
Kusa-Teme clears his throat nervously and starts, “Well, I — you see —“
That’s all Suna-Baka hears before he snarls and jumps at the other ninja. Ichigo gladly joins in. All around the field, others follow suit. Before long, the only Kusa headbands in sight are trussed up like hogs. Suna-Baka sighs and turns to her. “I… I am sorry, Konoha-san,” he says with a bow. “I was eager to fight, and I should have been wiser.”
Ichigo snorts. “Yeah, that makes two of us,” she says, reaching out and shoving him gently. He stumbles, weakened by the fighting. “Gotta say, though, it’s not everyone who has the guts to say dumb shit like that to my mom.”
“Your… mother?” he says, eyebrows furrowing. Then he looks at her, really looks, and sees the short spikes of plum-pink hair. The color drains from his tan face. “You’re — you’re Sakura-sama’s daughter!”
“One of ‘em,” she chirps. “Hatake Ichigo, ready to kick your ass!” Then her father strolls up next to her.
“Aa, Ichi-chan, are you flirting with strange ninja?” he chides her gently.
“Rokudaime-sama —“ Suna-Baka breathes. And promptly passes out.
Once the deception’s uncovered, it doesn’t take long for them to let Mom heal Gaara. Then everything’s pretty much back to normal. Suna-Baka, also known as Jin, is pretty nice when he’s not trying to attack Konoha. They’re on their way back home when Ichigo asks her parents, “Why didn’t you guys just, like, blow them away? You’re part of the Second Sannin, Mom, you totally could’ve just run over them all with Katsuyu-sama. Or Dad could’ve summoned that lightning wolf he showed me once.”
Dad lets out a long suffering sigh. “We could have,” he agrees. “And then, when Naruto came through with that information, all of them would’ve been dead or badly injured. How do you think that would’ve made Suna feel, to lose all their people like that?”
“But we lost people, Dad!” Ichigo argues. Toshiro’s in the hospital, healing from overuse of his sharingan, and Souta’s not going to be able to spar for a while after opening two of the ‘gates’ on a Kusa jounin. And they got lucky. She saw two of her classmate’s bodies, along with some she vaguely recognizes as being from years ahead of her.
“Yes, we did,” Mom says quietly. “But is it better to lose a few people on other sides, and be able to go back to being friends, or is it better to save all your own people at the risk of losing a friendship?”
(after that, Ichigo raids the psychology and politics section of the library. it turns out Minarin has more books on those than the library does. by the time she makes jounin at 15, she knows just enough about the internal machinations of people and countries to know that she doesn’t know anything at all. about anything.)
- - -
Sakura retires from her job as hospital director when she turns 50. Her successor is one of the genin Shizune started training while Sakura was pregnant with Ichigo. Tsumeko and Satoshi graduate from the Academy just before she retires. Minarin graduates from civilian school not long after, and promptly runs off to study at a university in northern Earth country. He writes long, winding letters that only Kakashi and Ichigo can begin to understand. For all that some of the psychological terminology is familiar to Sakura, it baffles her. All she knows is how easily Minarin comforted her when Mebuki died, and she knows he’ll make the world a better place.
Nobody will say it, but everyone’s fairly certain Ichigo will be the next Hokage. As she gets older, she continues to learn with such voracity that both her parents are astounded. Naruto works with her often, teaching her things that nobody save the Hokage would need to know. She doesn’t have Minarin’s intuition about people, or Naruto’s blinding optimism, but she has her own ways of working with people.
Naruto assigns Ichigo to a genin team the year after the twins graduate the Academy, and she takes it so seriously that Sakura struggles not to laugh sometimes. She reads books upon books about teaching methods, and writes letters to Minarin that are almost as long as the ones he sends. Whatever she does, it works. Her team doesn’t enter the first chuunin exams after graduating, but they enter the next. If the exams could be ‘won’, team Ichigo comes close. Their teamwork is impeccable, their techniques almost flawless — and in the tournament round, it comes down to Tsumeko versus one of Ichigo’s students.
Despite Tsumeko’s experience and age, Ichigo’s civilian kunoichi beats her. It’s a close fight, and Sakura’s heart is in her throat more than once, but… it’s good for Tsumeko and Satoshi both to be beaten. They’re not like their big sister, but they’re talented, and they don’t often lose.
On their thirtieth wedding anniversary, Sakura and Kakashi are alone. It’s the first time in years that there’s been no threat of the children, or some of their friends, flying in at top speed. She’s fifty-eight, and he’s seventy-two. Some of her old coworkers from the hospital tease her about how long they’ve been together; many of them have gotten divorced and remarried more than once in the time since she’s gotten married. Long marriages are’t the normal thing for shinobi. Long missions, and trauma, and dozens of other things mean the average length of a relationship is less than ten years.
They’re both wrinkled now. His hair’s become whiter with age. She didn’t think it was possible, but it’s gone from silver-white to bone-white. Her own hair’s fading with age, not greying but turning more pastel. The last few years, he’s stopped wearing his mask in public. “Everyone’s forgotten what my father looked like,” is all he said when she asked about it.
Curled up in his lap on their couch in front of the fireplace, it almost feels like they’re young again if she closes her eyes. His love for her has never faded, never wavered, only deepened with time. Sometimes, she looks at him and how much she loves him washes over her in waves. “If someone told me when I graduated the academy that I would end up marrying someone fourteen years my senior and that I’d turn Sasuke down multiple times, I would have shaken you to death,” she murmurs into his ear.
“And yet,” he rumbles back. His voice has deepened and gotten scratchier with age, and it still sends shivers down her spine.
“And yet,” she repeats softly, leaning up to kiss him. It’s been years since they had the time and energy to make love over and over again, but Ichigo’s visiting her not-a-boyfriend in Suna. Minarin’s in the daimyo’s court, lobbying for hospitals to be built across the country. The twins are on a mission.
So they take their time. Even with menopause and age, they know each other well. His hands drift over the stretch marks on her hips and up her sides like she’s made of gold, like she’s still young and beautiful. He echoes her thoughts a second later. “God, you’re beautiful,” he breathes like an echo of years past, leaning in to kiss her.
“No, you,” she murmurs back, tweaking one of his nipples. He groans and jerks beneath her, eyes hot on her as he tugs the tie on her robe loose. If he were anyone else, if he weren’t the man who loved her silently for years, she might care that her body sags in places it didn’t once. She doesn’t. Instead, she stands and slithers to the floor, between his legs. “Turn about is fair play?” she says, raising her eyebrows at him.
And it is. After she makes him beg her for release, after he comes all over her chest and face, he sprawls on the floor and drags her down over his face. She loses track of how many times she orgasms, loses track of time, until he moves and slides into her at some point, hard again. “Randy old man,” she moans as he presses inside her. “How the hell are you hard again?”
“Can you blame me when I have a goddess for a wife?” he pants into her hair, hips rolling into hers slowly. She doesn’t answer, can’t answer.
That day is the first of many where they lock the doors and do not venture out into the town. Ino takes to teasing her about ‘sensei dick’ again when she shows up to a lunch with her best friend, flushed and wearing a hickey like she’s 19. The kids learn to call or send a ninken with a note before they come by after the third time they walk in on them more than slightly unclothed. Sai and Sasuke, of all people, tease them about acting a third of their age. Kikyo just cackles and says, “This is why we adopted older children. Less libido-killing.”
“I don’t want to hear anything from you, mister ‘revive-the-Uchiha-with-my-eight-kids’,” she snaps after Sasuke comes over for tea and pokes fun at the handcuffs they left on the coffee table. He has the decency to flush. She pauses, then, and a thought strikes her. “Did you think I was going to have 8 kids?” she demands.
He flushes darker. “I, ah…” he trails off. It’s a sign of how much age has mellowed him that he shrugs and just comes out with what he was going to say after a minute. “I planned on traveling with you, if you’d married me,” he says. “I didn’t intend to spend as much time in Konoha as I have with Naya.”
She scowls at him. “You realize I would’ve had to stay in Konoha, right? As director of the hospital?” He nods. “So… what? You would just leave me here while you were off atoning for being an idiot?”
A flinch, followed by another nod. “I stayed in the village because I knew Naya needed me,” he admits, voice low. “You wouldn’t have needed me the same way. I doubt I would have stayed.”
She wrinkles her nose at him and, in retaliation, drops three sugar cubes into his cup of tea. “Ass,” is all she says. All of this is interesting, but it’s what-ifs, and she prefers her reality.
And then, one morning changes everything. Kakashi usually stays in bed with her until she goes to the bathroom. Sometimes, he’ll follow her in and shower. Sometimes, he’ll go to the kitchen and start breakfast, and other times he’ll lurk outside the bathroom door and pounce on her when she exits. Very, very rarely, if ever, does he just stay in bed.
But when she comes out of the bathroom, he’s in the same place as he was when he left, eyes closed. She snorts. “Come on, sleepy,” she teases him, sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching for the tie on her braid. “Ino wanted to plot with you about my sixtieth, remember?”
No answer. Her fingers slow their untangling. “…honey?” Nothing. “Kakashi.” Still no answer. It’s then she realizes how quiet the house is. Normally by now, Pakkun’s padding around the kitchen, or Bull’s rampaging through the yard, or…
Vertigo hits her like a hammer, making her head spin. “No,” she hears someone whisper. She doesn’t realize it’s her until she watches her hands drop her braid and reach towards Kakashi. Everything seems distant, and faint, and not-real, because she knows what she’ll find.
- - -
Ichigo goes from sleepy to awake the instant Jin’s phone rings. It took forever for people to figure out how to run phone wires from other countries to Suna, but phone calls are a hell of a lot easier than hawks. “Kojima residence,” she answers with a yawn. Jin sleeps like the dead.
“Ichigo,” Naruto-sama’s voice comes over the line. It’s heavy, and cracked, and full of pain in a way she’s only heard a few times before. “You need to come home.”
Her body goes cold. “What happened?” she manages to force out past numb lips.
“Your —“ he stops and gulps, tears evident in the sound. “Kaka-sensei’s dead, Ichigo.”
“Oh,” she answers. Before she hangs up, she tells him she’ll be home soon. All of her words feel like they’re coming on auto-pilot. Jin wakes up when she’s half-packed. One look at her and he knows something’s wrong. He opens his mouth, but she beats him to it. “Dad’s dead,” she croaks. And then everything rushes in, like saying the words made it real, like it hadn’t been the truth before, and her knees give out.
He catches her. He doesn’t try to stop her from crying or sobbing, and she’s glad, because this hurts. It hurts all the way home, and it hurts when she helps her mother make arrangements for the funeral, and it hurts when she watches her father’s coffin go into the ground. Nine smaller coffins are buried behind his grave. She wishes she could’ve said goodbye, that she’d given Pakkun another scratch behind the ears last time she saw him, that she’d held her father a little longer. She remembers, once, when Gai-san died, that her father stood at his grave until midnight. She wondered then how he could do that. Now, she blinks, and it’s twilight.
Minarin’s standing across from her, his eyes on the grave just like hers, though his glasses hide them. “Are you back yet?” he asks a minute later, lifting his gaze to her.
“I don’t know,” she answers. “I…” she lets her eyes slide shut as she feels the tears begin to come again. She’s sick of crying, god she’s so sick of crying, but how can she stop? Her dad is gone, he’s gone, and she’ll never see him again — “It’s not fair,” she sobs. “I understand death, I do, but it’s not fair! He lived through so much and he kept going and he was so strong and now he’s gone and he’s never going to giggle at those dumb books again or yell at the twins for doing something stupid and —“ from there, it devolves into incoherency. She can barely tell what she’s saying and she’s the one saying it.
“Is it unfair, though?” Minarin says, his eyes dissecting her gently. “He told me once he never thought he’d live long enough to want to retire, let alone to actually do it. He lived to be almost 73. He’s in history books, and he lives on in us. That’s more than he ever thought he’d have.”
“I know,” she hiccups. “But I — I want him here.”
“We all do,” Minarin says.
- - -
Satoshi remembers how his mom acted when Tsunade-baa and Mebuki-baa died. He remembers her wandering around the house, eyes foggy, and he expects the same thing when his father dies. Instead, his mother just… goes on. She goes for more lunch dates with Yamanaka-san and Inuzuka-san than she did before. She babysits Sakada-sensei’s kids a lot more — which he doesn’t mind, much, cause the twins are more like Boruto than his own kids are.
Two years after Dad dies, Minarin comes back to town for Ichigo’s inauguration as Hokage, and Satoshi makes up his mind to ask if Mom’s okay. Satoshi might be a med-nin, but Minarin’s the one ‘revolutionizing mental health’.
Yamanaka-san organizes a huge party to celebration Ichigo being Hachidaime Hokage. It feels more like a family reunion than anything. Jin’s by Ichigo’s side, bouncing Satoshi’s first (and so far, only) nephew on his hip. Yamenzo-san and Iruka-san are talking to Mom. The Uchiha throng’s scattered around, both Uncle Sasuke’s kids and Sakada-sensei’s. Little Miko-chan keeps fluttering her eyelashes at him whenever she sees him. She’s not actually little, she’s only like four years younger than him, but… ew. He’ll never understand why people like the idea of kissing.
Just as he turns to go looking for Minarin, his brother appears… with a girl on his arm. “Satoshi,” he says quietly. “I would like you to meet Jena-chan. If Mother is agreeable, I intend to marry her.”
Satoshi chokes on air. “Y-you — marry?!” he sputters. “What?”
Minarin blinks slowly at him. “Yes. We complement each other well. I do not know if we will love each other as much as Mother and Father did, but we will try.”
And that reminds him of his mission. “Speaking of Mom…” he starts, glancing over his shoulder. “I’m kind of worried, I guess. I remember how she acted when other people died, and she’s… I don’t know, she just isn’t acting the same as then.”
“That would be because every grief is different,” Minarin says. “I think she knows Father would not want her to linger in grief. Or, perhaps, she is simply waiting for the day when their spirits find each other again.”
Satoshi sighs. “Maybe. I dunno. Talk to her, would you?” Minarin nods, and honestly, that’s way too much feelings-talk for the day. Satoshi slips into the crowd and dodges Yamanaka-san long enough to cast a prank jutsu on eight of the fifteen punch bowls. Every eighth person (since Ichigo’s the eighth Hokage) will taste something different with every sip. It’s brilliant, and he loves —
“HATAKE SATOSHI!”
“It wasn’t me!”
“I just found your sister making out with Ume-chan, so I know it wasn’t her!”
“…I think I hear a stray cat that needs help, Mom! Later!”
- - -
Sakura watches her daughter become Hokage with so much pride it almost chokes her. “I wish you could be here for this, my love,” she whispers to herself. After that first awful day, it’s been easier to live without Kakashi. It hurts, and aches, and some nights she cries herself to sleep, face buried in what used to be his pillow. It’s long since lost his scent, but it still touched him.
On the five year anniversary of his death, Ino asks her, “How do you keep going?” She knows what her best friend wants to hear: that there’s some secret to living alone after being an and for so long. Sai, body ravaged by ROOT, has barely been dead for six months. Ino isn’t handling it well.
“Do you want the platitude, or the truth?” Sakura asks, lips thin. Ino just glares. “I… to tell the truth, I’m just treating it like… a countdown, I suppose. A way to balance the scales. He lived without me for years, even when he loved me, and he kept going. How can I do any less?”
Ino sighs and looks at her hands. “I guess,” is all she says. It takes time, but she comes back to life slowly. They’ve come to the age where their friends are all slowly dropping… something that’s rare for shinobi. It doesn’t make the gauntlet any easier. Some of them, Sakura knows, will be healthy and hale for a long time. Despite not actually having the Kyuubi any longer, Naruto’s healing factor hasn’t slowed down. If she squints, she can maybe think he’s fifty. He certainly doesn’t look sixty-five. Every year, though, it feels like they lose someone else vital.
Yamato goes after Sai, and then Kurenai. Iruka, heart-broken, doesn’t last long without Yamato. Somehow, when Kikyo goes, it hurts almost as bad as when Kakashi went. Sakura and Sango end up taking comfort in each other. It’s not sexual, it’s not even romantic; it’s just that they understand how it feels to be so utterly alone again. Though she tried to lean on Ino, it was harder for her best friend to understand. Sakura knows a lot of people thought she pulled Kakashi back into the light, but the truth is that they kept each other from going too far in the wrong direction. She had her shadows, just as he had his, and they kept each other in equilibrium. It was the same for Kikyo and Sango. They were too much to be simply light or simply shadow, and rather than one of them saving the other from darkness once, they saved each other every day.
Her children — and grand-children — are the brightest thing in her life, bar nothing. Ichigo’s three boys aren’t the same kind of terrifying genius as their mother, and she’s glad of that. As Ichigo gets older, she’s prone to over-thinking things and fits of melancholy, as many geniuses are. Sakura practically had to drag her in to see the head psychologist in the new mental health wing. While she wouldn’t trade her children for anything, she’s well aware of the tendency towards mental illness in geniuses, so it suits her just fine that none of her grand-children are geniuses.
Minarin, in a perfectly Minarin fashion, has a girl and a boy. While the girl needs glasses, her eyes aren’t nearly as bad as her father’s. The only issue the boy has is a deadly allergy to soy, of all things, which leaves Sakura constantly scrambling for new recipes.
Tsumeko and her girlfriend plan to adopt, since Tsumeko gladly stole the title of ‘biggest lesbian in Konoha’ from her aunt Kikyo. Satoshi maintains that romance is disgusting, and so is sharing body fluids. Tsumeko adores poking fun at her med-nin brother about how blood transfusions are technically sharing body fluids.
And every moment of every day, she wishes Kakashi was there. Sometimes, when she’s sleepy or not thinking, she still turns like she can tell him something. Life is good, but without him, it feels incomplete.
(Tsumeko, girlfriend, and foster child move in with Sakura when she turns 68. she and all her children have a spectacular fight beforehand about how she can still take care of herself. she ends up losing, and she doesn’t regret it; it’s good to have noise in the house again. and they all know better than to disturb her on the nights where she goes out back to Kakashi’s grave, bedroll in hands, and sleeps beside him like they’re on a mission again)
- - -
Someone bangs on the door just as Tsumeko pours her mixture into the omelet pan. “Maya, could you get that?” she shouts at her foster daughter. The kid’s almost eleven, and according to the orphanage, an insufferable brat. Tsu thinks the kid just needed attention.
“Yes, Tsu!” the kid shouts back. Small footsteps thud down the hall a minute later and she hears the front door open. “Hi, Auntie Hokage!”
Tsumeko sighs as she rolls the pan to get everything evened out before she folds her omelet. “Morning, bitch,” she greets her sister when she feels the calm chakra enter the kitchen. In the main room, she can hear Maya talking to Jin and his devilspawn.
“Morning, shithead,” Ichigo answers, a smile in her voice. “Mom not up yet?”
“Nah,” she says, carefully folding the omelet. “I was going to get everyone set up for breakfast before I woke her up. I… well, you know Dad always liked making omelets on his birthday, and I didn’t want…”
Ichigo hums, the sound barely audible over the clinking of plates. One of them slides onto the counter by her elbow, replacing the one with a freshly plated omelet. “Yeah,” she says quietly. “Last time I made omelets, I thought she was going to cry.”
For a few minutes, there’s only silence. Tsumeko listens to the sounds of her sister dishing up miso soup to go with her brats’ omelets, the sizzle of her egg pan drowning out the talking in the main room. “Wanna send those little shits in to wake her up?” she says after she plates the sixth omelet. “They’ll occupy her until I’m done.”
“They’re not little —“ Ichigo starts.
“They shoved pepper pills into all of the Inuzuka’s dog treats,” Tsumeko says flatly. “Coming from someone who was a little shit and has since matured into a grown-ass shithead, that’s prime little shit material.”
The Hachidaime Hokage just sighs and steps into the main room. “Alright, guys, you can go wake up Grandma! Be careful!” The last words disappear beneath the thunder of footsteps — and the thunder returns much more quickly than she expects.
“Moooom, Grandma’s not in her room!” the oldest blurts out as they skid to a halt in the kitchen doorway. Brat #1 is first in line, and determined to stay there, so he grabs both sides of the doorframe and plants himself firmly. Both of his brothers throw themselves at him, trying to break his miniature wall.
“Boys,” Ichigo sighs.
Tsumeko doesn’t mind being the mean auntie, so she snaps, “Cut it out, brats! Or else I’m summoning Big Girl!” Big Girl, who named herself, is the meanest dog in Tsumeko’s pack, and everyone knows it. She’s not actually large, and she doesn’t look mean, but the beagle-y mutt doesn’t know the meaning of ‘play nice’.
They settle down just in time to hear the knock on the front door. “I got it!” Brat #3 yells, and they’re off again. After a thump in the front hall, followed by a yelp, Minarin, Jena, and Satoshi all come into sight. Minarin’s brats are, unsurprisingly, half-asleep. They disappear into the main room along with the other kids, Jena following them just in case it gets out of hand for Jin.
“Fuckheads,” Tsu greets her brothers calmly, dishing up the last omelet and sliding it onto the table. “Mom’s not in her room. Three guesses —“
“And the first one doesn’t count,” Satoshi sighs. “This can’t be good for her health.”
“Grief is far more deleterious than sleeping on the ground, no matter what age you are,” Minarin says, tilting his head forward. “Should I look for her?”
Tsumeko flaps her hand at him. “Call in the hordes and let them eat while we go look.”
“All of us?” Satoshi says, frowning.
Ichigo nods. “Have you never noticed she doesn’t greet anyone else on Dad’s birthday until she’s made sure all four of us are okay?” Tsumeko stares at her because, yeah, no, nobody normal notices that. She just knows that her mother also likes to wander on her outside nights, and it’s entirely possible she’ll be in the woods somewhere. For someone who just turned seventy-three, she’s quite spry. “….aa.”
“Stupid fuckin’ genius,” she mumbles, turning and heading for the back door. “Tell your spawn to come e at and let’s go get Mom.”
The part of Tsumeko that’s an artist wants to draw this scene as they walk through the high grass, towards the back of the Hatake complex where their father is buried. Between the four of them, there’s enough shades of pink and green to keep a paint store in business, but it’s also fall. That means the ground’s carpeted in colorful leaves. As they walk, she takes a mental snapshot of the moment. Satoshi’s kicking up leaves with every step. Ichigo’s casually slicing any that get too close to her face with tiny wind blades. Minarin’s just humming, and she joins him.
They pass around the corner to the grove that doubles as a graveyard, and she sighs a little in relief when she sees her mother there. She’s tucked into her bedroll, hand outstretched to rest on her husband’s grave, as always. More than once, Tsumeko’s come here and found the bedroll empty and her mother out in the woods, bench pressing trees or something else ridiculous.
Her relief fades when Ichigo stops short. “I can’t feel Mom’s chakra,” she breathes. And then she bolts. It only takes Tsumeko a second to verify her words, and then she’s darting after her sister, unable to breathe. “Mom?” Ichigo whispers, kneeling next to Sakura and shaking her shoulder gently.
“…Mom?” Tsumeko tries a second later, standing over her mother, unable to kneel because her body doesn’t want to work. “…Mommy?” Her voice breaks, and then she’s crying and she’s on her knees and Satoshi and Minarin are beside her, shouting and screaming and she’s never seen Minarin sob like this before.
- - -
Thousands gathered to honor the Rokudaime’s passing; it seems like millions gather to honor Sakura’s. Ichigo loses count of how many people say, “She saved me.”
When the crowds disperse from the public memorial, the one that Sakura wouldn’t let them put up until she died, all four of the Hatake children go to the real grave and stand vigil. “So many people told me how you saved them, Mom,” Ichigo says to the stone near dawn. “They keep forgetting that you… you guys saved everyone. You and Dad made sure we had a world to live in.” She swallows past the knot in her throat and takes a second to figure out her next words.
“I promise we’ll make sure it keeps going,” Minarin finishes.
HATAKE KAKASHI AND HATAKE SAKURA
58 V.E. - 131 V.E. 72 V.E. - 145 V.E.
True love stories never end.
- - -
Sakura pushes past the bamboo grove that blocks off the creek and smiles. Kakashi’s sitting on a stump, waiting for her. “Aa, you’re late, Sa-chan,” he says, looking up at her with a grin. Miracle of miracles, he actually puts a bookmark in his book before he closes it and stands up, holding his hand out to her.
“Yeah, yeah,” Sakura mutters, taking his hand. “Don’t get used to saying that. One time thing.” He pulls her close and kisses her gently before tugging her along, down the road. There’s a white bridge, like the one she waited on for team seven once upon a time, that makes her laugh.
“Do you regret it?” he asks, pausing and tapping the bridge railing.
If she strains, she can hear familiar voices around the corner, Tsunade’s louder than all the rest. Her answer’s almost as fast as her smile. “What is there to regret?” His smile warms her all the way through, as it always has. Together, they move forward again.
|
Maya had been away at a firefighting conference/training for the past 5 days. It was something that she had to do every couple of years. This was open to all lieutenants and captains so Andy and Maya had both gone, Jack deciding to stay back because Inara was almost 9 months pregnant with their daughter and had not had the easiest time so he didn’t want to be six hours away with spotty at best cell service when she was so close to delivering.
Carina was happy that her wife was able to go to this training, knowing it was good for her, but that didn’t stop her from missing her. They had been married for almost a year at this point, and it wasn’t that Carina was dependent on Maya because both of them had agreed that if they ever felt that happening, that they would address quickly and stop it because they were both extremely independent people.
Carina did, however, often find Maya to be the reason she went home when she finished working instead of staying and trying to get more and more done. Also, despite the fact that Maya was at the station at least 3 nights a week, Carina had grown used to sharing a bed with her and to just being around her. Going home to their empty apartment wasn’t something Carina enjoyed, especially when she couldn’t just stop by the station on her way home to see her wife.
Also, she was very busy with work, having a mom who was pregnant with quadruplets who had been admitted at 22 weeks because she had started to dilate. She was now almost 30 weeks, and Carina was doing everything in her power to keep the babies in another 2 weeks, just to give them the best possible odds.
She was also trying to get her research moving forward again, the pandemic putting a pause on it for over a year, but with the numbers way down and things getting back to the new normal, she was again able to get working.
To top it off, four OBs had come down with food poisoning after going out to dinner together, meaning everyone else had to work extra.
All of this culminated in Carina ending up staying at the hospital the entire time Maya was gone.
She had been catching a little sleep here and there, but she had also been struggling with nightmares again, mostly about the day Andrea died, for the past few weeks. Maya had been helping her through them, holding her when she was home, and facetiming with her when she was working. However, the cell service where Maya was was practically non-existent, leaving Carina to deal with the nightmares, and insomnia they brought, alone. This resulted in an hour of sleep a night, if she was lucky, the whole time Maya was gone.
She was exhausted, and her body was starting to really feel it by Friday, the day her wife was expected back. Carina was supposed to get off work at 9 am, having been working all night. She was fully planning on going home and getting into bed to wait for her wife to come home. She was starting to feel nauseated, probably due to her lack of sleep and decent food the past week.
However, as she was getting ready to pack up her things, her pager suddenly went off. Her mom with the quads, whose labor they had been fighting all night, was not responding well to the meds and her labor was progressing. Carina groaned, glad she hadn’t changed out of her scrubs yet as she headed back to the mom’s room.
“Ok, Melanie,” Carina said, pulling on some gloves as she walked in, “Let’s see what is happening here.”
Carina did her exam, feeling a tiny foot as she put her hand in for the check.
“Ok,” she said, looking up, pulling off her gloves, “So there is a foot in the birth canal, and you are about 6 cm dilated. It is time to meet these babies.”
“They aren’t ready,” Melanie said, shaking her head, “They are still too tiny. They aren’t ready. I’m not ready.”
“Well, they seem to disagree with you,” Carina said, looking to her nurse who read Carina’s mind and headed to book an OR, “They are 30 weeks and 4 days. That is very good for higher order multiples. They are going to get great care in the NICU.”
“It’s going to be ok,” Melanie’s husband said, holding her hand as a nurse walked in, getting her ready as Carina walked out, going to get ready for the long c-section.
“Hey,” Amelia said, walking up to her friend, “I thought you were off.”
“My quad mom is about to give birth,” Carina sighed.
“Are you alright?” Amelia asked, noticing the bags under Carina’s eyes and the slightly pale heugh to her skin.
“I haven’t been sleeping that well this week,” Carina shrugged, “I will be fine.”
“Want some coffee?” Amelia asked.
“My stomach is not feeling very well right now,” Carina said, shaking her head, “I’m sure it’s the exhaustion, but coffee does not sound appealing. Also, I need to go because these babies are coming now.”
“Alright,” Amelia said, making a mental note to check back in on Carina soon.
The Italian doctor headed upstairs, pulling on her surgery garb before going in to scrub. Her patient was on the table, getting her spinal done as Carina scrubbed. She took a deep breathe, getting herself in the right headspace to go deliver these babies.
As Carina stepped into the OR, she felt the exhaustion melt away as she got ready to bring four lives into the world. Carina delivered all the babies, making sure the placentas were also all out and the uterus was acting as it should, Carina got to work closing.
As she finished up, she congratulated the new mom again before heading to scrub out. As she did so, she felt a weird wave of dizziness was over her, grabbing the scrub sink to steady herself.
As she was scrubbing, she heard the door open and Amelia walked in.
“Hey,” the neurosurgeon said, immediately seeing how pale Carina looked, “You alright?”
“I’m…” Carina started to say, turning to look at Amelia before her eyes rolled, Amelia catching her before she fell to the ground.
“I need some help in here,” Amelia called, holding her friend. Meanwhile, Maya was in a car, driving back from her conference. She and Andy had driven together. Maya was driving, because she struggled with car sickness if she wasn’t.
“I am so ready to go home,” Maya said, rolling her neck a little.
They were about three hours into their five hour drive and both of them were tired and sore from the training.
“Yeah, thank goodness we get the next two days off,” Andy said, “All I want to do is sleep and talk to my husband. I don’t think we have been apart this long since the separation.”
“Same,” Maya nodded, “For us, it was when Carina was in Italy before the wedding. I always miss her when we are working, but not even being able to text…”
“Oh, speaking of texts,” Andy said, looking down at Maya’s phone which was doubling as their GPS, “Amelia texted.”
“It’s probably just something stupid,” Maya said, rolling her eyes.
The texts she got from the neurosurgeon were almost always dirty jokes or trying to convince her to join them for game nights or a double date with her and Link.
“Um,” Andy said, unlocking Maya’s phone, “It just says call ASAP.”
“Call her,” Maya said, an uncomfortable feeling starting to fill her body.
“Maya,” Amelia said, answering after only two rings, “Hey. When are you coming back?”
“We should be back in like an hour and forty five minutes,” Maya said, “Why?”
“Carina’s in the ER,” Amelia said, Maya almost swerving off the road, Andy yelling at her.
“What the hell happened?” Maya said, trying to concentrate on the road, “Is she ok?”
“Yeah,” Amelia said, looking at her friend who was still out cold, “She passed out after surgery. I caught her so she didn’t hit her head or anything. They are running tests right now, but I think it was exhaustion, maybe a bug. She said she hasn’t been sleeping well, and that her stomach wasn’t feeling well this morning and she’s got a low grade fever…”
“The nightmares,” Maya mumbled, “Damn it.”
“What?” Andy said, looking at her friend.
“It’s not my place,” Maya said, shaking her head, “Is she ok?”
“She’s been out for about a half an hour,” Amelia said, “We are about to give her a CT. Wait, she’s coming around. Carina?”
All Maya could hear was coughing and Amelia comforting her.
“What’s going on?” Maya asked, worry filling her body.
“She’s ok,” Amelia said, picking the phone back up, “She just threw up.”
“Can I talk to her?” Maya asked, increasing her speed a little bit more to get them back faster.
“I’m putting you on speaker,” Amelia said, “Carina, Maya’s on the phone.”
“Hey babe,” Maya said, trying not to cry, “Amelia told me you passed out. Are you ok?”
“Si,” Carina said, “I think I just haven’t been sleeping… I don’t feel very well.”
“I’m sorry babe,” Maya said, wanting to be there with her wife, “I am going to be back soon. Just rest and let them run the tests. I love you.”
“Love you too,” Carina mumbled before she went quiet.
“She’s asleep again,” Amelia said, taking the phone off speaker, “I just got off so I will stay with her until you get here. Oh, they are about to take her for a head CT, just to be safe.”
“Ok,” Maya said, “Thanks Amelia. Text me updates?”
“I will,” Amelia said, “Drive safe. See you in a few hours.”
Andy hung up the phone before looking at her best friend.
“You ok, Mai?” Andy asked, seeing the tense look on the blonde’s face.
“My wife is in the ER, and I’m not there,” Maya snapped, “No, I’m not ok.”
“Hey,” Andy said, “She’s going to be ok. She just passed out. Amelia’s with her, and we are going to be back soon. Just concentrate on getting us back without running us off the road.”
“I hate this,” Maya said, “I need to be with her.”
“And you will be,” Andy said, nodding, “We’ve only got another hour and a half, less if you keep driving almost 100.”
“Oops,” Maya said, slowing down a little, “Can you drop me off at the hospital? I’ll run to your house or something to get my car later.”
“Of course,” Andy nodded, “She’s going to be ok, Maya.”
“I know,” Maya said, nodding, “I know.”
The rest of the ride was pretty quiet, Andy reading texts from Amelia every so often. Carina’s head CT was cleared, her labs were a little abnormal, but she also hadn’t eaten a real meal in over three days and was pretty dehydrated. They were waiting for the head CT results just to be sure, but Carina was on an IV and sleeping for now. That was the last update they got, about twenty minutes before they pulled up to the hospital.
“Thanks Andy,” Maya said, hopping out, “I’ll text you when I’m coming to get the car. “Of course,” Andy said, “Keep me updated on how she’s doing.”
Maya nodded, bringing her backpack with her as she headed into the hospital. Amelia had texted her where they were so Maya went straight to the room.
“Hey,” Amelia said as Maya walked over to Carina, “Her head CT just came back. It’s totally clear so once she’s hydrated, you are going to be able to take her home. Her white blood cell count was a little elevated, so she’s probably fighting something, but it’s nothing to be worried about.”
“Thanks for staying with her,” Maya said, taking Carina’s hand in hers.
“Of course,” Amelia nodded.
“Maya,” Carina moaned, opening her eyes.
“Hi,” the fire captain said, smiling at her wife, “I missed you.”
“Missed you too,” Carina said, smiling a little bit as Maya leaned down, kissing her forehead.
“I will give you two some space,” Amelia said, “I’m going to head out, but if you guys need anything, let me know.”
“Thanks,” Maya said, smiling before giving Carina her full attention, “Are you feeling any better?”
“I think so,” Carina said, “The hydration is helping. My head hurts though, and my stomach still doesn’t feel right.”
“What happened?” Maya asked as Carina moved over so her wife could sit next to her.
“The nightmares,” Carina said, “They were bad, and I had so much work and I missed you.”
“And you didn’t eat properly or sleep?” Maya guessed, knowing how Carina got when she was really busy.
Carina nodded, leaning on Maya’s shoulder, “Sorry.”
“It’s ok,” Maya said, holding Carina close, “I’m here now and you are getting taken care of. Just relax.”
They spent another three hours in the ER, Carina getting fluids and resting. They also made her eat some chicken broth, just to get some food in her system.
“Alright,” the nurse said, coming in with Carina’s discharge papers, “You are free to go, Dr. Deluca. You need to take it easy the next few days, and Dr. Bailey said to tell you if she sees you here for the next two days, she will fire you.”
“Thank you,” Carina said, Maya helping her up.
“Let’s get you home,” Maya said, keeping an arm firmly around her wife’s waist.
They got in Carina’s car, Maya driving them home.
“Alright, straight to bed,” Maya said as they walked into their apartment.
“Can we shower first?” Carina asked, “Please?”
“Sure,” Maya agreed, helping her into the bathroom.
They shower was quick, Carina almost falling asleep on Maya’s shoulder as she washed her hair.
“Ok,” Maya said, grabbing two towels, “Let’s get you to bed.”
Carina nodded sleepily, letting Maya help her put on pajamas before getting into bed.
“Do you need anything?” Maya asked, putting on her own pajamas.
“You,” Carina said sleepily.
“Let me go get you something to drink, and then I promise, I am all yours,” Maya said, nodding.
Maya went into the kitchen, grabbing a large glass of water and some saltines before going back into the bedroom. Carina was lying in bed, smiling a little when her wife walked in.
“Grazie,” the Italian said as Maya put the items down before getting into bed, Carina immediately moving into her arms.
“Go to sleep,” Maya said, kissing her forehead, sighing when she felt the warmth from the fever that had been going up, “I will be right here when you wake up.”
“Ti amo,” Carina said, “Sorry I didn’t take care of myself while you were gone.”
“I am here to take care of you now,” Maya said, knowing they would talk about that another time, “Just sleep now. I love you too.”
Carina sighed, letting herself melt into Maya’s gentle touches, glad that her wife was finally home.
|
As the stage lift lowers, Jimin smiles out across the crowd, waving as he descends, the screams continuing even when he steps off the lift. The feeling after a concert is usually like electricity. Jimin’s whole body feeling alive and his energy levels through the roof. This time though, the second Jimin steps off the lift, his legs almost buckle with an overwhelming feeling of exhaustion. A staff member and his make up artist catch him, a worried murmur coming from staff close by as Jimin leans against the omega and beta, making his way towards his changing room.
This is Jimin’s last concert for a month. With his heat due soon, he can’t risk planning any concerts in case his preheat or heat comes along mid-concert. Once Jimin is back in his changing room, he’s being helped out of his tight jeans and clingy shirt. The pair of sweatpants and hoodie he’d worn to the venue are handed to him as he changes. He’s used to changing in front of his team and he does it without batting an eye. But this time, as he looks around shirtless as he unfolds his hoodie, he’s aware of eyes on him. Especially the eyes of the alphas on his team. There are only two in the room, one of his wardrobe assistants, Sanggyun, and one of his close friends and a backup dancer, Hoseok.
Jimin shakes his head, ignoring the way his stomach twists as he walks over to the dressing table and sits down. Yeji appears in front of him and starts removing his makeup, first the jewels under his eyes and then using a cleansing balm to remove the rest. People rush past his open dressing room door, carrying props and calling out above the noise. It’s always chaos after a concert and Jimin doesn’t usually mind it. But today, it’s making him feel agitated and antsy. His sweet cinnamon scent sours as a group of people walk past his door, speaking loudly.
Please no. Please can this not be happening here.
Yeji pauses as Jimin lets out a low whine, a frustrated whine, her hands hovering just in front of Jimin’s face. As Jimin’s eyes flicker open again, he meets the other omega’s gaze and nods for her to continue. Gentle fingers continue applying the serum to his skin as Jimin’s stomach twists, a warmth slowly starts to spread across his body.
Not now. Please not now.
The smell of cinnamon is getting stronger as well, still soured by the business and loud noises coming through his doom. Jimin’s eyes flutter closed as he clenches his fists in his lap, drawing in a deep breath. A few people in the room are murmuring, Jimin’s scent slowly becoming more potent. Jimin’s preheat usually settles in within a half hour, but there are usually a few hours before his heat actually starts. So, despite Jimin’s growing worry and uncomfortable warmth, he finds a bit of relief in the fact that his
actual
heat shouldn’t start for a few hours.
Jimin is so distracted by the feeling of his preheat approaching rapidly, that he only opens his eyes when he realises the room has gotten quieter, the noise from outside dampened. As Jimin is opening his eyes, the scent hits him. The oh so familiar scent that has his stomach heating as he turns his head and sees the apha standing close to the door, not a few feet from Jimin. Their eyes meet and Jimin has to bite his lip to stop the whimper from leaving his lips.
Jeongguk is standing tall, eyes wide and attentive, jaw clenched. It has Jimin’s omega scratching to submit.
No, wait what? No, calm down.
Jimin breaks eye contact, closing his eyes as Yeji finishes putting on his moisturiser. As she steps away Jimin lifts his hands and presses the heels of his hands against his eyes. The smell of cinnamon is ever growing, and Jimin’s entire body feels hot for two reasons.
Arousal and embarrassment.
Going into preheat makes an omega vulnerable. It makes the act on instinct, as it does for alphas. Being around an alpha that an omega doesn’t intend on spending their heat with, is risky. They’re susceptible to advances from alphas with bad intentions. Their instincts clouding the rational part of their minds. The way Jimin’s body is reacting on instinct shouldn’t be embarrassing, but in a room of at least 10 other betas, omegas and alphas - especially a particular alpha - means Jimin can’t help it.
A sudden growl breaks through the silence and Jimin’s eyes snap open at the speed of light. In the mirror he can see Hoseok approaching him, clearly concerned and wanting to help Jimin, check on him. To the left of the mirror stands Jeongguk, hands clenched as he growls again, eyes boring into Hoseok - another Alpha. Jeongguk’s alpha is very clearly telling Hoseok’s alpha to
stay away
.
It’s instantaneous, Jimin’s omega feels overwhelmed, and Jimin can’t stop the whine that leaves his lips. It’s not loud, but in the silent room it’s heard by everyone, especially Jeongguk. The next whimper that slips past Jimin’s lips is one of distress and embarrassment as he feels a drip of slick leaking from his hole, falling against his underwear.
“Everyone get out.”
Squeezing his eyes shut, Jimin lifts his knees to his chest as Jeongguk speaks. Another murmur travels through the room and no one moves.
“Are you all deaf? Get out!” Jeongguk yells, a growl following and it has Jimin whimpering again. Everyone in the room seems to react at the same second, scurrying to get out the door and Jimin can hear their feet shuffling along the floor. It’s only when the door closes that Jimin allows the whine that’s been stuck in his throat to slip past his lips.
“Hyung, hey, I’m here.”
Jeongguk’s voice is soft and gentle, so different to what it was just a few seconds ago. Jimin almost startles when a pair of hands rest on his knees, large, warm hands that make his omega calm instantly.
“What do you need? Do you need to go home? Can I take you to someone’s place?” Jeongguk asks, his worry is obvious. Pulling back from where Jimin’s face is pressed to his thighs, his eyes meet Jeongguk’s wide ones.
“H-home,” Jimin manages to whisper, a whine leaving his lips as another drop of slick dampens his underwear. He swears he sees a flash of arousal in Jeongguk’s eyes before the alpha is standing straight again. “Need - need my nest.”
“I’ve got you, hyung,” Jeongguk promises. Jimin watches as Jeongguk picks up his bag of things, which is thankfully already packed, probably courtesy of Yeji, and swings it over his shoulder. A firm, yet careful hand settles against Jimin’s lower back as it sits forward, extending his legs again. The feeling of Jeongguk’s hand on him, even if it’s through the material of Jimin’s hoodie, has his skin tingling. Another quiet whimper leaves Jimin’s lips as he stands up, his preheat approaching it’s peak much quicker than normal.
“Are you alright to walk to the carpark?” Jeongguk asks, his hand moving to hold Jimin’s waist. Jimin’s knees feel weak, and not just because of the pain setting in from his preheat. His knees feel weak at the way Jeongguk is so gentle with him, and yet so assertive at the same time. A tremble travels through Jimin’s body as he feels Jeongguk’s own body pressing close to him. He nods in answer to the question.
“Okay, you can lean on me, hyung. I’ve got you,” Jeongguk murmurs as he opens the door, helping Jimin along. Being in preheat doesn’t usually make Jimin feel this
useless
. His insides feel hot and his hole clenches around nothing as another bit of slick slips from him. As they leave the room, eyes are on them in an instant, Jimin’s embarrassment worsening as his scent spreads across the large backstage area.
“P-please,” Jimin whispers, not sure what he’s asking of Jeongguk but his body shrinks in shame as more eyes settle on him. Pressing himself against Jeongguk’s body, Jimin hears Jeongguk growling, his ear close to Jeongguk’s chest meaning he can hear it in his chest. It’s a warning growl, a growl that lets everyone around them know to
back off.
And it has Jimin’s omega preening.
Without another word, Jeongguk starts walking faster, holding Jimin close as he makes his way to the carpack - which is thankfully close to Jimin’s changing room. Jimin can still feel eyes following him but he ignores them as he hurries alongside Jeongguk. His scent is getting sweeter as his preheat makes his insides burn with arousal and
need.
Jeongguk’s car comes into view, the sleek black Mercedes parked on the first floor, luckily with no cars parked on either side of it. As soon as Jeongguk opens the passenger door, Jimin is climbing in, his whole body relaxing at the fact that the alpha’s car smells like Jeongguk. It invades Jimin’s senses as he draws in a deep breath.
Since hiring Jeongguk as his manager more than a year ago, Jimin has pined for the alpha. Has
desired
the alpha. His kind, yet confident demeanour never fails to make Jimin swoon. Being in his mid twenties and being unmated is something Jimin doesn’t mind. His busy schedule being an idol keeps him from being able to date or sleep around. So, for the last year, Jimin has just yearned for the loving, gentle alpha that never seemed to respond to his advances.
Jimin has tried to flirt with Jeongguk on multiple occasions, trying his luck in dropping a hint that he likes Jeongguk. But each time it’s fallen flat. Jeongguk has never explicitly rejected him but he’s always skirted around the flirting and changed the topic. It’s always bruised Jimin’s ego a bit, and since his most recent advance on Jeongguk being brushed off, just two months ago while in London on his tour, Jimin has backed off. He’s never wanted to make Jeongguk feel uncomfortable and he worries if he continues, that might end up happening.
“We’re going home, hyung,” Jeongguk reassures him from the driver's seat as he drives through the busy streets of Seoul. Jimin had barely been aware of the car moving, his mind too consumed by his preheat and lust. His preheat is never as intense as this and his nostrils flare as he takes another deep breath of the alpha’s strong scent of dark chocolate. The scent he loves so much. The scent he wants pressed into his skin, covering his own scent and draped over him.
All Jimin can do is whimper as he curls up on Jeongguk’s seat, his hole clenching in a desperate attempt to stop the slick that’s threatening to drip out. A fresh wave of Jimin’s scent fills the air in the car and Jimin is about to apologise when he hears a rumble from Jeongguk’s chest. It’s short and doesn’t last nearly as long as Jimin would’ve liked, but it still manages to elate a lewd moan from Jimin.
“Alpha,” Jimin whines, his omega clawing at his insides as his preheat gets worse.
“Fuck, Jimin,” Jeongguk rasps out. As Jimin turns to look at him, he can see how Jeongguk’s eyes are blown and his nostrils flaring as he grips the steering wheel tightly. This only makes Jimin mewl again, screwing his eyes shut as he desperately tries to fight the burning lust he feels all over.
No, this can’t be happening. His preheat is never this short.
The slick Jimin has desperately been trying to hold back slips from his hole, soiling his underwear as he whimpers, absolutely mortified.
“‘M sorry I - I’m sorry,” Jimin cries out, his thighs pressing to his chest. “I can’t - ‘m sorry, Alpha.”
“Shit, hyung stop -” Jeongguks voice is deep and raspy as he turns a corner. Jimin’s eyes flicker open and he looks out the windscreen, a wave of relief washing over him when he realises that Jeongguk is pulling into his garage. Jeongguk has had access to Jimin’s house and garage since Jimin had fallen and hurt himself, badly, a few months ago, leaving everyone worrying and not being able to get inside until the ambulance and police had arrived.
The idea of being home, in his
nest,
has Jimin scrambling to open his door.
“Hyung, just - hyung
wait
,” Jeongguk says, his hand suddenly reaching out and gripping Jimin’s thigh as he stops Jimin from getting out of the car. “Do - is there anyone I can call? Must I call Taehyung or - or Seokjin? Please just - tell me you’re not doing this alone.”
Taehyung and Seokjin are both omegas, and are both close friends to Jimin. But right now he doesn’t want an omega, he
needs
an alpha.
“No - I - it’s okay,” Jimin whispers, taking a deep breath as he wills himself to calm down. It barely works. “I - I always spend my - uh - my heats alone. I’ve got everything I need already. I always - I’m prepared for it.”
“But you -” Jeongguk draws in a sharp breath, another wave of Jimin’s scent leaving his body. “Shit, hyung, you can’t - do you - I…”
“Gukk, please, it - it hurts. What is it?” Jimin whines desperately, becoming aware of his achingly hard cock in his sweats. He needs his nest. He needs relief and he needs it
now.
“I could - shit, I can’t believe I’m about to say this but I - I could help you, hyung,” Jeongguk finally says, eyes flickering between Jimin’s nervously.
Jimin swears he stops breathing. “You - I - you mean it?” he whispers, his whole body feels alive with anticipation, waiting for Jeongguk’s answer.
“Yeah - I - of course I mean it,” Jeongguk nods, leaning closer to Jimin, hand tightening around his thigh. “Fuck, hyung I - of course I’ll help you.”
It’s like a jolt goes through Jimin’s body, his hands flying up to Jeongguk’s neck as he catches Jeongguk’s lips in a harsh kiss. Jeongguk’s hands grip Jimin’s waist and thigh, tugging him closer as Jimin moans.
“In-inside,” Jeongguk manages to pant against Jimin’s lips.
They somehow manage to make it inside, Jimin immediately attaches himself to Jeongguk and he stops holding back. His heat has
never
come on this quickly and he
needs
Jeongguk.
“Alpha, please,” he begs, gasping as Jeongguk suddenly scoops him up into his arms, his legs looping around Jeongguk’s waist. “Need - need you. It hurts.”
“I’m here,” Jeongguk murmurs, walking them down the corridor to Jimin’s room. He’s been to Jimin’s house on a few occasions, for parties with the rest of Jimin’s team and for late night disasters close to comebacks. Jimin pulls back from the kiss and buries his face against Jeongguk’s neck as the younger lays them down onto his bed - into his nest. The alpha’s scent fills his nose as he breathes in deeply, whimpering at the smell he loves so much.
“Please - hurts,” Jimin whimpers again as Jeongguk pulls back. Without another word, Jeongguk pulls Jimin’s hoodie off, handing it to a whiny Jimin who adds it to his nest. The next second, the rest of Jimin’s clothes are surrounding them, Jeongguk’s hand suddenly wrapping around his cock. A loud mewl fills the air as Jimin arches his back, pressing into the contact as Jeongguk works his hand around Jimin’s cock deftly.
It’s unsurprising that it doesn’t take long for Jimin to cum for the first time, his heat hitting him head on. As soon as he’s cum, he starts tugging at Jeongguk’s clothes, desperate for the alpha to be naked. One orgasm hasn’t sated his need and lust much, if at all.
“Want you -
need
you, Alpha. Fuck me, I’m - I’m so empty,” Jimin begs, eyes raking over Jeongguk’s body as the alpha hastily tugs his shirt off. A growl leaves Jeongguk’s lips as he looks down at Jimin, his hands lowering to his belt and jeans. No sooner has Jeongguk stripped his clothing, tossing it aimlessly into the nest around them, Jimin is turning over. It’s instinctual, to present for an alpha when in heat. But the human part of Jimin’s brain, although hazy, feels a wave of embarrassment.
“Fucking hell - Jesus Christ I -”
Jimin looks over his shoulder and sees how Jeongguk’s jaw clenches, his eyes trained on Jimin’s hole, presented so prettily for him. A visible shudder travels through Jeongguk’s body as his hands settle on Jimin’s ass, his one thumb pressing at Jimin’s hole. A whine leaves Jimin’s lips as his head falls down against the soft mattress below him, a drop of slick travelling down his thigh as Jeongguk curses behind him.
“Condoms, baby? Do you have condoms?”
Nodding rapidly, Jimin points at the bedside table, whimpering at the pet name. Jeongguk steps off the bed and comes back with the box of condoms that Jimin keeps there, just in case. No sooner has Jeongguk knelt on the mattress behind Jimin, is a finger pressing at his hole.
“Oh god,” Jimin mewls as Jeongguk’s one finger slides inside him, his slick meaning Jeongguk’s finger meets no resistance.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, you know that?” Jeongguk praises as he presses kisses along Jimin’s shoulders, a second finger slipping past Jimin’s rim as he starts scissoring him open. The stretch feels amazing and Jimin knows his body is opening up quicker than usual because it’s the alpha he’s wanted for
so long
. “So gorgeous. Wanted you like this for - for
forever
. God, I can’t believe this.”
“Alpha,” Jimin moans as Jeongguk’s fingers graze his prostate. “Wanted you for so long.
Need
you, Alpha.”
“Shit,” Jeongguk rasps as he slides a third finger inside Jimin. The stretch is fast and it burns a bit, but Jimin doesn’t care. The desire and lust inside him burns hotter as he starts fucking himself back against Jeongguk’s fingers. “Turn over,” Jeongguk orders and Jimin clambers to obey, scooting up the bed and settling with his head against the pillows. Jeongguk’s hands grip his waist and he lifts Jimin’s waist, stuffing a pillow underneath him. “Gonna make you feel so good, omega.”
This has Jimin’s mind reeling, the most desperate and lewd moan leaving his lips as he watches Jeongguk
finally
roll a condom down his cock. His large cock that has Jimin’s hole clench at the idea of that being
inside
him.
“Need you,” Jimin begs. “Need to be filled, please. Alpha, it burns, it - it hur -
oh my god.
”
Jeongguk thrusting into Jimin in one swift movement, knocks the air out of Jimin’s lungs. “God, look at how desperate you are. Swallowing me up like that. So eager for my cock. God you’re so warm, baby.”
The whine Jimin lets out is nothing short of desperate and so fucking
needy
.
“Please - Alpha, fuck me. Need you, please,” Jimin gasps, his hands reaching for Jeongguk and the alpha is happy to accommodate, pressing himself closer to Jimin. This lips meet in a downright filthy kiss as Jeongguk starts fucking into Jimin, rough and fast. The sound of skin slapping skin is lewd, their moans and grunting loud.
“Yes,
yes
, yes,” Jimin moans as Jeongguk’s lips leave his own in favour of sucking at Jimin’s neck. “Mark me, scent me - just please - my Alpha. I’m - ‘m yours. Mark me, please -
fuck
.”
Jimin’s second orgasm hits him out of nowhere, his thighs shaking around Jeongguk’s waist as the -
his
- alpha continues to fuck into him. His orgasms come in quick succession during his heat but
never
this fast.
“My omega,” Jeongguk all but growls against Jimin’s neck, pulling the soft skin of Jimin’s neck between his lips and sucking. “My perfect omega, taking my cock so well. God - fuck you feel amazing. So wet for me. It’s all for me? You’re this wet because of me?”
“Only you,” Jimin pants, his fingers digging into Jeongguk’s biceps as the alpha sucks at his neck again, hips flexing against Jimin’s ass as he continues to fuck into him. It’s intoxicating, the way Jeongguk’s hips move, his thick cock stretching Jimin’s walls the perfect amount. The tip of Jeongguk’s cock fucks against Jimin’s prostate with every few thrusts, and Jimin’s own cock twitches against his stomach, already hard again from his last orgasm.
A whine leaves Jimin’s lips as Jeongguk’s one hand grips his chin and turns his head to the other side, sucking more marks into Jimin’s neck, scenting him as he does so. Jimin’s omega feels so content as Jeongguk fucks into him, his cinnamony scent dampened by Jeongguk’s deep, rich chocolatey scent. The burning lust and need inside Jimin is being fully satisfied for the first time in... well
ever
.
Jimin has never spent a heat with an alpha. He spent his first two with Taehyung, because they’re always the most painful and he was scared. Being an omega, Taehyung couldn’t do much but just help Jimin, fucking him with toys when Jimin needed it and feeding him making sure he showered and fed.
But watching as Jeongguk,
his
alpha, fucks into him, long black hair dangling around over his eyes, Jimin feels overwhelmed. It’s everything he could have dreamed of and more. As Jeongguk starts nibbling at Jimin’s neck, the omega becomes aware of a Jeongguk’s knot starting to form. Having only been knotted a handful of times in his life, Jimin’s omega starts going crazy.
“Knot me - please, my Alpha. Knot me, need you - please - Alpha,” Jimin begs, gasping as he wraps his hand around his own stiff cock, sighing at the relief he feels.
“You want my knot, omega?” Jeongguk pants, fucking into Jimin in a way that has the headboard banging against the wall. Thank god Jimin doesn’t have any neighbours. “You want me to fill you up? Knot you and make you mine?”
Jimin’s omega is almost delirious at this point, begging and nodding for his alpha, hand moving around his cock quickly as his third orgasm approaches.
“Please - fuck - kn-knot me, need it - Alpha please -
oh my god
,” Jimin’s back arches as his third orgasm hits him, white strings coating his hand as Jeongguk’s knot grows, grows and then stops. The second Jeongguk stops moving, Jeongguk’s knot gets locked in by Jimin's tight walls. The moan Jeongguk lets out as he cums has Jimin’s omega vibrating with pride.
He
did that. Feeling as Jeongguk’s cock pulses inside him makes Jimin whine because he can’t
feel
his alpha cumming. He wants his alpha to cum
inside
him so badly.
“Shit,” Jeonguk curses as he cums, his hips stuttering against Jimin’s ass a couple times before he half collapses against Jimin. The omega doesn’t mind at all. Jimin is quick to wrap his arms around Jeongguk’s back, holding the alpha close as he bares his neck, whispering for Jeongguk to scent him. No protest comes from the alpha as he turns his head and scents Jimin thoroughly, kissing and licking at the skin on his neck as Jimin’s hole flutters around his knot.
“My alpha. My Jeonggukkie. Hmm - so full.”
Jimin is babbling incoherently at this point, body and omega completely blissed out as Jeongguk kisses and pampers him, whispering praise against his neck and ear.
“I need to get some things for us, baby,” Jeongguk whispers a minute or so later, his knot still swollen and tight inside Jimin.
“No,” Jimin whines, clinging to Jeongguk even tighter. “Don’t go, alpha, don’t leave - p-please.”
“You can come with, omega. Don’t worry, shh, I’ve got you.”
Strong arms wrap around Jimin’s waist as Jeongguk presses onto his knees and then off the mattress, onto his feet. On instinct, Jimin’s legs latch around Jeongguk’s middle, sighing at the way this position has Jeongguk’s knot pressing deeper inside him. They must look a bit ridiculous, walking around Jimin’s house, both naked, with Jeongguk’s cock still buried inside Jimin. But Jimin couldn’t care less. His mind is still hazy, and he knows this break won’t last long before his heat flares up again.
Once Jeongguk has collected some snacks and water bottles for them, making sure to grab his phone, he heads back to Jimin’s room. Sitting down, Jimin settles in Jeongguk’s lap, resting on his shoulder as Jeongguk sends a few emails and texts to people who will need to know where they are in the next few days. He also sends Taehyung and Seokjin messages, reassuring them that Jimin is okay and in good hands.
No sooner has Jeongguk put their phones down, his knot is starting to go down and Jimin starts getting desperate again.
“Alpha, hurts - it’s hot - need you, please.”
As Jeongguk’s cock slips out of Jimin, the alpha doesn’t miss a beat in flipping them over and settling between Jimin’s legs. Firm hands press Jimin’s thighs to his chest as Jeongguk bites at the soft skin where his thighs meet his ass.
“Hold them there. Gonna make you cum on my tongue, omega. Then I’ll fuck you again.”
Oh
fuck
, Jimin has never looked forward to a heat as much as this.
-
Three days. Three days of downright filthy fucking and Jimin is finally satisfied.
Their sexual escapades had included Jeongguk fucking Jimin in the shower, where they’d intended on getting clean and ready for Jimin’s next wave. But it had come early and the next thing he knew, Jimin was pressed against the tiles of the shower, being fucked hard and fast. As well as Jeongguk bending Jimin over the kitchen counter and fucking him deep and slow, drawing three mind-blowing orgasms from the omega. By the time the end of the second day had come along, Jimin and Jeongguk were both covered in marks. Hickeys and bite marks across both of them, as well as red, dark scratch marks down Jeongguk’s toned back.
It was amazing. Perfect. Everything Jimin has ever wanted his heat to be. But as Jimin slowly wakes on the fourth day, his heat officially over, his whole body feels sore and achy. A whimper leaves his lips as he rolls over, his hand reaching out to the other side of the bed, but it only comes into contact with the sheets. Jimin’s eyes shoot open as he takes in the empty space beside him, his scent saddening and spiking when Jeongguk isn’t next to him.
“A-alpha,” he rasps, tears pricking his eyes at the idea of Jeongguk leaving right after his heat. Did it not mean to Jeongguk what it had meant to Jimin? Were the raw emotions and indistinguishable pull between the two of them a figment of Jimin’s imagination? “Alpha!” Jimin cries out, pulling his knees to his chest, squeezing his eyes shut as he hugs himself.
A crash comes from somewhere in the house and the sound of someone running down the passage. Jimin’s eyes open and his whole body sags against the sheets as Jeongguk rushes into the room.
“Jeongguk,” Jimin whimpers, a tear travelling down his cheek as Jeongguk picks him up, settling against the headboard as he brings a distraught Jimin into his lap.
“I’m sorry, baby. I went to make us food, I’m so sorry, omega. I didn’t want to wake you. You needed rest. God , I’m so sorry,” Jeongguk rambles, one hand rubbing soothing circles on Jimin’s bare, lower back as the fingers on his other hand thread through Jimin’s hair. “I’m here. I’d never leave you, baby. I’m sorry.”
“I-it’s okay,” Jimin whispers, clinging to the alpha under him, his tears ceasing while his body still trembles. “I-I’m sorry I assumed you left I just - you’re the first alpha I’ve spent a heat with and I was vulnerable and I just -”
“I know, I’m sorry my baby,” Jeongguk hushes him. “I’m so honoured. Thank you. You - I can’t believe you let me share that with you. God, I’m sorry for scaring you. I’m here. I’m right here.”
It doesn't take too long for Jimin to calm down, but he refuses to let Jeongguk go. The alpha doesn’t protest, he helps Jimin into a large hoodie and boxers before standing with Jimin in his arms, like he’s done countless times in the last few days, and heads downstairs.
Jeongguk finishes off dinner with them in silence, Jimin figuring out that the crash had been the, luckily empty and still intact, frying pan falling off the counter. Jimin reluctantly leaves Jeongguk’s arms when the food is ready, taking a steaming bowl of noodles and galbitang from Jeongguk. They settle on the sofa in Jimin’s living room, curling up under a fluffy blanket, knees touching. They both slurp up the warm soup and noodles, silence surrounding them as Jimin realises just how hungry he really is. After three days of no proper meals, only really snacking when he’d had a break from the burning lust he’d felt, he devours the delicious soup.
“Do you want another serving?” Jeongguk offers when he notices Jimin is finished.
“Oh uh, yes please,” Jimin nods, blushing as Jeongguk takes his bowl and gets up to head to the kitchen. Seeing the dark purple marks on Jeongguk’s neck, peeking out from his shirt collar, has Jimin’s breath catching and cheeks reddening.
He’d
done that. Jeongguk had
let
him do that.
A few minutes later, Jimin has finished his second serving of galbitang, setting his bowl on the coffee table as Jeongguk does the same. There’s a pause of silence before Jeongguk clears his throat.
“How - how are you feeling?” he asks. Jimin glances at the alpha and finds Jeongguk looking down at his hands.
“Good - yeah, really good. I’ve never… I’ve never felt properly - um - satisfied after a heat before, so thank you,” Jimin blushes, fiddling with the soft blanket under his fingers.
“Nothing to say thank you for,” Jeongguk chuckles. “I - I’m really grateful you let me help. I - yeah I can’t believe you’ve never had an alpha help you through your heat before.”
“Oh, yeah,” Jimin whispers. “I - I guess I’ve never had an alpha that I’ve trusted enough to - I guess let them spend it with me. I’m… really glad it was you, though.”
Jimin’s eyes meet Jeongguk’s as the alpha’s head snaps to look at him, eyes wide and sparkling as they flicker between Jimin’s.
“R-really?”
“Yeah,” Jimin murmurs, breaking eye contact as he contemplates his next words. “I - I still can’t believe it happened.” A shy giggle leaves his lips. “You - I thought my past advances and - uh - hints would’ve been a giveaway of that.”
“Your - wait, I thought that…” Jeongguk pauses. “You’re always so - affectionate with everyone. I - I never thought I was any different.”
Jimin turns on the sofa, facing Jeongguk as their eyes meet again. “Of course you are. I’ve - I can’t believe I’m about to confess this…” There’s a pregnant pause as Jimin draws in a deep breath. “I’ve always liked you, Jeongguk. Since I met you at your interview, I’ve always had - I don’t know - a crush on you, I guess.”
“What?” Jeongguk whispers, a look of disbelief on his face. “You - you’re serious?”
“Of course I’m serious,” Jimin giggles, a knot still in his throat at the idea of being rejected properly but it’s too late. He’s laid his cards on the table for Jeongguk. There was no taking his words back.
“You - god, I’m an idiot. I like you too, hyung,” Jeongguk breathes out, hands moving to rest on Jimin’s knees as Jimin’s face lights up. “So much. Since - well since I saw you. You’re so beautiful, hyung, and so kind, and - and patient, and understanding. How was I not meant to fall for you?”
A shy giggle leaves Jimin’s lips as he pushes himself up onto his knees, crawling the short distance to Jeongguk and swinging his leg over Jeongguk’s thighs. The alpha’s hands settle on his waist instantly, holding him close.
“You really mean that?” Jimin whispers, a couple of his fingers tucking a piece of Jeongguk’s dark hair behind his ear.
“Yes,” Jeongguk nods, a beautiful smile spreading across his lips. “I can’t believe I’ve been so oblivious.”
They both laugh, their bodies pressed close together as Jimin’s forehead bumps against Jeongguk’s.
“I guess me having my heat early was a blessing in disguise,” Jimin mumbles.
“Hmm,” Jeongguk hums, nodding. “It really was.” Jeongguk smirks as he says the words, his one hand moving down and squeezing Jimin’s ass cheek.
“Hey,” Jimin gasps playfull, elating a giggle from Jeongguk. “God, of course you’d find a way to make a soft moment, horny.”
“With
you
in my lap, how am I expected not to?” Jeongguk teases back, but his hand has moved back to Jimin’s waist regardless. There’s a pause. “What does this mean for us?”
“I’m not sure yet,” Jimin confesses quietly, closing his eyes as he wraps his arms around Jeongguk’s waist. “We can - let’s figure that out another time. I’m enjoying just being away from the world, with you.”
“Me too,”Jeongguk whispers, smiling as he presses a gentle kiss to Jimin’s cheek. “Can we stay like - like this for a bit?”
“Only if you scent me again,” Jimin murmurs, a smile spreading across his lips as Jeongguk grins up at him. Their bodies melt together as Jeongguk’s soft lips press to Jimin’s lips, and Jimin feels warm all over.
Finally,
finally
, Jimin is with his alpha, and he couldn’t be happier.
|
X X X X X
Melody Langston felt the mansion's presence before she saw it.
It was her third visit to the property, but it still took her breath away when the pine trees lining the driveway parted to reveal the sprawling manor house and accompanying outbuildings. The mansion loomed over Melody, drawing her attention away from the grand mountains surrounding the small town of Emerald Pines, Colorado. Despite being abandoned, as best could be determined, for nearly a century, the estate was mostly intact. The buildings were in the classic baroque style, with the rectangular structures sporting deep red stone walls and black windows. Each outbuilding had been placed in deference to the central mansion, offering worship to the three-story structure. The windows of the mansion gazed longingly at the twenty-nine-year-old historian as she swung her beat-up Jeep Renegade under the covered overhang outside the front door, bringing it to a screeching halt next to her boss' BMW X5.
The late May sun hung in the sky, but shadows still played across the vast courtyard. Even the barely discernible descent of the sun caused the lines of shadow underneath the overhang to reach forward, waiting for that perfect solar moment to pounce and claim dominance over all.
She grabbed her leather portfolio bag from the Jeep and made her way to the front door. Three wide stone steps led to a large alcove and a pair of towering teak-carved double doors with silver wolf-shaped handles. Her honey-blonde ponytail swayed as she pushed the door open, The hinges creaked in greeting. Sunlight pushed its way into the darkened foyer, illuminating a narrow slice of the room.
"Keep the door open," a voice called out. "This house could use all the fresh air it can get." Her boss, Vera Sandoval, stood next to a small table holding a bright camping lantern that pushed back the darkness. Vera's elegant confidence contrasted with Melody's nervous eagerness. Vera's salt-and-pepper hair was pulled into a tight bun, with only a pair of comfortable shoes contrasting her professional attire. Melody's clothes were a testament to comfort over style-- sun-faded jeans, worn hiking sandals, and a red blouse.
"You're not going to believe this," Vera called out before stepping away from the lantern. The darkness instantly embraced her, leaving behind only the muffled sound of her footsteps.
The chandelier overhead suddenly blazed to life, smothering both the sunlight and the lantern with the orange of its filament bulbs. The darkness pulled away as well, revealing the foyer in all its splendor. The grand staircase stretched three stories, from the ground floor to the second floor, with carved wooden banisters sporting the familiar wolf motif. Expansive balconies on either side of the stairs led to the mansion's vast wings, while the walls were adorned with various furnishings.
Vera stood next to the dining room door, wearing a smile while she tapped the brass switch plate on the wall. "Not only is this place fully wired for electricity but it's already connected to the county power lines. All the guy from Emerald Power had to do was flip the master breaker in the basement. And then there was light. Same thing with water and sewer. The plumber just had to call the county to turn on the main."
"You're right," Melody responded as she looked up at the chandelier. "I don't believe it. I checked out the town utility maps going back several decades and there's no record of any connection to public services. Even the discontinued lines down to the railroad are listed, but this property was nothing but empty space on every single map I could dig up."
"That's what the electrician and the plumber said too. It turns out the lines were laid underground. We can't do any landscaping or outside excavation until they've had a chance to mark where everything is, but at least we won't have to work in the dark around here." Vera chortled. "Now we just have to figure out where the hell around here is. Any luck?"
"I found a lead. It's wet concrete at best, but it's a start."
Vera motioned to the dining room. "Let's sit down." Melody followed her boss inside. The blue walls sported raised patterns. A long table sat in the middle of the room, with high wooden chairs and a pair of carved seats that resembled thrones at the head and foot of the table. A portal in the rear wall led to the cavernous kitchen beyond. "So what do you have for me?" Vera asked once they were seated.
Melody pulled a manilla folder from her satchel. "I spent the past couple of days going through all over the county. Courthouses, surveyors' offices, newspaper archives--none of them had a scrap of paper mentioning this property. A property this size... what did the surveyors measure it out to be?"
"Seventy-two acres."
"You can't have an abandoned seventy-two-acre estate in the Roaring Fork Valley, especially in Emerald Pines, without some kind of record. Google Earth came up dry too, going back twenty years. I even downloaded a couple of popular hiking apps and got the same results."
"What about drone footage? Pitkin County's overflown daily. One of them should have caught sight of this place from the air."
"Nothing on YouTube. Just trees and underbrush." She slid the manila folder across the table toward Vera. "This is the only lead I scrounged. As I said, it's not much, but it's as good a jumping-off point as any."
As Vera studied the contents of the folder, Melody took in the spacious dining room. It was easy to fantasize about the lavish dinners and posh dinner parties that could have taken place here, with men in tuxedos and women in fashionable gowns waited on by impeccably dressed servants. The imagery threatened to coax her into a vivid daydream, but she managed to maintain her focus.
Maroon Bells Limited, the property development firm owned by Vera and her husband, had been engaged with the abandoned estate for over two weeks. What should have been a simple high-end construction and restoration job, however, had morphed into a jigsaw puzzle lacking edge pieces.
The Pitkin County fire crews had taken advantage of the late spring weather to get a jump on clearing out underbrush and other potential fire hazards along the forested mountain ridges ringing Emerald Pines. One crew had been cutting up a dense blackberry thicket along the western ridge when their tools hit a high stone wall buried deep among the thorns. The wall led to a wrought-iron gate flecked with rust, beyond which was a pasture and stables overgrown with wild blackberries and clinging ivy. Clearing the vegetation revealed a vast multi-building estate that didn't appear on the fire crew's maps.
Maroon Bells had made their name by developing and building high-end mansions for millionaires, who desired properties in Aspen and the surrounding areas with a desire to "experience country living" while cramming in as many overpriced modern amenities as the rat race dictated. The town of Emerald Pines, however, pushed back, citing a need to combat overdevelopment and maintain environmental balance. While Vera and others like her cried foul, pointing out how much money the Ellis family had poured into the year-round resort of Sapphire Drop high above the village to the south, Melody didn't mind. She had lived in Emerald Pines nearly her entire life, save for her time at the University of Colorado getting a master's in history, and appreciated its cozy ski-town feel.
When rumors of the abandoned property spread, Vera's company pounced on the opportunity. Her husband had called in several favors, including one from a state senator, to twist the zoning board's arm and grant them the right to restore, develop, and eventually sell the estate. There was a single roadblock, however. Maroon Bells and Emerald Pines were working on a handshake deal at the moment, with Maroon Bells restoring the estate and bringing it up to code in return for being granted rights to the estate if an owner couldn't be found. So far, it was proving impossible to confirm ownership of the property, past or present. Which is where Melody came in.
Vera looked up from the folder. "This is it? A piece of paper and a photograph? Where did you find this?"
"In the basement of the new Public Safety Building. I was going through the police records. I thought there might be a citation for trespassing or a report on a lost hiker." She motioned to the folder. "I was practically up to my arms in mildew when I found that at the bottom of an old fruit crate, mixed in with a case file regarding an illegal gin mill in the eastern mountains."
Vera studied the folder's contents one more time before setting the open file on the table. "Tell me what I'm looking at."
"It's a lead shallow enough that a minnow would suffocate in it. But if this pans out..." Melody spread her arms, encompassing the room and, by extension, the rest of the property. "...then you and I are sitting in the dining room of the most notorious piece of property in all of Emerald Pines--Connover Manor."
There were two documents inside the folder. The first was a faded and mildewed cover sheet with the legend EMERALD PINES CONSTABULARY emblazoned across the top. A date almost one hundred years old was scrawled in the middle of the sheet. Right below were the words, "CONOVER MANOR." The second document was an old photograph, yellow and cracked with age, displaying the front of the manor house. Several police carriages and ambulances were parked in the courtyard. On the back of the photograph, in what looked like the same handwriting as the police report, was the word "CONOVER," with another date nearly a century old.
"Never heard of it," Vera said. "What's so notorious about this place?"
"It's our local legend. You know how every small town has a haunted house or a creepy guy with a hook hand who haunts the local makeout point?"
Vera nodded. "Ours was an old quarry turned fishing hole. Kids would dare each other to go swimming after dark because the ghosts of the dead miners would pull you under the surface."
"For Emerald Pines, it was this place. Although I always thought 'Connover' was spelled with two N's, not one. It's the story we'd tell at slumber parties or around the campfire--if you wandered up into the mountains, the Connovers would kidnap you and bring you to their house in the middle of the woods, where no one could hear you scream as Daniel Connover performed gruesome medical experiments on you before burying your corpse in the wine cellar."
"Charming. Getting cadaver dogs to sniff out the basement would look great come appraisal time. No luck finding the rest of this report?"
"There were a couple of boxes I didn't get to. I was hoping to head back tomorrow morning and keep looking." She grinned playfully. "I borrowed that police report without asking. I could have taken a picture with my phone, but I figured no one would miss them and that you'd want to see them in person."
"Thanks for making me an accessory." Vera tapped her fingers on the table. "This information goes back to the Public Safety building as soon as possible. The ambition's noted, but next time, a screenshot will do. I do want you to keep looking, but I'll need you for the packout first. Everything in this house needs to be inventoried and moved into storage before we start renovations, and this place is big enough to need two people for oversight. After that, I'll officially assign you full-time to research." She glanced around the dining room. "For an allegedly haunted one-hundred-year-old crime scene, you'd think there'd be some kind of vandalism or graffiti all over the walls."
"That's another weird thing. No one could ever say where this place was. Growing up I heard it was on the east ridge, or maybe the west ridge or that Sapphire Drop was built on top of it. Some people said it burned down while others said the town had it razed." Melody chuckled. "I remember two of my friends arguing--one said that the town got the priest from St. Isidore's to salt the earth while the other said a Ute medicine man cleansed the property with the county's blessing."
"And what do you say happened here?"
Melody's fingers traced the fine wood of the table before she got up and walked to the kitchen portal and gazed into the vast space beyond. When fully staffed and properly stocked, it could have easily fed the Connovers and household staff twice over. From what Vera had told Melody, the cupboards were full of dishes, the spaces underneath the counters boasted cast-iron pots and pans free of rust, and the silverware in the drawers was one good polish away from being usable. All that was missing was the fine china, its intricately crafted cupboard utterly empty.
It was the same throughout the rest of the house. First- and second-edition books rested on half-empty shelves. Blank spaces sat high on the walls where fancy portraits would have normally sat. And the armoires in the bedrooms lacked clothing. With a little elbow grease, the mansion would have looked like a showcase home for builders.
Melody turned back to Vera. "There's nothing that suggests a gruesome crime took place. But there's also nothing personal here. I can imagine people living here, but there's nothing to prove people
here. This place is off somehow. It's a blank page waiting to be written on."
"To me, it feels like finally getting our foot in the door here in Emerald Pines, to say nothing about the commission we'll get when we sell it. There'll be an all-hands meeting at the office on Monday to hand out assignments for the packout. Until we're done cleaning out this place, focus on online digging online. Follow up on this lead."
Vera stood up and handed the folder to Melody. "Make a copy of this and get it back to Public Safety. And don't tell anyone else you borrowed it. If word got out that we stole public documents, it'll hit us right in our reputation. Maroon Bells lives and dies by word of mouth. With me?"
Melody nodded. "I'm with you. I'm sorry, Vera. I got excited that I finally found something and took a leap before I took a look."
"Don't let it get you down. Jobs like this are why I pushed to put a historian on our payroll. When it comes to tracking down obscure information, you'll sink your teeth into a lead and won't let go until you've gotten down to the bone. You just have to make sure you don't choke in the process." Vera gave Melody a reassuring smile. "By the time we close this deal, I expect you to have uncovered every scrap of information there is to know about Conover Manor."
"Connover Manor," Melody corrected. "Two N's. Not
Manor,
Manor."
Vera motioned to Melody's satchel. "That police report says 'Conover.' Until you prove otherwise, that's what I'm going with." She glanced at her watch. "Alright, it's almost four o'clock. Let's call it a day."
Once they were in the foyer, Vera flipped the light switch, plunging the room into darkness. As her boss went to grab the camping lantern, Melody made for the open front door. The blackness seemed to caress her body, with her shoulder blades pressing together from the shiver that ran down her spine. The sunlight streaming through the doorway was confined to a narrow slice that shrunk as the sun began its slow descent.
Her steps slowed as she approached the door. The darkness pressed in, smothering the sunlight under its presence. The shiver became more pronounced. It was now a gentle tug at the back of her neck. What would happen, she thought, if she gave into the tug? Melody's eyes fell closed as she imagined the darkness wrapping itself around her body, gliding across her skin, running through her hair as it slipped underneath her clothes...
It was enough to jolt Melody into hurrying outside. She quickly headed for her Jeep, her heart pounding in her chest like she was rock climbing. A ton and a half of Detroit steel and glass were enough to reassure her that her brain had played a harmless prank, even though her fingers loosely gripped the door handle and her keys were already somehow in her other hand.
Vera emerged into the sunlight, carrying the lantern in one hand. Relief sank over Melody when her boss locked the front door behind her. She managed to wave goodbye before jumping into her Jeep and pulling away as quickly as safety allowed, leaving Vera and Connover - Melody knew it was Connover, not Conover - Manor behind her for now.
X X X X X
Geraldo waved to Melody as she emerged from the north wing hallway. "All clear," she informed him. "Everything out of the south wing?"
"There're still two bottles of water back in the library." The chief of the packout crew held a box of books close to his chest while keeping an eye on six men maneuvering a long wooden table down the stairs. "My hands were full and I didn't want to put them in this box and risk getting the books wet. I'll come back up and grab them."
Melody peered over the railing at the ground floor. Several boxes were neatly piled along the walls, silently awaiting their turn while the final pieces of large furniture were being taken outside to be loaded into the moving trucks. After glancing down the long, well-lit central hallway of the south wing, she told Geraldo, "I'll get them. You focus on packing the trucks. No need for you to make an extra trip up these steps if you don't have to."
He nodded gratefully before heading down the stairs. Melody watched him for a moment before turning towards the south wing. The old incandescent bulbs in the light fixtures lining the walls had been replaced with LED lights. Several doors led to sitting rooms and bedrooms, along with a short corridor ending in a linen closet holding old bedsheets and cleaning supplies from companies long out of business.
The hallway was the same as the others that ran the length of their wings--long and straight with doglegs at the far end leading to a large room. The corridor in front of Melody ended in a library whose shelves also stretched floor to ceiling, with tall windows that revealed a breathtaking view of the eastern mountains.
She had spent the past few days with the packout crew contracted by Maroon Bells working to catalog the contents of Connover Manor and outbuildings--the paperwork said 'Conover Manor' as per Melody's discovery, but she continued to think otherwise despite her best efforts--for storage while they began renovations, starting with a thorough deep clean. Her assignment had been to oversee the packing of the second and third floors while her co-worker Breckin covered the ground floor and basement.
The packout had gone smoothly thanks to the professional and jovial attitude of the moving crew. Based out of Carbondale an hour north, they were unfamiliar with the legend of Connover Manor. To them, it was another abandoned property. Breckin, who had grown up outside of Grand Junction, had never heard of the Connovers either. "If this is a haunted house," he had joked over lunch, "it makes
look like
"
She agreed with Breckin, which was a rarity. None of the crew had mentioned anything strange or unusual happening while they packed up the manor. The supposedly tell-tale signs of a haunted house were absent as well. Melody had worked on enough renovations to know that the sound of distant footsteps was usually a pipe knocking against a support beam, or that a cold spot was nothing more than a fluctuation in the heating system.
The sense of Connover Manor being a "blank page" did linger with her but in a professional, not supernatural, manner. The packout crew had emptied the entire mansion, from the attic down to the wine cellar, while also going through every drawer and cabinet, without finding a single personalized item. There was nothing in the house or the outbuildings that could be tied to whoever resided there before it was abandoned.
She began her final walkthrough. The only thing left in each room was the barest layer of dust. Melody checked off each room on her phone, confirming they were indeed empty. Eventually, she came to the library, the final stop on her south wing walkthrough. The double doors stood open, adorned with a pair of silver doorknobs boasting the same wolf motif as the others in the house. Her fingers idly brushed against the cool metal as she passed.
Dark wooden floorboards complimented the crimson paint on the walls, with wrought iron light fixtures set into the plaster. Bookshelves lined every inch of the walls, cut from a black wood that Melody couldn't identify.
There was another library on the ground floor, but judging by the furniture and the nature of its books, it was meant more as a showcase for the residents' tastes in fiction and philosophy. This room, however, has probably been used for study and research, based on the historical, ethical, religious, and medical texts that once lined its shelves. Now, however, it was bereft of both knowledge and furniture. Even the thick curtains had been taken down for deep cleaning. All that remained were two bottles of water sitting on the windowsill. And sitting in a far corner, tucked within the shadows of the bottom shelf, was a lone cardboard box.
Melody walked over to the box, wondering how the packout crew could have missed it. She knelt down and saw that it was filled with loose papers, faded from age. The one on top appeared to be a receipt. Her heart began to race as she looked it over.
What followed was a list of grocery items common for 1880s Colorado. Despite the mundane nature of the receipt, a bolt of anticipation shot through her. Ashcroft was the original name for Emerald Pines. The town had been chartered in 1882 on the site of a silver mining camp along the banks of Castle Creek and had been renamed in 1927 as part of an effort to reinvent itself as a winter getaway for Denver's upper crust. Another piece of paper turned out to also be an invoice from Van Dorn Groceries, addressed to the same recipient.
She picked up the box and balanced the water bottles against her arms before leaving the library and heading for the foyer. It was empty, so no one saw Melody sit on the top step once she reached the stairs. Setting the box and water bottles down next to her, she grabbed one of the waters and took a deep swig, relishing the cool liquid as she tried to snatch coherent thoughts from the whirlwind of ideas whipping through her brain.
"No way," Melody eventually laughed in disbelief. Here was the potential treasure trove of information that she had been seeking for over a week. Two pieces of paper. Two names. Two potential leads. But how had the packout crew overlooked it? Surely Geraldo would have mentioned it to her. She looked down the stairs to see if the foreman was in sight.
The foyer was empty of both people and boxes. The front doors were propped open, allowing her to hear the muffled sounds of the crew loading the final items into the moving trucks parked in the circular driveway. "Alright," she told herself after finishing her water, "time to go."
As she grabbed the box, however, the papers moved, revealing cracked leather. Melody pressed her lips together for a moment before moving the remaining papers out of the way. A quick peek to satisfy her curiosity, and then she was down the stairs and out the door.
Resting at the bottom of the box was a thick leather book with threaded stitching. Her breath caught in her throat as she realized that the cover was worn with age. All thoughts of leaving were instantly replaced with a strong desire to study what might be the oldest item discovered within the mansion. Placing the box back on the floor, Melody made sure her hands were clean before moving the papers to one side, allowing her to carefully lift the book from the box and set it down on the balcony.
The tome was substantial in size, but somehow not in weight. She estimated that it was almost a foot in height and eight inches in length, and the inch in depth gave her a ballpark number of four hundred pages. Small cracks dotted the surface and the richness had faded from the scarlet leather, but the stitching was still intact along the binding. The title of the book was embossed into the cover in gold leaf. "
" she read out loud.
She pressed her fingers against the cover. Despite the cracks, the leather held firm. As she carefully traced over the embossed golf leaf, she felt a soothing warmth emanating from the book. It reminded her of sliding underneath the covers after spending an hour on top of them reading a new book. Melody called it "pre-heating the bed," while Kristin had referred to it as "sleep foreplay."
Tracing turned into dragging. Melody licked her lips as the feeling of the leather cover against her fingers reminded her of firm muscles--a chiseled shoulder, a tight butt, and rugged six-pack abs. Her hand drifted towards the edge of the cover. Her eyes fell closed while she imagined slipping a single finger between the tight pages, parting them to reveal the treasured knowledge within...
"Melody!"
Her hand jerked away and her eyes snapped open to see her co-worker Breckin standing on the second-floor landing. "Hello," he said with a sarcastic wave and a cocksure smile. "Are you with us here on Planet Earth?"
Melody shook her head, trying to refocus. "I'm here, Breckin."
"Finally hitting the wall, huh? I'm right there with you. I'm ready to head home and pour myself a stiff drink."
"Are they finished loading the trucks?"
"Loading up your last pieces. Once you sign off we're officially done for the day." Breckin nodded towards the full bottle of water. "You mind?" Melody underhanded him the bottle. He deftly snatched it from the air and took a deep pull, unaware of her annoyance at being interrupted.
While Melody had been hired for her history degree and dogged research ability, Breckin Besch had been brought into Maroon Bells for two reasons--his people skills and more importantly, his last name. The Besch Winery was known as one of the finest vineyards in the American West. Having gotten their start by selling wine to churches during Prohibition while also running an illegal rural speakeasy, the Besch clan now owned several hundred acres of prime farmland across Colorado's Western Slope along with multiple commercial properties. With rugged good looks, an easy-going smile, and of course an exclusive bottle of Besch's finest vintage which he "happened to have on hand," Breckin had opened a multitude of doors for the company. He had shut just as many doors within the company, however, with his dismissive attitude and haughty attitude to co-workers, including Melody. Never to management, of course. They always got a full-frontal view of his charm.
Despite having overseen the packing of both the bottom two floors as well as the basement, Breckin's jet-black hair was still perfectly styled down to the part on one side. His brown Timberlands held a high polish that belonged on penny loafers, not boots. Even the dust on his tan work pants and black t-shirt added a fashionable accent. "Any problems wrapping up the downstairs?" she asked.
"Once everyone started listening to me and we got a rhythm going, it was smooth sailing." He walked up the steps and planted his foot next to Melody. He leaned over her, forearms crossed over his thigh. She turned to face him while unconsciously shifting her body to hide the box from view. "The wine cellar was the toughest part. We packed nearly five hundred bottles. And the years of those vintages... if they had broken any of those bottles it would have made you cry. The appraiser my father is sending out is going to have a field day. If they're still viable, I'll have collectors from all over lining up at auction. Between the commission from fixing up this place and the finder's fee from the auction, we'll be in the black for the next couple of years."
"Do you remember what the most recent vintages were?"
"1882. Everything else is older. The oldest was a Spanish wine, late 17th century."
"Nothing later? Not even from the early 1900s?"
"Maybe the... what did you say their names were, the Connovers? Maybe they liked to drink their wine
. That's a wine that's meant to be drunk the year it's fermented. They tend to be fruitier and more sugary. Now, the liquor they had behind the bar, that stuff was brand new. As in, probably ginned up in a bathtub the morning it was bottled. It makes rotgut look top shelf."
"Colorado had particularly strict temperance laws in the early twentieth century. Even rich families had difficulty getting their hands on liquor."
"You could still get wine for religious ceremonies though. Maybe the Connovers were severe Jesus freaks. It would explain all the bottles in the cellar."
"I haven't seen a single Bible or religious symbol while we've been here." Melody pressed the tips of her thumbs just above her chin as her brow furrowed in thought. "I don't think I've seen a single book on religion either. Lots of books on philosophy, but nothing on religion. What about you?"
"I wasn't paying attention when they were packing up the library. Dusty old books are your hobby, not mine." Breckin missed the narrowing of her eyes as he continued. "I did notice something weird, though. Normally an old house like this, there's evidence of infestation. Dead insects, mouse droppings, a wasp's nest, stuff like that. I haven't seen anything like that while we were unpacking, not even cobwebs. Isn't that weird?"
"Yeah." She gestured to the box of papers. "This would be a five-star nest for a rodent."
A voice calling out from the front door preempted Breckin's response. "Melody?" Geraldo stood at the bottom of the steps, an electronic tablet in one hand. "Everything's on the trucks. Just need you to eyeball everything and sign off."
Breckin was already heading down the stairs as Melody got to her feet. Her hand brushed against the edge of the leather cover. The gold lettering snared the light from the chandeliers overhead when she glanced at it, illuminating the lettering with an enticing glow. She reached down to grab the book...
"What do you mean, tomorrow morning?"
Breckin's voice once again interrupted her. "Come on, Breckin," she muttered before turning toward the bottom of the stairs.
Her co-worker's arms were spread in confusion as he told Geraldo, "You mean Monday morning."
"No, I mean tomorrow morning, Mr. Besch." Geraldo tapped his tablet. "Vera made this a priority job. We're getting time-and-a-half for unloading everything over the weekend. Your name's on here to oversee the process."
She had managed to safely repack the book in the box before Breckin called up to her. "But it's Melody's turn for weekend work. It is your turn, right?"
She shook her head while she walked down the stairs. "I covered the job in Leadville over the winter when it ran three days late. Remember? You had that ski thing in Park City?"
His shoulders slumped. "That's right. The winter party with those guys from Salt Lake. I can't be there tomorrow morning. I have somewhere to be."
"It's your turn," Melody insisted. "We specifically talked about this in the kickoff meeting on Monday."
"I forgot! Look, you have to cover for me," he pleaded. "My Dad set up a golf outing with some bigwigs. If I blow it off he'll be pissed! Cover me, just for tomorrow. I'll be there Sunday morning, promise. And I'll make it up to you down the line."
She shook her head. "I'm sorry, but you're the one on the schedule."
"Come on," he pleaded. "I said I'd owe you one! Besides, it's not like you have any big Friday night plans that'll make you sleep in."
"I'm actually helping pack boxes at church tonight," she countered.
"I didn't realize you and Jesus had a hot date. Is he staying over and that's why you can't get up early tomorrow?"
Melody crossed her arms and gave Breckin a withering glare. "Not that it's any of your business, but I was planning to go for a nice nature walk and get some fresh air after spending the past few days cooped up in here. Your failure to manage your schedule shouldn't inconvenience me or Geraldo's team."
Geraldo coughed, drawing their attention. "Look, the trucks are packed and we're ready to call it a day. We'll be at the warehouse tomorrow at 8 a.m., sharp." He held up his tablet. "It's your name on here as the company rep, Mr. Besch. If you're not there, well, I have Ms. Sandoval's direct number. I can call her now if it'll settle things..."
Breckin's hands shot up. "Whoa, hey, there's no need for that."
"You're messing with my crew's money, Mr. Besch. That's a need for that. Either you're there, Melody's there, or Ms. Sandoval's there."
Brecking turned back to Melody. "No, Breckin," she quickly said. "I didn't want to work over the weekend either on the Leadville job, but you were the one who told me to, and I'm quoting, 'suck it up and be professional.' Now it's your turn. Suck it up and be professional."
There was a flash of anger on Breckin's face that only made her stiffen her spine. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. When he opened them, he gave Melody a warm smile dripping with enough insincerity to seem legit. "I'm sorry, Melody," he said smoothly. "I'm worn out from spending the past few days helping pack up the estate and didn't mean to be rude. My father and I have a golf game in Snowmass tomorrow morning with a pair of tech bros from Denver. My Dad's trying to convince them to build a server farm in Grand Junction, and I'm going to sell them on building summer homes here in the valley. If I can land them, that's two high-profile jobs for Maroon Bells."
He tilted his head, appearing contrite. "I'm sorry I forgot that I was on for this weekend. Please, cover for me. I'll make it up to you in the future. Cross my heart."
He wasn't going to let this go. One quick phone call to Vera would immediately clear this up, but it would also let her know that Melody couldn't settle a dispute on her own. She already had one strike against her for borrowing the police report. Denting Vera's confidence in her wasn't an option. Plus more jobs from wealthy clients meant more commissions, which meant she could throw more money at her student loans to pay them down faster. "Fine," she eventually sighed. "But I won't cover Sunday. That's on you."
"Great!" he exclaimed gleefully. "If Vera calls and asks why you're there, tell her you had one of your moments of historical geekery. I'll see you Sunday morning!" Breckin's farewell was said to Geraldo as he quickly headed out the front door before either of them could stop him.
"You should have gotten that in writing," the crew chief remarked.
"And I should have gotten him to apologize to you as well." She rubbed her face before giving Geraldo a weary smile. "Breckin never puts things in writing unless they involve money. The important thing is, someone will be there tomorrow morning so we can start unpacking."
"Still doesn't mean you should cover his ass."
"Nobody's perfect. Come on, let's double-check the trucks so we can get out of here."
As she and Geraldo stepped onto the porch, Melody flipped the light switches and locked the double doors behind them, plunging the foyer into darkness.
X X X X X
"It's one of those things you never think about," Melody said as she sealed the final package. "Everyone donates food and canned goods, but we always forget about stuff like paper towels and laundry detergent."
Pastor Cliff nodded as he picked up the package from the folding table. "'Needy' is often associated with 'hungry,'" he said while setting the box on the cart with the other twenty-four boxes. "We know what it's like to be hungry, but running out of toiletries or laundry pods is something most people consider an inconvenience. We've never had to choose between milk or a bottle of ibuprofen, or having to get napkins from a fast food place because we're out of two-ply."
Melody followed Cliff as he rolled the cart out to the church's parking lot, where his pickup truck held the twenty-five boxes they had packed earlier. Working together they quickly unloaded the cart and secured the boxes with a tarp and bungee cords. Once they were finished, Cliff slapped the side of the truck. "Fifty care packages. The LIFT-UP center in Carbondale will appreciate these. And I appreciate you taking the time to help, especially on a Friday night."
"People don't stop needing help just because it's the weekend."
"If you're not in a rush, want to sit and have a drink?" When Melody nodded, Cliff told her to meet him on the back steps of the church. He stepped inside while Melody walked around the side of the building, passing a well-maintained flower box that ran the length of the church before sitting down on a pair of recently refurbished wooden steps. The moon shone down from a clear sky, and she could hear the rushing water of Castle Creek beyond the pine trees standing sentry at the property line.
The red brick building had been Melody's spiritual home for over a decade, and she knew its history like the back of her hand. Dating back to the foundation of Ashcorft, the building had served as a meeting hall for silver miners, a poorhouse for displaced families, a convalescence home for World War II soldiers, a hippie commune, and a doomsday prepper cult whose leader had emptied their bank accounts before vanishing, leaving behind nothing but a trashed house full of worthless junk.
The property had sat unattended for nearly a decade until the current owners purchased it for dirt cheap, fixed it up, shoved the junk into the basement, and opened its doors to the community. The Reconciled Church of Emerald Pines, or "RCEP" for short, had served the town ever since, with its twenty-fifth anniversary just around the corner.
The door opened behind her. "Here you go," Cliff said as he sat down beside her. "A bottle of the Rocky Mountains' finest filtered spring water, with added minerals for taste." She took the offered bottle. It was frigid, just above freezing the way Cliff preferred. She carefully sipped from the bottle, letting the water warm up in her hands, as she quietly sat next to her pastor.
Pastor Cliff Waters had served as RCEP's pastor for almost twenty years. He was in his early fifties, with tan skin from being a year-round outdoorsman and salt-and-pepper hair more salt than pepper. Cliff had been the one to confirm the Langstons into the Lutheran faith almost fifteen years prior when Melody's grandmother had a religious epiphany and decided everyone else in the family needed to have one as well. Her parents had humored her, figuring one church was as good as another. However, Pastor Cliff's dedication to social justice and caring for the community, regardless of religious affiliation or lack thereof, slowly won them over, to the point where they had become pillars of the church. Due to the events of the past year, Melody was the only Langston left in attendance at the Reconciled Church--an attendance that grew more tenuous with each passing Sunday.
Cliff waited until she had finished her bottle before cautiously asking, "How are you holding up?"
"I'm fine." After a moment, she blew out a shallow sigh. "I'm not fine. But I'm doing great at acting like I am. Does that count?" Cliff didn't answer her. Instead, he pulled his knees close and looked at her with sympathetic concern. "It'll be a year in a couple of days," she said. "One year she's been gone. Do I get a one-year anniversary cake? Buy me a belated sympathy card?
I have no idea what I'm supposed to do, and I feel horrible because of it."
"You're still grieving, Melody. It's valid to be conflicted, or confused, or however it is you're feeling. How are your parents taking it?"
She scoffed. "They haven't mentioned it. The last time I talked to my dad, it was all about how they were settling in with my mom's family up in Michigan. My dad, who never got along with my mom's side of the family... was happy to be up there. They sold their house here in town and moved to Michigan without a second thought to get away from..."
Melody trailed off. Cliff kept silent, letting her work at finding the words. "They won't even say she's dead. Just that she's gone. Even getting them to say that is like pulling teeth." Melody finished the bottle of water. She leaned over and dropped it in the recycling bin next to the stairs. "And I know you're going to ask, so go ahead and ask."
"Do I need to ask?"
"Yeah, you do."
"How's your faith?"
"Still hanging by a thread." She got to her feet. Cliff remained sitting while she put her hands in her pockets and looked up at the night sky. Without clouds, the stars crowned the towering Rockies surrounding the village like brilliant gemstones. To the south, the resort of Sapphire Drop glittered like an artificial diamond. "I can't reconcile why God would take someone like my sister. She was young, vibrant, and could have changed the world, or at least this little corner of it. To slip and fall getting out of the shower... some people would make them turn away from God. I keep coming here because..."
She rubbed her eye with the back of her hand. "I keep coming here because I refuse to turn away. I want to look Him in the face and ask Him why. But He hasn't called back. All my prayers for the past year have been one single word--'Why?' And He can't even give me a simple answer."
"You shouldn't turn away." Cliff got to his feet and leaned against the railing. "You should ask Him why. But don't just ask Him through prayer. When was the last time you read the Bible?"
"Six months ago. John 11, verses one through forty-five."
He smiled. "The story of Lazarus. You're wondering why Jesus raised him of all people from the dead?"
"I read the online discourse. His way of showing his power over death, his way of showing grief at a broken world, yadda yadda yadda..." Melody winced. "Sorry," she said sheepishly. "I know I shouldn't 'yadda yadda yadda' the Bible."
"I'll give you a pass on the book of Leviticus."
"He hasn't answered, Pastor Cliff. Right now I'm coming here not because of my faith, but because I believe in the good work that this church does. We feed the hungry, we clothe the poor, and we make sure their colors remain bright in the wash. But the day is coming where that won't be enough justification to roll out of bed Sunday morning."
"I hope that day never comes. I've tried to help you with your grief this past year, so I'm going to ask for you to do one thing this week. From now until next Sunday, I want you to listen." He tapped his ear. "Stop asking for answers. Just listen. Sometimes God answers the prayers we don't make."
"I'll try. Can I ask you to pray for me?"
"You're always in my prayers, Melody."
She managed to laugh. "This is different. I have a date tomorrow night. My co-worker set me up with her cousin. I'm not looking for... I just want to have a good time, and maybe forget about my problems over drinks and dinner. I know it's a weird thing to pray for, but the last two guys were both a swing and a miss."
"It's not remotely the weirdest thing I've been asked to pray about. I'll pray that you have a fun, safe time and that your date isn't a loser. How's that?"
"That's fine, Pastor Cliff."
Cliff walked Melody to her Jeep. Once she had gotten in, he said, "This is a question I have to ask. Will I see you in church this Sunday?"
"You will," she promised. "Unless my date goes well."
X X X X X
Melody swung her Jeep onto Castle Creek Road, putting Aspen in her rearview mirror, only to immediately get stuck behind an SUV with Texas plates which was overloaded with skiing equipment on the roof. She sped up, tailgating the SUV, planning to ride its ass until she could pass it down the road.
The evening had been a disaster. Her date was an attractive man in his late twenties who belonged on the cover of an outdoor magazine, with tan skin and muscles in the right places. He was also an utter bore. The large majority of their dinner had been spent talking about his time skiing, hiking, and kayaking all across the West. Any time she mentioned her own outdoor experiences, he'd immediately counter with a bigger story. Her contributions had been reduced to repeated "ohs," "that's cools," and "interestings." The only time she had managed to grab the wheel of the conversation, she asked him who his favorite author was. She expected Jack London, or maybe Jon Levy or Christopher McCandless. At that point, she was willing to accept James Patterson. Instead, he responded that he didn't read books because "Why would I read someone else's experiences when I can have my own?"
She had begged off dessert, claiming that the food had disagreed with her, and made a hasty exit. Another strikeout with her dating life. Her last relationship had been over a year ago, right before Kristin died--a casual fling with someone she met at a bar that immediately ended when he got a job in Denver. She'd had three dates since then and not even a good night kiss to show for it. The only attentive lover she'd had over the past year had been her vibrator, which had finally given out on her last weekend.
Tonight served to compound the rest of the day's failures. Geraldo's crew had been a well-oiled machine and finished unpacking the trucks in just under eight hours. While they'd still get time-and-a-half for the entire weekend, it also meant that Breckin didn't have to show up Sunday morning. Since she had forgotten to text Breckin last night to confirm their deal, odds are he'd conveniently forget about it the next time there was weekend work.
What bothered her most was her total failure at historical research. Melody had spent her lunch hour and two fifteen-minute breaks on her laptop searching online for anything related to Connover Manor or the Connover family, only to come up empty. Google, Bing, Yahoo--each search engine returned exactly one hit for a neighborhood of townhouses called Conover Manor in Conover, North Carolina, a small town that had been incorporated in 1877, and named by a woman named Julia Ann Seitz. Neither Ms. Seitz nor the town had any ties to Colorado that she could dig up.
Professionally stymied, religiously off-balance, riding a slow driver's bumper, and criminally undersexed, it was the worst time for Vera to call.
Melody used the button on her Jeep's steering wheel to answer the call. "Hey, Vera. It's nine o'clock on a Saturday. Is everything OK?"
"You tell me." Her boss' voice was crisp and formal. "You did a walkthrough and confirmed that everything on the top floors was loaded on the trucks before signing off, right?"
"Yes, I did. The packout crew did a fantastic job. The second and third floors were empty when I checked them, both the north and south wings."
"Then we have a problem. The security guard we hired to keep an eye on the place said he found a box on the third-floor landing. Either the movers forget about it, or you overlooked it. Which one was it?"
Melody shot up in the driver's seat. "Damn it," she muttered. "That's on me. There was one box left in the library and I grabbed it during the final walkthrough."
Melody tried to recall the previous afternoon, however, the memories swirled like eddies in swift-moving rapids. They flowed downstream, just out of reach of her mental grasp. "I... I think I set the box down on the floor while I was talking to Breckin," she said while pulling into the other lane to finally pass the SUV. "I ended up going down to the foyer to smooth things over between him and Geraldo..."
"Smooth things over between Breckin and Geraldo? What happened?"
"Breckin being..." Melody suddenly cried out as her windshield was filled with LED lights. She jerked the steering wheel to one side and barely managed to swerve behind the SUV in time to avoid the sports car that had barreled up the other side of the road, blaring its horn as it sped away.
"Melody? Are you OK?"
"Yeah, I'm fine. Just some idiot in a sports car thinking he owns the road." Her heart was still racing as she gunned the Jeep forward, finally whipping around the SUV.
"So Breckin and Geraldo? What were they arguing about?"
"I don't remember, but I took care of it. We left right afterward though, and I guess I forgot about the box while I was locking up."
Vera was silent for a moment. "This is the second time I've had to talk to you like this. If you sign off on something, that means it's done. It doesn't matter if it's one box or ten boxes, your signature means we're legally saying that part of the job has been completed. Fortunately, we don't have a client to upset, but I still have to put a formal note in your employee record. With me?"
"I'm with you, Vera." The gas pedal inched towards the floor as Melody's Jeep tore down the winding country highway. "I'll do my best to make sure I don't repeat this mistake in the future."
"Speaking of not having a client, have you managed to dig up any more history?"
Melody began to answer in the negative before her brain managed to pull something from the rushing water of yesterday's memories. "I might have something. Van Dorn Groceries. That box had a bunch of receipts from Van Dorn Groceries to someone named Jack Gates in Ashcroft."
"Wait. The box you left behind in the mansion had receipts dating back to the nineteenth century and you forgot to take it with you? That's not like you, Melody. Normally you'd grab a lead like that with both hands and run it into the ground."
It was unlike her. "I guess I was just done for the day. I juggled so much stuff this week, my brain decided I didn't need to remember it. I'm sorry."
"If this job's too much for you, I can move you to another one."
"It was a momentary lapse, Vera. That's all, I promise." With a glance at the mountains off to the west, Melody made some quick calculations. "I'm coming from Aspen now. I'll detour up to the mansion and grab the box from the security guard. I don't have any plans tomorrow, so I can go through it and give you a summary Monday morning."
"OK," Vera responded. "I expect a detailed report. Micah is supervising the cleaning crew all week, so after the Monday meeting, I'm putting you on research full-time. I want daily emails about your progress, and I expect you to find something by the end of the week if not sooner. We'll talk details on Monday."
"I understand. Can you text the security guard and let him know I'm on my way?"
"Already done."
"Thank you, Vera. And again, I'm sorry."
"I'll accept your apology when you show me results. Good night, Melody."
X X X X X
She drove past the lightless lampposts, her fingers tightening on the steering wheel when the pine trees parted to reveal the darkened mansion. The moon painted the driveway with a thin paint of dull silver as if the moonlight was clinging to the brick cobblestones by the tips of its fingers.
The trees eventually parted to reveal the mansion. The only light came from the white glow of the bulbs in the iron lamps flanking the front door and a security trailer parked near one of the outbuildings. As Melody pulled up next to the trailer, the door opened to reveal a large man in a security guard's uniform. Once she had parked, the man motioned for her to roll down her window. "This is private property," he stated.
"I'm from Maroon Bells," she answered. "Vera should have texted that I was coming."
She held out her employee badge. The guard shined a small flashlight on the badge for a few seconds before nodding with satisfaction. "You're good, Ms. Langston. Just had to double-check."
"It's fine. I'm sorry, I don't know your name."
"I'm Rich." Rich was a middle-aged man in his early sixties. He was tall but also showed signs of a late-age paunch. He wore a light gray security guard's uniform and a silver star on his lapel, marking him as an employee of Silver Security, a firm that the company had used multiple times throughout Melody's time there. "I've got the box in the trailer. Let me grab it."
Melody tapped her fingers against her console as Rich walked back to the trailer. The lamps on the front porch illuminated the space under the overhang, but somehow the doorway was veiled by a drape of velvety shadow. Her eyes were drawn to the darkness. It swirled while she stared at it, something Melody ascribed to a trick of the light. After a moment, however, the darkness seemed to part, revealing the teak doors. The wolf-shaped handles shone brightly despite the surrounding shadow. It beckoned to her, like a moth to the flame. Her hand went to the buckle of her seatbelt...
"Here you go, Ms. Langston."
She started at the sound of Rich's voice. The security guard was holding a cardboard box that was instantly familiar to her. With his help, she managed to secure it in the passenger seat using the seatbelt. "What's in there, anyway?" he asked once they were done.
"Some old receipts," she said as she double-checked the box. "Oh, and a book."
"It's a heavy-as-hell book then. It felt like I was hauling a fifty-pound kettlebell down the stairs."
"Sorry about that. I should have remembered to grab it yesterday before I left." Her eyes drifted to the dark windows of Connover Manor. "Are you the only person here at night?"
"Yep. There are three of us working twelve-hour shifts when there's no one here. This is my week."
Curiosity overtook her. "What's it like being in there after dark? Have you seen or heard anything strange?"
"The exact opposite." He swept his arm across the manor and the nearest outbuilding. "This is my fifth night here. I've covered all the buildings and walked around the parts of the property you guys have managed to clear out, and I haven't seen anything out of the ordinary."
"Really?" she asked with disbelief in her voice.
He raised his hands in a two-fingered salute. "Scout's honor, Ms. Langston. I was a Colorado State Trooper for nearly thirty years. I've been up and down the valley and worked both sides of the Continental Divide. I've been to all kinds of strange places and seen things I couldn't even begin to describe. Abandoned buildings and haunted houses come with a certain kind of energy, right? Well, there's nothing like that here. No creaking floorboards, hooting owls, or even a weird noise from another room."
He gestured towards the mansion. "Even walking through the basement and wine cellar felt like walking through my living room. This place is completely, utterly normal, and that creeps me out more than anything."
She patted the side of the box. "Hopefully this will help fill in the history." With a friendly wave to Rich, Melody rolled up her window and pulled away from the manor, heading back down the mountain toward home.
X X X X X
Melody balanced the box of papers and the paper bag from Kenner's Market on one arm while she unlocked her front door. While some people would consider going through a box of old grocery receipts while drowning their sorrows with a bottle of red wine a poor excuse for a Saturday night, she felt an eager thrill. Perhaps here was finally a concrete lead on the former inhabitants of Connover Manor. Something physical that she could hold in her hands instead of pulling up via search engine.
After changing into comfy clothes--a white tank top with red pajama bottoms--thoroughly washing and drying her hands, and pouring a glass of wine, Melody got to work. The receipts were first. Separating them by decade gave her six stacks of receipts and invoices, ranging from 1880 to 1933. The majority involved Van Dorn Groceries, which were always addressed to either a Jack Gates or an Ellison Gates. The earliest was the one she had originally handled upon discovering the box, dated 1882, and listed items such as heating oil, lamp oil, sewing equipment, a variety of alcohol both medicinal and non-medicinal, and double-digit orders for different cuts of meat. The purchases remained the same over the next fifty-plus years, with few variations.
"That's odd," Melody mused after taking a deep sip of wine. Everything listed could have easily been obtained at any general store or outfitter in the valley. Having it all shipped from Denver, first by wagon and then by rail, would have been prohibitively expensive, as the receipts confirmed. And, to her utter lack of surprise, a brief Internet search pulled up nothing on Van Dorn Groceries nor the pair of Gates.
She was going through the stack of receipts from the 1900s when she noticed a black smudge on her finger. One of the invoices appeared burned along the edges. A closer look revealed that a piece of paper was stuck to the back of the invoice. It took a pair of tweezers (and another glass of wine) for Melody to carefully peel the paper away. It was another invoice, but this one was from a brick maker in Aspen whose business was now a historical site, outlining a delivery to be sent to
Melody had never heard of Jarlson Manor. Google and Bing had, however. Both listed an article from an 1882 issue of the
.
she read out loud. "Local authorities hold no leads regarding the vanished Jarlson family, who were last seen in the mining town of Ashcroft several weeks ago supervising the construction of their new mansion in the western mountains."
The article mentioned that the Jarlson were a family of seven immigrants from Sweden developing ties to the area's burgeoning lumber industry. They were living in a small cottage on their estate when they suddenly vanished one night. The article focused more on the authorities' efforts to find them but offered no details. A quick online dive pulled up no further information either.
Another glass of wine served to fuel Melody's curious confusion. She knew the history of the Roaring Fork Valley like the back of her hand but had never heard of the Jarlsons. Another Google search showed no connection between the Jarlsons and Connover Manor. Was the estate mentioned in the article the site of Connover Manor? It made sense, but Vera, as well as the offices that would eventually issue the permits, would require something concrete. Visions of local libraries and county clerks brought a smile to her face. This is what she imagined when she studied to be a historian--digging through old records and computer files to uncover the temporal truth, yearning to find that single piece of information that brought everything into focus and opened up new avenues of exploration.
Invigorated from uncovering a new lead, Melody spent several minutes sealing the stacks of receipts in crystal-clear storage bags before setting them on her dining room table and once again washing her hands. It was now time to see what the leather-bound tome held in store.
Melody sat down on the couch after topping off her wine. She reached into the box and carefully gripped the book by its edges. The leather held firm against her fingers as she set it on the coffee table and began studying it. The book appeared to be in good shape despite its obvious age. The threaded bindings had yet to fray, and the cracks in the leather cover were only surface level. The gold leaf lettering maintained its bright sheen. "
" she read out loud. "Rituals... no, rites... rites to... to summon... the evil... the wicked...
."
Google failed to pull up any historical texts with that title, in Latin or English. She delicately opened the tome to the first page, where she was greeted with the title written in black ink with expertly flowing strokes. In the space below the title, penned by a different hand, was a sentence written in French--
Melody turned to Google Translate. She could imagine professional historians groaning with each keystroke, but Latin and Spanish were her studied languages, not French. "Heaven is closed to all save His sycophants," she read on her laptop, "but the Lightbringer reaches out without expectation."
Turning to the next page revealed a detailed portrait of a squatting lump of flesh with appendages barely long enough to count as limbs and wide, panicky eyes. Underneath the portraits was its title--
, or
. The accompanying Latin text on the next page outlined a detailed ritual for supposedly calling the being forth from Hell, complete with a small ritual circle and words of summoning. More French was scrawled in the bottom margins--
--
Melody leaned into her cushions. "No way," she breathed. Sitting on her coffee table was an honest-to-God... she couldn't say that, but she wasn't going to say honest-to-Lucifer... book on demonic summoning. It had to be fake of course, but whoever had written the French passages seemed to believe otherwise. Were the Connovers devil worshippers? Or maybe the Jarlsons? Was their disappearance tied to some kind of ritual?
Melody scoffed. "What the hell am I thinking?" she asked before finishing off her wine. This book couldn't possibly be legitimate. It had probably been picked up as a curiosity, something taboo and scandalous for the idle rich to jokingly discuss over fine cigars. Demons didn't exist except in horror novels and scary movies...
Melody froze as a voice spoke with the whisper of an amorous lover. After a moment, she shook her head and got up. "No. No, it's the wine talking, I drank too much at dinner and now with the wine it's finally hitting me..."
She was ready to offer a rebuke when she realized she was about to argue with a book. Either she was drunker than she realized, or the tome open on her table was talking to her. It had to be the first one since books didn't speak.
The pages of the book began to gently turn, slowly revealing their secrets to her. There were rituals to summon demons for various tasks--to grant riches, murder your enemies, help you fall in love, and enhance your art. Each one was written in Latin, and several came with French additions in the margins.
Her anxiety gave way to rapturous interest. Melody sank onto the couch, enthralled by the incredible scene unfolding in front of her. Was this real? It had to be. "Holy shi... I mean, Jesus Chr... whoa."
The pages stopped turning. She nervously leaned forward. "Can you hear me?"
"OK. Wow. What do you want?"
"That's... specifically vague. How about we start with an introduction? What's your name?"
She had seen enough movies and read enough books to instantly recognize the cliches within the book's statement. This is where a smart person, like her sister, would have closed the tome and walked away. But talking to the book... where was the harm in that? As long as she didn't do anything stupid or reckless, she'd be fine. Most importantly, this book had been found inside Connover Manor. Maybe it knew something about the estate. Going to work Monday morning with a wealth of history would help soothe Vera's disappointment with her.
"How did you end up in the mansion?" she asked. "Who brought you there? What happened to the people who lived there?"
She opened her eyes. Looking up at Melody from the page was an intricate sketch of a voluptuous naked female. Long, powerful legs complimented a sleek tail, strong arms, and broad shoulders. A pair of veined wings stretched out behind her, a wicked spike capping each segment. Curved horns provided a glorious crown, accenting a firm bosom that plastic surgery could only aspire to. Such was the detail that Melody could make out the lips resting at the bottom of a neatly trimmed patch of pubic hair.
The Latin title read
--Female Sex Demon. Accompanying the text was more French--
As she typed the phrase into Google, Melody's gaze kept returning to the figure. The tail curled around the demon's upper thigh like a worshiping lover. The erect nipples on its round, full breasts spoke of the creature's desire. Its hips were cocked to one side, accentuating the enticing look the demon wore.
Her hand began trembling with each keystroke. A gentle heat was building below her stomach, and she felt the muscles in her legs tighten. The sketch seemed to breathe the more she looked at it. Its shoulders rose up and down. The tail around its thigh slithered invitingly. And its eyes, somehow, alluringly stared back at her.
The heat was now accompanied by an anticipatory feeling in her stomach as if she was climbing the initial hill of a roller coaster. Her nipples had swollen underneath her tank top, and that slow yearning to be filled was coming together between her legs. She finished entering the French phrase into the translator.
As Melody fanned herself using her tank top, one thought went through her mind. "If this is a female demon, what would a male demon look like?"
She turned to the next ritual. Once again she was greeted with an anatomically detailed sketch, this one of a lean, slender male. Its taut muscles reminded her of a steel cable holding an incredible load. His hands were on his hips, feet spread in a wide, confidant stance that matched the mischievous glint in his eyes. The male lacked wings but did sport a pointed tail and washboard six-pack abs. And then there was the substantial penis that hung between its legs, majestic even in what Melody assumed was a flaccid state. "
" she read; 'Male Sex Demon.'
There was more accompanying French, but Melody couldn't take her eyes away from the drawing. It was as near a perfect nude male figure as she had ever seen, something a Renaissance artist would have dreamed of creating. It was either the wine or her neglected libido that turned her gaze toward the figure's lower body.
"Damn!" she blurted out. "That's a penis!"
If asked to imagine the perfect dick, this is what Melody would have envisioned--long, powerful, and thick, with a curve that hinted at the soft places it would touch inside of her. Merely staring at it sent a thrill passing through her body, aimed directly at the yearning wetness growing between her legs. Licking her lips, she gently pressed her finger against the drawing of the penis. There was a gentle sigh from the book...
An intense force pressed against Melody's chest, shoving her into the back of her couch. Pinned in place, she watched the tome fling itself shut with a definitive thump. The force ceased the instant the book closed. Her eyes were wide as she ran her hands through her hair, trying to make sense of what happened.
It was her sister Kristin's voice that squelched the mental static.
she had teased Melody when she received her bachelor's in history,
Immolation of the written word would always be a non-starter for Melody, but her sister's advice held enough water to rinse away her confusion. She kept a wary eye on the book while she got to her feet. It sat ponderously on her coffee table as if she had never opened it. She briefly considered calling out to it to see if it responded but decided that she'd had enough. Between her lousy date, being chided by Vera, and dealing with an otherworldly book, Melody was ready to call it a night and start fresh in the morning.
Her arousal still lingered as she locked the front door and turned off the lights. Her stiff nipples brushed against the fabric of her tank top with each step she took up the stairs, amplifying the desire that was streaking through her body with increasing frequency. She pulled her tank top over her head the moment she walked into her bedroom, hurling it with practiced aim onto her hamper's lid. Her shorts joined the pile soon after, leaving her clad in only a pair of black panties.
She leaned over the dresser, meeting her eyes in the mirror. Her firm breasts hung full and free as she lightly gripped the edge. Her eyes fell closed as a mental image began to form. A darkened room lit by candles, the gentle caress of a lover's hand, scarves of the sheerest silk draped over her naked body. A shiver ran through her while she imagined his hand running down her side. It glided over the curve of her hips, allowing him to slip his fingers inside her panties to wantonly squeeze her butt. Her imaginary lover laid warm kisses along her neck and shoulder, generating an equivalent heat in her lower body as she thought of that magnificent cock being separated from her womanhood by nothing more than thin fabric.
Melody gasped as she slid her panties off. She was so incredibly wet that they peeled from her dripping lips. She needed to cum--hard, fast, loud, and repeatedly. She turned to her nightstand and yanked the middle drawer open, revealing expired condoms and a half-full jar of lube, but nothing else, specifically not her vibrator.
Her eyes widened with the panic only experienced by the desperately horny. She swept the condoms and lube aside to reveal the bare wood. Sweeping them the other way produced the same result, as did opening the top drawer. Only then did realization burn away her fog of arousal. Her trusty toy had finally given up the ghost the previous weekend. Its gel remains were currently on their way back to the company she had ordered it from, EdenFantasy, for a $5 waste disposal credit and 15% off her next vibrator.
She flopped on the bed, slamming her fist against the mattress while cursing her environmental and fiscal responsibility. Simply plunging her fingers between her legs wouldn't satisfy her sexual craving. She briefly considered using her detachable showerhead before sighing despondently. The universe had conspired against her libido and won. Instead of a needed release, a frigid shower would be how her evening concluded. She couldn't even take a sleeping pill thanks to the bottle of wine she had imbibed.
"Damn it." Melody had gotten off the bed when a monstrous thud shook the hardwood floor under her feet. She froze, her heart now racing with anxiety instead of anticipation. All was silent until a whisper drifted from downstairs.
She grabbed her flannel nightrobe from the closet door and knotted it tightly before stepping into the hallway. She kept her steps light while moving to the top of the stairs. All was quiet as she gripped the banister's post and carefully leaned to one side, peering down into her darkened living room. The only illumination came from a nightlight plugged into an outlet near the kitchen. Its clear white light splashed over the coffee table, outlining the open book sitting upon it.
Anxiety was replaced by inebriated annoyance. "Screw this." Her footsteps echoed through the house as she stomped down the stairs. The book had given her nothing but trouble, along with a frustrating case of blue bean, since she found it in the library of that dusty old manor. It didn't matter what the book could tell her about Connover Manor. It was going right into a sealed bag, and tomorrow morning she'd drop it off at the office in Aspen before heading to church. The visage of the female demon, the succubus, gazed up at Melody as she reached out to close the tome...
The enticing words were spoken with a boldness that made her pause. Her hand hovered over the erotic sketch as the voice spoke to her.
The honeyed words curled around Melody's libido, squeezing new life out of it. Her robe felt tight around her body. It constrained her and hid her nakedness. Surely it would be better on the living room floor.
Her drunken mind raced, the arguments careening off one another, while her fingers toyed with her belt. She needed that release, for her body to shake and her womanhood to clench and pulse while wet heat coated its walls. A warm mouth on her throat, firm lips against her breasts, and something deep inside her, drawing forth that incredible sensation as only the forbidden could.
Rationality made one final attempt, utilizing the voice of her departed sister.
"He hasn't said anything to me in almost a year," Melody quietly proclaimed. "Why would He start now?" She flung her arms out and raised her voice to the ceiling. "If this is such a horrible idea," she cried, "now would be a good time to talk to me! Hello? Is anyone up there? Yeah, that's what I thought."
The succubus gazed lustily from the page, promising unknown pleasures. But there was no hesitation on Melody's part as she turned to the next ritual.
"Sorry," she told the book. "I prefer men."
The voice was smothered as the book settled on the incubus's page. Her eyes were drawn to his cocksure smile, which offered a good time, and then to what hung between his legs, which offered exactly what she was looking for.
The ritual called for several items and a space large enough to draw a ritual circle. She gathered the required items--a bowl of ashes from her fireplace, a bottle of spring water, four candles, fireplace matches, and a needle from her sewing kit, as well as her phone to help translate--before heading to her basement. The unfinished space served as a makeshift library. Shelves overflowing with books lined the walls.
The concrete floor was cold under her feet, but it was her goosebumps that made Melody shiver. She cleared a space in the middle of the floor and set the book down. Verbalizing the Latin to help translate, Melody first poured the water into the bowl of ashes and used a paintbrush to mix them. The needle was next. She had to pinch it between three fingers to keep it steady. "One," she said nervously, "two, three!"
A harsh gasp slipped her lips as she pricked the side of the ring finger on her opposite hand. A spot of crimson liquid heralded her success. "This is no different than using a spirit board during a slumber party," Melody told herself while squeezing her finger over the bowl. Several drops of blood fell into the gray water. Gritting her teeth, she managed to coax a little more from her finger. She sucked on her finger while combining the blood with the ashy mixture to give her a watery paint.
It was now time for the ritual circle. Instead of the expected pentagram, the circle reminded Melody of a simplified royal seal. The round middle was surrounded by triangular shapes and intersecting lines. She swayed as she set the tome on the ground and began painting the circle using the mix of ash, water, and blood. Her first attempt at painting a section of the inner circle produced a meager trail of pale gray barely visible against the concrete.
"I don't have enough blood for this," she groused as she dipped the paintbrush in the bowl. This time she got down on her knees and focused on tracing over her previous efforts. By her third attempt, enough of the ashy mixture had pooled on the concrete to give her a solid crescent Bolstered by her initial success, Melody continued her efforts to bring forth the ritual circle from the pages of the tome. The outer symbols weren't to her liking, but they matched up with the drawing, and while she had to run the brush along the edges of the bowl to gather up stray drops, she had enough of the mixture to touch up the thin parts of the inner circle, making it as enclosed as she could around the tome occupying the center.
The instructions now called for candles among the outer symbols. While the ones in the drawing were tall and narrow, Melody had to make do with a quartet of large floral-scented jar candles from a local company up the road in Basalt. She set a candle at each cardinal point along the outer circle and used a long fireplace match to light all four. The pleasant scent of freesia soon filled the air as the candles became fully aflame.
She used her phone to translate the next set of instructions.
The summoner must now be nude and remain so for the remainder of the ceremony."
Her eager hands quickly unknotted her robe. She pulled her arms free, allowing the constraining garment to pool on the floor behind her. Standing nude in her basement, tipsy from the wine, frustrated with life, with a ritual circle to summon a sex demon on the ground in front of her, Melody felt an erotic charge throughout her entire body. Her skin was flush with anticipation. Her rock-hard nipples begged to be pinched. A thin sheen of sweat covered her body while her heart pounded in her chest, sending rushes of blood pumping through her veins. Her toes curled against the cool concrete floor. And a craving, that yearning to be filled, to have her velvet walls pushed apart over and over again, her essence hot and dripping around her lover's manhood.
Settling in the middle of the ritual circle, Melody crossed her legs and set the tome in front of her. She sat up straight, rolled her shoulders back, and began the crux of the ritual--the ominous Latin chanting. She carefully sounded out the words, focusing on properly pronouncing them.
A black smudge, possibly a stray drop of ink, blemished the next word, making it difficult to read. She squinted at the page, trying futilely to make out the obscured letters, before deciding to just skip over it.
.
A firm knock rolled through the basement the moment the final word left her mouth. The candles' flames intensified, with their light now stretching to the dim corners of the basement. The flowery scent grew stronger as well, but underneath was a faint aroma that Melody was unable to identify.
The knock that followed was strong enough to rattle the bookshelves along the wall. Melody's ponytail snapped like a whip from the impact as it rolled over her like a peal of thunder. Instead of fading away, however, the force of the knock continued, turning in a low rushing wind that whipped the flames of the candles into a mad dance. The pungent smell of sulfur intertwined with the freesia.
The wind pawed at her naked body. As she prepared to chant for the third time, however, the voice from earlier called out.
it cried over the sound of the wind. "
Melody gritted her teeth. She had been denied twice today, once by her date and once by her lack of a marital aid. She would not be denied a third time. She grabbed hold of the book as the wind tore at the pages, and began shouting.
A blinding flash erupted from the tome. Melody leaned away, shielding her eyes with her forearm. Put off-balance, the third knock sent her sprawling backward out of the circle and into one of her bookshelves. The tome was torn from her hands, falling shut as it bounced underneath the stairs. Her ears throbbed from the forceful noise, and her eyesight was dotted with searing dots of pure white. It took several moments for her to sit upright...
"Are you alright,
"
She slowly lifted her eyes at the smooth voice. The wind had died down, but sulfur still permeated the air. The four flames surrounding the ritual circle danced with rage inside their jars, illuminating the male figure standing in the middle. "Ah," he exclaimed, "the frustration, the fury, the raw desire in your words as you summoned me. I haven't felt such exquisite desire in ages!" The red-skinned being gave her a beaming grin, revealing white teeth crowned with a pair of fangs.
Melody screamed. She grabbed a hardcover from the shelf behind her and hurled it at him. The demon looked at the book in confusion as it impacted his chest and fell to the floor. By then Melody had scrambled to her feet and fled up the basement stairs. Bursting into the kitchen, she collided with her refrigerator, bouncing off of it and slamming into the counter in front of her sink. Her feet threatened to slip out from underneath her, but her hands blindly grabbed at the edge of the counter, helping her barely maintain her balance. She hunched over the sink, panting wildly while her heart slammed against her chest.
Her brain was trying to process the past few seconds when the voice called out from downstairs. "Excuse me," it said politely. "Are you OK?"
She couldn't formulate an answer. All Melody could do was fill a glass with cold water and attempt to chug it, only to fail and spit what she had drunk back into the sink. Hot fear had replaced burning desire. "No," she muttered to herself as she tried to drink more water. "No, no, no, no..."
"Are you speaking to me, or yourself? I understand if it's both."
Melody stared at the open basement door with dawning apprehension. A demon. She had summoned a demon from Hell. She had summoned a demon from Hell into her basement. She had summoned a demon from Hell into her basement with the expectation of sex. She slid down to the kitchen floor. Pulling her knees up to her chest, Melody rocked back and forth. "This isn't happening," she said. "Damn it, Melody, you told yourself not to be stupid and reckless..."
"You sound upset,
", the voice said in a soothing, apologetic tone. "I promise, I am unable to harm you. I cannot leave the ritual circle. If you would come back downstairs, I promise to allay your fears. You may stay away if you wish, but I'd prefer not to yell back and forth up the stairs."
The voice sounded sincere. If that demon meant to harm, it would have bounded up the stairs after her. She pulled herself to her feet and finished the glass of water before cautiously heading down to the basement. The red-skinned demon was still in the middle of the ritual circle. He watched with keen interest as she reached the bottom of the steps and picked up her robe from the floor. She kept a wary eye on him while slipping into it, wrapping it around her tightly to cover as much of her bare skin as possible.
As best she could tell in the dancing candlelight, the demon in front of her looked identical to the sketch in the book. He had red skin with yellow eyes, pointed ears, and short coal-black hair. The sideburns grew into a trimmed beard with a mustache. Small horns jutted from his forehead. His lean body boasted six-pack abs and tight, muscular limbs. And a long, thick, curved penis hung loosely between his legs.
As she tied off her belt, the demon held up the book she had thrown at him. "
," he said. "Robert McCammon, 1987. A first edition, no less. I approve of your taste in horror authors, mademoiselle." He casually flicked his wrist. The book leaped from his hand, spinning end over end until it landed back in the gap left behind when Melody had pulled off the shelf.
"Whoa," she said before turning to meet his gaze. In the absence of any other options, she offered him a half-hearted wave. "Um... hey there?"
The demon put a hand over where his heart should be and inclined his head. "Good evening. To whom do I have the pleasure of speaking?"
"I'm Melody," she said hesitantly. "Melody Langston."
"It is an honor to meet you, Madame Langston. Allow me to introduce myself." The demon's voice took on a deep tenor as he put his hands on his hips while adopting a bold stance. "I am Xilveth," he proclaimed bombastically. "The Amorous Whisperer. The Consort to Royalty. The Lover From the Shadows. The Ten-Inch King." He glanced down. "The last one is an informal title, but still appropriate. Don't you agree?"
She did agree, at least mentally. "It's nice to meet you. Look, I'm sorry, but this was a mistake. I did not intend to actually summon a demon..."
"Considering the primal force in your words, Melody... may I call you Melody?... I don't believe this was a mistake. You're simply nervous. It's OK. It happens to a lot of summoners."
"No, no," she said, emphatically motioning with her hands. "It's not that. I... I was bored and frustrated, that's all. It's like I was messing around with a spirit board at a slumber party."
"Considering the effort you put into this ritual circle, I do not believe you were messing around. This is quality craftsmanship for an amateur." He sniffed the air. "And... freesia candles? Freesia is often tied to rituals meant to heal the balance between body, mind, and sexuality." He quietly clapped his hands. "Well done, Melody. That is a sign of quality research as well as an inspired touch."
"That was an accident," she admitted, before adding, "I mean, this whole thing was an accident. I'm sorry, but... this is wrong. Really wrong. On so many levels. Is there any way you can... I mean..."
She was struggling to find the right words when he held up his hands. "Allow me to hazard a guess at your concerns,
You're concerned that you sold your immortal soul to Lucifer."
Melody's skin instantly paled. She had to lean against a support beam as Xilveth's words sank in. "I... I am now. I didn't... oh no..."
"Please, Melody, take a deep breath. Just one. Good. Now another. And another. Try to relax. You didn't read the entire ritual, did you?"
"No. I only read the instructions."
"My dear," he gently chided, "always review every word and symbol of a ritual when dealing with my kind. There are plenty of demons, including incubi like me, who would claim your soul if you slipped up. Give them a mortal inch, they will take an infernal mile. Whereas I am offering you ten infernal inches. Your soul is safe. The ritual you used to summon me did not put it at risk."
Her curiosity peeked out from behind her anxiety. "Incubi? Is that like a succubus? There was a ritual for summoning one in the book."
"We are kin. A succubus, plural succubi, is a female demon who offers her carnal services to humans in exchange for their sexual essence. An incubus, or incubi, is a male demon who offers his carnal services to humans in exchange for their sexual essence. And a fuccubus, or fuccubi, is a non-binary who offers carnal services to humans in exchange for their sexual essence. They're a new department in Hell, but they are expanding rapidly."
"I think there was a succubus talking to me." She looked around for the book as she explained, "It was a female voice that spoke to me from the book. It was insistent that I summon it. It was yelling at me to stop while I..."
He finished his sentence for her. "Summoned me? That doesn't surprise me. They were probably upset that I cut in on a potential deal. Succubi hold great power in Hell. After money, their services are the ones most requested by mortals. Since their summoners tend to be luckless virgins, out-of-shape neckbeards, or women haters, most of them will leap at the opportunity to enjoy congress with a beautiful woman such as yourself."
"What about you?"
"I would also leap at the opportunity to enjoy congress with you."
Her cheeks turned red. She almost followed up on his statement, only to remind herself that she was talking to a demon she had inadvertently summoned. "What if I don't want your carnal services? Can we cancel this so you can go back to Hell and we can forget I did something so monumentally idiotic?"
"We could. You have until sunrise to close the deal. If you choose not to, then come sunrise I will simply disappear and return to whence I came. If you do close the deal, then you and I will couple until sunrise, and I will raise you to such heights that you have yet to experience and may never. Either way, I cannot leave this ritual circle. Our coupling would take place inside, although your screams of delight would possibly echo across... where are we, exactly? I can sense that we're over a mile above sea level. The air tastes of the mountains. The basement decor and your accent are North American, possibly Canadian, more certainly American. I would hazard... the Colorado Rockies. Vail, perhaps? Telluride? No... no, I sense the obscenely wealthy a short distance away. Aspen. We're currently in Aspen."
"Close. We're about a dozen miles to the south, in a small ski town called Emerald Pines."
"Emerald Pines." He drew out the second word slightly. "I've never heard of such a village." He held up a finger. A long tongue snaked from his lips and ran along the tip, coating it with saliva. Melody watched as he held the finger in the air. "Emerald Pines... oh my. Forgive my crudeness, however, this is a severely horny town. It is dripping with erotic possibilities. I'm becoming aroused simply thinking about the fun my kind could have here."
Melody's gaze fell on Xilveth's penis. His words rang true as they began to stiffen. After a few moments, his powerful member jutted into the air. It throbbed slightly, causing her to lick her lips. The skin at its base was smooth, free of hair or stubble. Hanging underneath was a pair of thick, luscious balls--words Melody would have never used to describe testicles in any circumstance, but words that applied here.
No longer did Xilveth have a beautiful penis. What he had was a truly magnificent cock. And Melody wanted it inside of her.
"Do you admire what you see?"
As Melody looked up, Xilveth gave her an alluring smile. "
that is why you summoned me. To satisfy you and soothe what ails you." He took a step forward toward the edge of the ritual circle. His eyes ran over her body, drinking her in. "It has been too long for you, has it not? Too long since a lover took you in his arms and made you experience the sensations you deserve." He tilted his head to the side. "There's more. The frustration in your chanting. The turmoil swimming underneath the surface. This impedes your life. Your social life, your sex life, your professional life, I don't know which. But it's there. Therapy falls to the angels since they enjoy talking for hours on end. I'm a demon of action, not words. I can cure what ails you from now until sunrise, through words of affirmation and physical touch. Satisfaction, sexual and emotional. It will be yours."
There was no denying the physical attraction Melody felt. The pressure between her legs was intense, and squeezing her thighs together did nothing to alleviate it. "So you're doing this for my sexual essence? What does that even mean?
"It's a mix of the emotional and the physical. Your intense state of arousal would charge me ala a battery. For the physical, let's just say that the wetter you become, the better it is for me."
"So in other words, tit for tat?"
"You do indeed have elegant breasts." He dropped his eyes downward. "And you're a natural blonde, I see."
"I can't same the same for you." She gestured at the smooth base of his cock. "That black hair of yours could be a high-end dye job."
"Oh, I'm entirely supernatural, head to toe and tail. Incubi find a hint of grooming cut downs on gagging. However, we're getting off-topic. You have amazing sex and I soak in your essence. That's the deal. If you want fucked, I will fuck you until you can't walk. If you want to be held, I will hold you and stroke your hair. If you want to make love, I will whisper in your ear and tell you the truth about how stupendous you are. You can say no, Melody. You can go upstairs and leave me here to vanish at sunrise, no harm done."
He slowly extended his hand toward her. The tips of his fingernails hovered at the edge of the ritual circle. "But I do not believe you'll say no."
"Oh, what the hell." She untied her bathrobe. It fell to the floor, leaving her naked in front of Xilveth. Trembling eagerly, Melody stepped forward. She reached over the ashy line on the floor and placed her hand in his. The warmth of a summer's day pressed against her palm.
"Excellent," he said softly. "You do this of your own free will?"
"I do." She placed her other hand against Xilveth's chest. His pectoral was rock hard under the pressure. "What do we need to close the deal?" she asked while tracing his nipple with her finger.
"A drop of yours, a drop of mine."
He grabbed her forearm and yanked her into the circle. She reflexively tried to pull away, but his iron grip held her still. Xilveth's eyes shone with taboo hunger. A bolt of fear raced through her while he ran his long tongue over his lips like a predator sizing up prey.
Both of his hands dropped to Melody's butt. His fingers dug into the firm flesh for a brief moment before the demon effortlessly lifted her into the air to set her on his shoulders and shove his face between her legs.
She barely had time to grab an exposed pipe overhead before Xilveth dragged the tip of his tongue over her clit with a feather's touch that caused her to scream in pleasure. She had been turned on for over an hour and even the barest contact against her throbbing button almost set her off. She braced herself for another brief assault, only for Xilveth to lay a trail of kisses along her inner thigh as the initial jolt faded.
The light kisses made her sigh. She kept one hand wrapped around the pipe, allowing her to intertwine her fingers in Xilveth's black hair. His hands squeezed her firm butt, holding her in place while he ran his tongue around Melody's dripping lips. She shifted her hips, trying to make direct contact, only for him to pull away and resume kissing her thigh.
Playful teasing turned into denial. Melody gasped with shuddering breaths as Xilveth tortured her without directly touching where she desired most. His tongue glided past her womanhood close enough to feel its passage but not enough to give her the pleasure she craved. Sweat dotted her body as Xilveth's attentions made her pant. Her skin was flush. Her nipples were as hard as bullets atop her quivering breasts. And she swore she could feel her essence slowly leaking out of her. All of this, despite the fact he hadn't done more than tickle her clit.
Her gasps had turned into groans when Xilveth suddenly pressed the flat of his tongue firmly against Melody's clit. She shot upright, fingers twisting Xilveth's hair, as he began assaulting her with his lips and tongue. He held nothing back, using long, slow licks that caused incredible sensations before a quick snap from the tip of his tongue briefly turned her clit into a joy buzzer.
The pressure quickly doubled and redoubled inside of her. Melody's wanton cries echoed throughout the house as Xilveth's tongue drove her pleasure to its peak, causing her body to lock up just before the pressure boiled over, unleashing an orgasm that encompassed her entire body. Everything happened at once--a wine-colored flush raced over her skin as black and white dots exploded in her vision, and her vagina clenched with a tightness she never knew before. The cold metal pipe left indentations in her hand as her grip threatened to tear it from the ceiling. Wetness flowed from her womanhood as a series of rhythmic pulses fluttered along her velvet walls.
She eventually managed to breathe. Her body was on fire, and even shifting her hips on Xilveth's shoulders threatened to set her off again. Little earthquakes rumbled through her lower body.
"Watch your head." Her demonic lover crouched down in the ritual circle. He kept his hands on her hips as she stepped from his shoulders, a gesture she was thankful for as her body threatened to collapse on the concrete floor. "Was that acceptable, Madameoiselle Langston?"
A weak nod was the best compliment she could give him. Xilveth smiled at her erotically disheveled state. His beard was soaked with her fluids, and his chin dripped with her wetness. "Fantastic," he stated.
He used one hand to keep her upright. His other hand ran along his lips and mouth, gathering her juices. "Ah," he said as he gleefully rubbed the tips of his fingers together. "That's part of what we need to close our deal." Melody watched as Xilveth smeared her wetness across his chest and abdomen, using two fingers to draw some sort of pattern. He grinned at her once he had finished. "A sigil of bonding," he explained. "To experience everything I have to offer, you and I must boast corresponding sigils drawn in the other's essence. I've drawn mine with yours. Now, you have to draw yours with mine. Don't worry. I'll assist you. It simply requires your fingers against my skin."
"That makes sense," she said as if anything had made sense this evening. She looked down at his cock with uncertainty. A drop of clear precum adorned the mushroom tip like morning dew. As beautiful as it looked, Melody didn't want it in her mouth. Giving oral sex wasn't something she enjoyed. The handful of times she attempted it she barely lasted ten seconds before coming up gagging. And those occasions had been with men who were substantially shorter and less girthy than Xilveth. "I don't want to be rude because you just went down on me but I don't like... I'm not a fan of going down on guys. Plus there's no way I'll be able to fit that in my mouth."
Xilveth waved his hand dismissively. "Tch. It is not a requirement that you take me in your mouth. Using your hand to draw forth my essence will suffice."
That, she could do. Melody reached down and carefully wrapped her fingers around Xilveth's hard cock. He sighed as she dragged her hand along his shaft. It was as hard as stone, barely yielding within her grip. After several strokes, each one accompanied by a sound of approval from the incubus, Melody ran her palm across the tip of his cock. His precum leaked into her hand. It left a glistening trail along his erect member as she ran her hand down to the base. A sharp gasp escaped Xilveth as Melody boldly cupped his full balls.
Xilveth had leaked more precum by the time she brought her hand back to the top. She had to tighten her grip as she spread the extra lubrication along his shaft, making it easy for her to begin jacking him off in earnest. Precum continued to trickle free, and eventually, his entire cock glistened in the candlelight. "If it's like this now," she thought as her pace quickened, "what's it going to be like when he finishes?"
She felt a warm hand on her shoulder. "That feels positively delightful,
" A firm squeeze punctuated Xilveth's statement. "I'll be putty in your hands in but a few moments."
A hint of pride settled upon her at the demon's praise. She pressed her body against his, trapping his cock between them. "You keep calling me
" she stated as she began using both hands. "What does that mean?"
"A term of endearment. In French, it translates to 'my star.' You're not familiar with the language?"
"I know Spanish and Latin. Someone did add notes in French to the summoning book, though."
Xilveth groaned while she teasingly dragged two fingers along the bottom of his shaft, lingering at the gentle curve for a brief moment. His tail gently flowed back and forth behind him, snapping to one side on occasion. "How messy is it going to be?" she inquired. "You've been leaking since before I started and... you feel full... oh God, I'm being rude."
"First, no, you're not. Second, don't mention Him. Some of the acts us demons perform would make even Him take his son's name in vain... that feels superb." His hips shifted forward, gently fucking her hand in time with her strokes. "Third, my orgasm will be substantial," he admitted. "It's the nature of being a physical incarnation of illicit sex. The same holds true for my..."
His chuckle held a ring of sincerity. "I have never heard it described as 'leaking' before. Put bluntly, sexual demons may self-lubricate. Too often has someone called us to perform some profane act yet not had the foresight to bring lubricant. Some demons take delight in that, but I am a gentleman first and foremost. And speaking of being a gentleman, I should warn you..."
Xilveth suddenly ground his teeth, revealing the pointed fangs. His body tensed while his fingers dug into her shoulder. A firm warmth rolled over Melody like the sun moving from behind the clouds before the incubus' hips thrust forward. Wet heat exploded in her hands, coating her stomach and the underswell of her breasts. Xilveth cried out as he spilled on Melody's body. By the time his cock had finished spurting, rivulets of warm white-yellow fluid ran down her front. "Wow," she remarked. "That was substantial."
"And that was exquisite. Your skills with your hands rival the priestesses of Priapus in Lampsacus." Xilveth gently took her by the wrist. "Extend two fingers, please."
She did as he requested. Using her hand as a makeshift brush, Xilveth used his essence to draw a sigil on Melody's body that, as best she could tell, mirrored the one on his chiseled frame. The passage of her fingers left a dripping trail of liquid heat simmering on her skin. It was her turn to moan quietly when he teasingly dragged her fingers over her breasts, causing them to tingle for an all too brief moment. "Now the deal is closed," he said as he released her wrist. "I am to satisfy you until the sun arises, or until you wish to end our arrangement."
The heat on her body paled in comparison to the driving pressure inside of her, a feeling that intensified as his cock began to once again stiffen, reaching its full length within seconds. "If you think it's stupendous now," he grinned, "imagine it sliding inside of you."
It was almost all she could imagine. Rationality, having surrendered the evening, found the will to ask one final question. "Should I go get a condom? I have one up in my purse."
Xilveth put a hand against his chest. "Melody," he proclaimed dramatically, "you wish to put any sort of barrier between us?"
"I don't want to get pregnant. The last thing I need in my life is to carry around the demonic fetus for an absentee dad."
A warm smile touched Xilveth's lips before he lightly dragged his fingernails along her jawline. "Brilliant, beautiful, and responsible. Incubi are infertile unless the contract specifies otherwise. A brood of half-demonic children running around would draw Heaven's eye, and that never ends well. I could spill my seed on your body again if that is your preference."
The warmth of his seed still lingered on her skin. She had to know what it would feel like after he shot it deep inside her. "No. No, that's OK. But I am going to grab a blanket. I don't want to have sex on a cold floor."
"From prior experience, I recommend a pair of pillows as well. And don't concern yourself--you are free to go and come from the ritual circle as you please."
She stepped over the ashy gray line without issue and headed for the camping gear packed away in one corner. An appreciative hum came from behind her when she bent over to grab a thick picnic blanket and two travel pillows. "Indeed," Xilveth remarked, "you are breathtaking from every angle."
He stood in the middle of the circle, hands unabashedly on his hips, cock pointing in her direction. The sight of him sent a flutter between her legs. "You're a work of art as well," Melody told him while walking back to the circle. "It's like you were sculpted from marble."
"I was," he said while helping her unfold the picnic blanket. "There's a marble statue of me in the ballroom of the Château de Fontainebleau outside of Paris. It was sculpted by Benvenuto Cellini during the reign of Francis the First."
She made a note to look that up online as Xilveth took her in his arms. His eyes never left hers while he gently lowered her onto the blanket before stretching out next to her. He placed one pillow behind her head while setting the other underneath her hips.
Warmth radiated from his body as he pressed against her, rolling deliciously over her body. Melody thrilled at the thought of taking her exotic lover, even if they had red skin, stubby horns, and a pair of fangs. She wasn't worried about her immortal soul. God hadn't answered her prayers in almost a year. If He was paying more attention to a sparrow falling out of a tree than He was to her, then that was on Him.
Melody closed her eyes as Xilveth began dragging a fingernail down her flank. The gentle pain caused her to sigh. The incubus' hand drifted over the curve of her hip and traced a path along the top of her thigh. She spread her legs, encouraging him to move his hand to her eager center, but instead, he teasingly ran his fingernail down her inner thigh and up the opposite one before running the flat of his hand across her pubic mound and onto her stomach.
When she opened her eyes and looked up at him, Melody saw him gazing at her with a lean and hungry look crowned by a devious smile. "No, no,
" He reached over and used two fingers to gently close her eyes. "Don't rely on your sight. Listen to the beat of your heart as I explore every inch of your majestic form."
He palmed her breast, slowly drawing his fingers up the firm mound. Her low moan turned into a sharp gasp when he pinched her erect nipple, and the sharp gasp became an ecstatic cry when he twisted it. Her back arched from the blanket at the contrast of pain and pleasure. Right before it became too much, his hand drifted toward her neck. The fabric of the blanket bunched between her fingers while he traced a path along her jawline and earlobe. His fingers ran through her blonde hair, gathering up the long strands before twisting his hand. The brief flare of pain along her scalp lasted exactly as long as it needed to, causing her to hiss while making her crave more.
He repeated the journey down the other side of her body--ear, jaw, throat, breast, stomach, thigh--before coming back up. The pleasure Melody felt at each trip was tempered with every pinch, twist, and gentle scrape, always providing enough discomfort to amplify her pleasure without going too far. She continually pushed herself against his hand, especially when it journeyed between her legs, but Xilveth's fingers stayed away from where she wanted them most.
She could feel the sweat coating her skin. The worn fabric of the blanket clung to her body, and she breathed with shivering pants. No other lover had ever come close to making Melody feel as aroused as she was, and Xilveth had done nothing more than touch her. Her nerves were on fire. All she wanted was to be filled by his long, strong cock. Everything else was secondary.
She risked opening her eyes to see Xilveth looking down at her with an amorous gaze. Before he could say or do anything, she reached up with both hands and pulled herself up, mashing her lips desperately against his and gripping his black hair to hold him in place. Her tongue forced its way into his mouth, briefly dominating his before he returned the favor.
There was an underlying smokiness in his kiss. When she finally pulled away, Melody's expression was one of pure lust. Xilveth nodded wordlessly. She lay back as he climbed on top of her. She spread her legs wide, tilting her hips with the assistance of the pillow, opening herself fully to her summoned lover. "This is your last chance to back out," he told her. "But this is what you want."
She didn't know if that was a question or a statement. All Melody knew was she reached down to set Xilveth's stiff cock against her dripping lips. He set himself above her, muscular arms holding him aloft, and effortlessly thrust inside of her.
Melody cried out. Despite being worked up for most of the evening, the initial penetration hurt. Her walls stretched out further than she had ever known as Xilveth filled her to the hilt. "Too much," she managed to tell him between gritted teeth. "It's too much."
Xilveth's answer was to pull out, only to immediately push back in. The pain was still there, but it wasn't as intense as before. She still felt full, but not to bursting. The third thrust came with more bliss than discomfort. This time Xilveth held himself inside. "I apologize, Melody. It takes several thrusts for an incubus' cock to acclimate to its lovers."
"Acclimate?"
"To borrow an American phrase..." He rocked his hips, shifting his cock inside of her before pulling back out and sliding back in. "...one size does not fit all in our case. Some lovers prefer bigger members, some prefer ones with more curve, and some care not for size as long as the focus is on their clitoris. It takes some time to ensure we're endowed to satisfy your lusts. In your case," he remarked as he pulled out, "I am sad to say, I am no longer your Ten-Inch King."
"That's fine..." Her reassurance turned into a keening cry as Xilveth pushed forward, whipping up a fury of undistilled delight as he buried his perfect cock deep inside her soaked womanhood.
"I am now what you truly desire,
" With those words, Xilveth began driving in and out of her. Melody barely had time to press her feet against the floor and grip the blanket before waves of silver rolled over her, breaking against the yearning force in her lower body that had been building all night. There was no tenderness or romance in Xilveth's actions. He was fucking her, plain and simple, hard and rapid. The tip of his cock brushed against that secret spot inside of her with each thrust, while the curve in his shaft rubbed her walls in a way no lover had before.
She vocalized her ecstasy with loud, wanton cries and feverish moans that echoed off the basement walls. Melody didn't notice that the flames dancing in the candles along the ritual circle were intensifying with each thrust from Xilveth. A determined look sat on his face. It spoke of his desires to satisfy the woman who had summoned him. His cock was a fiery rod that drove in and out of her over and over, spreading her wet heat along her inner thighs.
As the pleasure heightened, Melody pinched her nipple, only for a firm hand to latch onto her wrist. "That's my job," Xilveth said as he grabbed her other wrist as well, pinning her arms to the floor. She squirmed as his warm tongue lashed her nipple, and screamed when he dragged a fang across it. His lips found her neck, sucking on her pulse point as it beat wildly underneath her skin. His pace never slackened, as his cock slid in and out of her with the lustful grace of a well-oiled infernal machine.
That pressure inside her was beginning to crest, and she tilted her hips, trying to catch even more of his cock, when Xilveth suddenly stopped. "No," she cried, trying to pull her wrists free. "I was so close."
"You believed you were close, but Melody, we're just getting started." He resumed his thrusting, but now he focused on slow, deep thrusts. His body pressed down on her, squishing her breasts between them, as he gently kissed her cheek and ear. Melody's climax had been within sight, and despite how good his stiffness felt inside of her, she craved more. Making her cum with his tongue was amazing, but she wanted to quiver and clench around his unyielding cock while he spilled his hot essence inside of her.
He began to speed up. Melody managed not to beg as Xilveth worked up to his earlier pace. Her pleasure amplified with each thrust, spiraling to dizzying heights. His hands dropped to her hips. She winced as his fingernails dug into her skin, but that pain was soon forgotten as Xilveth sat back, kneeling between her legs.
His pace slackened. "No," she protested, reaching out for him. "Please, don't stop."
"I'm not stopping," he teased, punctuating his statement by sliding forward, inch by delicious inch. "What, did you think I was going to simply be two pumps and a weak squirt? No, Melody, you summoned a demon from Hell. You say you wanted laid, but you want more. I can see it in your eyes, and I can feel it surrounding me. It has been too long since a lover made you feel every spark of ecstasy your body is capable of. When you finally surrender your essence to me, you'll truly know what it's like to be taken."
Her body ached, sweat covered every inch of her skin and darkened her hair, her nipples felt as if they were going to explode, and her clit throbbed with every heartbeat. Melody didn't know how much more she could take. She lost track of time as Xilveth continued to toy with her. Sometimes on his knees, sometimes lying atop her, sometimes licking her nipples, sometimes biting them, pulling her hair, kissing her fiercely, always changing his speed, never giving her body a chance to kindle. When she tried to pinch her nipple or rub her clit, he stopped her. Her entire world soon boiled down to the sensation of Xilveth's perfect cock inside her velvet walls and her overwhelming desire to finally cum.
Melody was completely at Xilveth's mercy when he finally stopped teasing. His hips were a jackhammer driving between her legs over and over again. That pressure inside of her had stopped increasing. Instead, every thrust from her demonic lover chipped away at it, bleeding a little away at a time. Xilveth wasn't looking to release that pressure like a rattling steam valve. Rather, he was drilling into it, aiming for the diamond of absolute rapture that formed its heart.
When everything else had fallen away, all it took was his thumb pressing against her clit to shatter that diamond.
She screamed with a primal urge, spurring Xilveth on. Everything proper and civilized had been stripped away. Melody had been reduced to her basic erotic instincts, wanting Xilveth to cum inside of her, to fill her with his essence. Her back arched, her breasts bouncing with every determined thrust, as her orgasm finally broke. A fountain of bliss erupted inside of her. Her body shook like a ragdoll while her screams reverberated throughout the basement. Liquid warmth flowed between her, spilling around Xilveth's driving cock as her walls clenched with an iron grip.
Even as her climax took dominion, Xilveth continued thrusting. Melody's climax rolled from peak to peak as Xilveth's thumb ran over her engorged clit. When she finally came down, Melody fell limp on the blanket, arms thrown to the side, legs flat on the ground, greedily gasping for air.
"That was... that was..."
A hard, driving thrust cut her off. She turned her head towards Xilveth. The demon's smile utterly lacked playfulness. "Did you think we were done?"
All Melody could do was grip at the crumpled blanket as Xilveth resumed fucking her with the same fervor. Her body shook at his touch. More joy flowed through her, this time without teasing or buildup. Each thrust was pure pleasure, bereft of emotion or consequence. She cried out as her lover drove himself to satisfy her again and again.
Her second orgasm hit her like a rockslide. There was little warning as her ecstasy spiked over and over, hitting high peaks that rivaled the Rocky Mountains, before crashing into her with the force of a runaway boulder. Even after she came for the second time, Xilveth didn't stop. The pillows under her head and hips were her only salvation as he continued fucking her, playing with her clit, squeezing her breasts, drawing every last drop of joy from her.
Time had no meaning when she finally collapsed on the blanket with him still burying his cock inside of her again and again. She knew nothing but pleasures she'd never forget. "Please," she croaked through dry lips. "I can't take anymore..."
"Do you still wish for me to spill inside of you?" She managed a weak nod. "Very well then,
"
He pressed his body atop hers. He took Melody by the back of the head and looked her in the eye. She cried out wordlessly as he slid into her with renewed effort. His determined cock pushed her soaked walls apart. It was enough to spur her body again, despite their prolonged coupling. She managed to throw her arms around his neck, pulling him down so she could kiss him. Their tongues danced as he began to thrust at an inhuman pace. She moaned into his mouth as he coaxed one final orgasm out of her. She shuddered, her walls gripping his cock.
The flames of the four candles around the circle suddenly shot into the air like road flares. With a low, guttural groan, Xilveth finally came. He dropped his head and pressed his forehead against hers as he spilled inside of her. As his heated essence coated her velvet walls, a soft pleasure settled over Melody. She managed a gentle smile at her lover, cupping his cheek with one hand before her body fell blissfully unconscious.
X X X X X
Xilveth carefully pulled his softening cock from Melody's body. A content sigh escaped from the demon as he felt his lover's power soaking into his spirit. "That was impressive," he told the sleeping woman. "You lasted longer than I believed you would. Our coupling was definitely worth my journey." He glanced at the window sitting high on the basement wall and sighed when he saw the blackness outside. "And, as always, I wait until sunrise, alone and with no one to talk to but myself."
He carefully wrapped Melody up in the camping blanket. "A pity to leave you on the basement floor," he remarked. "But I can't leave the circle to carry you to bed..."
Xilveth fell silent. He slowly got on his knees and crawled over Melody in the direction of the stairs. The curved line between him and the stairs was smudged. He looked over his shoulder at the sleeping woman before cautiously extending his hand. "Well," he remarked when his fingers went beyond the circle. "This is intriguing."
|
Never in his life had Loki prayed so fervently that he was wrong.
He was in no way unacquainted with the feeling, no. He knew all too well stumbling upon something he’d rather not know as dread steadily sunk into his stomach and the pieces gradually fell into place in his mind. As he begged voicelessly for his conclusions to be mistaken, to be foolishly overthought, yet knew in his heart that they were right.
Zemblanity. He was very well acquainted with the emotion. Yet, right now, his dread perhaps eclipsed even what he’d felt after Jotunheim.
Because if the Mad Titan had… no. No. No, this simply wasn’t possible, and yet… yet it could be. Loki shook his head frantically, snapping up to face Gerd and Albruna.
"Seeress Albruna,” he demanded, eyes wide and voice on edge, doing absolutely nothing for once to mask his panic. “Have you observed any temporal anomalies within the past few years?”
Please say no, a voice within him begged. Please say no.
What he received instead was stunned silence.
“Prince Loki,” interrupted a seer finally. Loki watched the grey-haired man hesitate and swallow before he continued, “The answer you seek is not one we can readily give to someone not of the —”
“I addressed Seeress Albruna,” Loki snapped, glaring daggers at the man. This wasn’t time for restricting access to information that could well change the course of Fate. And he needed an answer. He needed an answer. “I repeat, have you observed any temporal anomaly in the past few years?”
“But —” interrupted another weakly.
“This is a question that may well decide the fate of the cosmos, Seeress,” he insisted sharply. Openly sharing knowledge of the affairs of the Sanctum stood against everything the isolationist Sanctum and its Seers believed, Loki knew. But he didn’t care. No, breaking a few sacred rules of the Norns was the very least of his concerns. This — this eclipsed everything.
He watched Albruna bite her lip, look around as if seeking a way of escape, but then face Loki staunchly, resigned acquiescence on her expression. “One,” Albruna admitted, sighing. Loki held his breath. “The summer of the year 2014. There seem to be signs of timeline branching around the time, Loki-Prince.”
Shit.
“Do you know where ground zero falls?” asked Gerd, eyes wide and mouth agape, quick on the uptake as ever.
“We do,” replied Albruna, closing her eyes and biting her lip. “That would be just beyond the orbit of the planet of Korbin.”
“Summer of 2014. Korbin,” Loki repeated, wiping off sweat from his brow, praying he’d heard wrong. “Did I hear that right?” No, please do not. This couldn’t be happening. And yet. Yet he knew. Loki clenched his fists, bracing himself for the answer he knew was coming.
“You did indeed,” she confirmed grimly.
A temporal branching in the summer of 2014. The summer of 2014, the last time the Titan was seen. Ground zero being the planet Korbin. Korbin, the very last planet the Titan cleansed himself. Korbin, the very last planet the Titan was seen on. In the summer of 2014.
A temporal branching in approximately the exact time and place the Titan was reportedly seen the last time.
Fuck.
“What does this mean, Loki?” questioned Gerd, frowning. Loki could see the gears of her mind spinning, the grotesque picture of truth steadily unfolding in her mind.
Loki inhaled forcefully, willing his breath to become steadier. He closed his eyes, visibly attempting to collect himself. He opened them and answered grimly, praying his voice would remain steady, “The last time the Mad Titan was reportedly seen was on Korbin, in the summer of 2014.”
Their widening eyes and shocked gasps told him the meaning of that sentence had dawned on them bright and clear.
Because the Sanctum held countless millennia of knowledge on everything to do with time. One book, one relic, one hostage was all the Black Order would need. And then it could unlock time.
Shaking his head, he continued, “It’s all the more reason for us to do everything in our power to stop the Other. Everything it takes, for the alternative is too terrible to consider.”
Because if the Black Order got its hands on a means of reversing this temporal branch, a means of time-travel, the Titan could be back. Back, and infinitely stronger, with fate itself on his side. A thousand Mad Titans could be back. A thousand, from all points in history, all set on one single omnicidal goal. The Titan would become eternal as the cosmos crumbled around him, as, as Loki —
“Loki.” Gerd’s voice reached his ears, snapping him out. He shifted on his legs and looked up. Gerd’s expression was at once concerned and calculating as if simultaneously unravelling the wider implications of what she’d seen while being seemingly worried by the answer she was heading towards. “Loki, are you all right?”
A question worth little more than rhetoric. He could reply with any variant of ‘yes’, but Gerd wasn’t fooled easily. Loki could feel her sea-green eyes tear through his masks, glimpse exactly what the honest answer was.
Loki forced an inhale. Forced an exhale.
“It hardly matters,” he said. It was the truth, given the context. Loki shook his head, taking a step back. “We must stop the Black Order from setting foot upon the Sanctum. One relic is all it would need to learn how to control the streams of time.”
“They wouldn’t —” gasped the grey-haired seer, a look of scandalized horror on his face.
“Oh, but they would dare, Seer. They would. Their twisted idea of balance in the universe involves extinguishing half of all life in the cosmos. If you think they wouldn’t dare to break the laws of the Norns, think again.”
“Then we must…” the grey-haired seer trailed off.
“Indeed," Albruna acknowledged grimly. "Except the shields are in no position to hold for much longer. They can take only so many Kree missiles before they collapse, and we’ve barely made any headway. I’m afraid we haven’t long.”
As if on cue, the core of the shield flickered before them.
Loki closed his eyes, letting the Astral link take his mind’s sight to Thor’s eyes. He saw battle raging outside the hatch of the bridge of the Emerald Aster: Thor and the Avengers still had a long way to go before Loki could expect help from the Alfheimr front. Meaning no reinforcements.
One look at the battlefield projection told him that conventional manoeuvres were failing. And they had not the strength or the time to plan a breach like they did for the Emerald Aster. And the shields were flickering.
And he had no idea what to do.
Shit. Shit.
“Which is why I’ll be going and defeating the Other myself,” he announced, only realizing belatedly what he’d just said. Only realizing belatedly that he’d meant what he’d just said.
Loki forced an inhale, feeling the rush of air into his lungs. It felt painful.
Myself, he’d just announced. Myself, alone. And had meant it. Because Gerd, Albruna and the seers were needed aboard the Sanctum; besides, they all knew intricately the workings of Time; he couldn’t risk them being taken hostage. Which meant he was the only one capable of doing this. Taking on thousands of Kree and his worst tormentor alone, within their own ship. Was that what his plans had been reduced to?
Should be fun, a part of him commented sardonically.
Albruna blinked. “And — and how do we plan on getting inside, Prince Loki?”
“I’m teleporting myself there,” he answered immediately. His own voice sounded detached, distant. He wiped the sweat off his palms on his leather coat. It was a spur-of-the-moment idea, the very worst kind. But… but it was the only feasible one, as far as Loki could see. “If we cannot overpower the Black Order’s forces enough to execute a breach, then I will forego the formalities and simply teleport myself into the middle of the party.”
He’d rather developed a penchant for risky, terrible, likely self-sacrificial plans in the last decade, hadn’t he, a part of him joked even now.
“Wh — Loki, are you certain?” asked Gerd, her expression betraying a touch of concern. Was he certain? Who knew? Not he. He was the last person that wanted to do this. “You know better than I the risks of teleporting blind into enemy territory.”
Of course he knew. Teleportation through Yggdrasil was a daunting task in itself. Letting Yggdrasil’s dark energy — exhilarating, overpowering, blinding, all-consuming energy — flow through oneself. Not many had lived to master the art of wielding it, the very atoms in their bodies shredded apart and scattered through the cosmos in their attempts to tame the very force that held galaxies together. Loki had.
Loki had done it before; Loki knew well enough how to wield Yggdrasil’s reins and to let it take him to his destination. Except, it drained one’s seidr, burned through reserves like forest fire. And he was heading into enemy territory. Blindly too, his only guide being the glimpses of the ship scrying had yielded. It was a recipe for disaster.
It was also the best plan he had right now. The only plan he had right now.
Loki took a deep breath, closing his eyes and opening them, steeling himself. He was not so cowardly to put his own fears before the continued existence of half of all life. Not so selfish to continue running when things vastly more important than his sanity were on the line. The tides of Time ran against them, and if there was no other way, Loki would tread on this one.
Because if the Black Order stepped into the Sanctum... no. No, he wouldn't let that happen. Whatever it took. “Have we another choice?” he questioned.
If only they did. If only they had another choice. If only Loki had another choice. A choice except running straight towards what had plagued and haunted him relentlessly all these past years. Running straight towards when all he’d done until now was run away. Run towards the Other in an all but futile attempt to forestall the inevitable.
Their silence was answer enough.
Finally, Gerd sighed audibly, breaking the foreboding quiet. “Go then, Nephew," she said, "and may you not grace the mead-halls of Valhalla for yet another day."
(There will be no realm, no barren moon, no crevice...
The Chitauri’s slimy fingers on his face, his deathly aura eating away at Loki’s already polluted green seidr. Terrified shivers down his spine and agonizing jolts of searing pain through his skull.
You think you know pain? )
Loki nodded, forcing in a deep breath and reaching out for his seidr.
Allfathers, Loki prayed voicelessly, biting his lip and clenching his already trembling fists as he felt a swirl of energy build up within him, let the dark magic flow through me.
"Worry not, Aunt." He smiled with confidence he did not feel. "Valhalla is too boring for me anyway."
A glowing swirl of rainbow energy threw Loki out as he landed on his knees, his limbs shaking. His blood pounded in his ears to the beat of his heart. His head swayed slightly. He unclenched his fingers, willing his hands to stop trembling. Took a second to inhale deeply.
Teleportation was truly a jarring, exhausting experience. He could already feel his reserves of seidr shrivel and complain. The bone-deep hollowness of burning through that large a quantity of seidr all at once was already beginning to replace the ephemeral otherworldly exhilaration of riding through dark energy. He was going to get another Nornsforsaken case of magical exhaustion after this, wasn’t he?
If he survived, that was.
Steeling himself, he opened his eyes, shaking the blur of his vision away, looking around to see where he’d landed.
The answer: amid an assembled platoon of several dozen Kree soldiers, of course.
Adrenaline swiftly replaced tiredness and confusion. He snapped his neck up, standing upright hastily. He scanned the area as the surprised soldiers eyed him warily, guns pointed at him, waiting for him to make a move.
A second passed in stunned silence.
“Hello there,” Loki forced himself to say, a stupid, cheeky grin on his face, swiftly summoning his twin blades between his fingers.
A barrage of Necroblasts greeted him in return.
Weaving swiftly and hastily, Loki mounted a green force-shield between himself and the Kree. With a loud boom, the blasts were absorbed by the emerald wall of seidr. A wave of relief shot through him: he’d momentarily wondered if his seidr would respond so soon after the whole ordeal of teleporting. He exhaled, willing his arms and his shield to become steadier. This was fighting time.
In a swift motion, he flung the daggers in his hand towards the nearest two Kree, then turned to his right to parry a blow from a sword. The victorious sound of two guts being pierced confirmed his knives had landed. A loud blare from above echoed throughout the chamber; the lights began flashing red.
Blocking another swipe of a Kree sword with the knife in his right, he sent the dagger in his left hand into the soldier’s feet, using the opportunity to slice the man’s throat. Another soldier lunged at him. Loki sent him crashing into another with a blast of telekinesis, tossing him like a pebble. He winced as he felt the hole teleporting had burned through his reserves. It didn’t matter, however; he still had enough.
Snapping his neck to the left, Loki scanned the mass of wary Kree soldiers slowly backing away and circling him, their Energy Swords and Necroblasters all aiming at him, and smirked.
Let’s dance, shall we?
In a flurry of movement, another wave of Necroblasters and Kree pistols shot at him. Several soldiers lunged forward, brandishing energy swords and guns in hand. He fought viciously and efficiently, dancing a swift dance he’d perfected centuries ago and performed in thousands of battlefields. A dance whose steps Frigga had passed down to him. Quick, agile, swift and shapeless like the wind, precise and deadly as a dart through the throat. Dodge, parry, jab where the opponent is weakest. Swing around, use the opponent’s momentum to your advantage, be not afraid to play dirty. Soldier after soldier fell rapidly to his knife, painting the stone floor the cobalt blue of Kree blood.
Loki counted thirty-four remaining in the hallway in total, most of them equipped with Necroblasters, but enough with Kree energy swords. There were three hatches in the far ends of the hallway, from where more soldiers were steadily pouring in.
He could already feel the slimy blue-grey aura of the Other tugging at his seiðr, its sickening tendrils clawing at his reserves, tainting the forest green with blue-grey moss. He shook his head, determined not to let it distract him. He was close. Close.
(He wanted to run. Run, hide, cower, get away, get away —)
Loki materialised four daggers between his fingers and aimed for the necks of the closest Kree. The sizzle of daggers through the air and the sputter of blood, meaning they’d found their targets. Another four down. A bright blue ball of energy sizzled through as Loki jumped aside to dodge another energy blast, when —
When an arrow shot straight past him, piercing squarely the chest of a soldier a few metres in front of him. A second later, a flash of light erupted from it, swallowing everything within a metre of it whole in a blue-white explosion of energy.
Loki turned around.
Bows loaded with antimatter arrows, two Elves, one a pale, short-haired man and another a woman with a long, dark braid, stood before him. Commander Zeln and Lady Ameria, Loki recognised belatedly. Amid them, Necroblaster in hand, her famed sword by the belt, blue blood spattered across her armour, a familiar face wearing a triumphant grin.
“Valkyrie? ”
How was she —
No, if the Elven forces had breached the Aster, it wouldn’t just have been three people, and Loki couldn’t see any more. More likely, Valkyrie and the two archers had arrived the same way he had. Gerd had contacted them and teleported them if he had to guess.
“Why hello there, Lackey.” She swung her Dragonfang with grace, letting out a grunt as the Kree beside her fell, cobalt-blue sputtering out on the floor. “Weren’t expecting me?”
Loki smirked. “Well, who —” he turned around, swiftly catching the wrist of an attacking Kree soldier with one hand. He struck his carotid artery precisely with the other, “— knew you could surprise me?”
“Well, now you do.” Valkyrie dodged an energy blast, lunged at the soldier and wrenched the Kree rifle out of the attacking soldier’s hands, before slicing his chest.
Loki grinned at her.
The four of them fought together fiercely. Commander Zeln, erecting a vivid purple force-shield around himself, kept his distance, shooting explosive arrows at masses of Kree as showers of cobalt blue sprayed on the walls with each strike. Ameria drew forth her rapier, slicing through foes with astonishing efficiency and grace. Loki, at one point, managed to snatch a small holographic device from one of the Kree — a map of the Platinum Aster. The Kree kept raining down on them, however; pouring from the several hatches in swarms. They stood at the cross between the East and West wings of the Aster: smack in the middle of everything, and were perfectly ambushed by the hundreds, possibly thousands of Kree in the ship.
“So,” Valkyrie grunted, then inhaled loudly, as the clang of swords colliding together echoed in the chambers. “Who’s the big bad here anyway?”
If his next stab was a bit too violent, carried a bit too much force, it had nothing to do with what she’d just asked.
“A Chitauri Other who runs the Black Order,” Loki answered, drawing his dagger out of the Kree’s pierced lungs and concentrating on the blue on the silver blade for a moment. Get a grip, you dolt, he told himself. Then, hearing the rustle of footsteps from behind him, he swung around to block a strike. “You’d probably be acquainted with him.”
“Well, what can I say,” Valkyrie replied, grunting loudly. “You meet people when you’re working on Sakaar.”
Or going mad in the depths of the Void, but that was beside the point.
“Prince Loki, there are possibly thousands of Kree aboard the ship. The four of us cannot possibly take out all of them,” Commander Zeln interrupted. “We require a plan.”
They did. And fast. Not only did a delay mean more chances of the Black Order penetrating the Sanctum’s shields, it also meant Loki would have to draw out his steadily dwindling seidr reserves further.
And his greatest battle today was still in front of them.
“All right.” Wiping the sweat off his head, he erected a force-shield around himself, taking out from his dimensional pocket the holographic map he’d taken from a soldier earlier. “Valkyrie, guard my back for a moment, will you,” he muttered nonchalantly, not waiting for a reply as he switched the device on.
A white dot on the hologram indicated where they stood. The chamber they stood in was a large, pentagonal one, likely meant as a place where battalions assembled to be given orders. It was also a major linking point, connecting several sections of the ship together, and a connector between the eastern and western wings of the Aster. The hatch in front of them directly led to the bridge, but that hatch was well guarded by a steady swarm of Kree pouring out from the hatches to its sides. Directly below them was the engine room.
Directly below them was the engine room, it dawned on Loki, the beginnings of an idea forming in his mind.
While it wouldn’t take out all the enemy soldiers, if he could destroy this chamber, he could certainly cut off the Eastern and Western wings from each other, highly limiting the number of Kree they would have to face going forward, and making it nigh impossible for anyone to follow them to the bridge, where the Other doubtless stood. Besides, if he could just… yes. It could work well.
“Commander Zeln, Lady Ameria, I’d require you to shoot at the five corners of the chambers when I tell you so. Is that all right?” He told them.
Zeln paused for a brief moment, looking over to him, before realizing that Loki had a plan. Grinning, he acknowledged, “Certainly, Prince Loki.” Ameria grunted in affirmation, not looking away from the opponent in front of her.
“Excellent.” He threw a glamour over himself, unsure whether this idea would prompt a change in skin colour, but he’d like to be on the safer side. He knelt down, touching the floor of the chamber and closing his eyes, placing his palms firmly on the floor and letting his seidr feel the vibrations of the countless atoms that made it.
The floor was made of two layers, the first a top layer of stone, intricate Kree symbols carved into it. Beneath it was a metal floor of a steel alloy that supported most of the structure of the chamber. While iron, the metal it primarily comprised of, was convenient for Loki’s purposes, it had been alloyed well to prevent the exact thing Loki would be attempting to cause: brittleness in extreme temperatures.
Loki grinned involuntarily. Would be a shame if someone knew molecular rearrangement now, wouldn’t it?
Then he took a deep breath and let the wintry cold wash over him. He could feel it: feel the skin beneath the glamour turn from porcelain to azure, the ice crawling up his arms. Feel the crash of icy waves against a glacier, the smell of roasted salmon, the intricate crystals of a falling snowflake, the eerie shine of emeralds in the dark, the sparkle of sunlight falling on a white sheet of snow. That was what his Jötun form felt like. It felt like coming home.
Loki hated the feeling.
He shook his head, waving away the lingering loathing, and focused instead, letting his seiðr pulse through the metal floor to the very ends of the chamber. He felt the emerald green wisps of his seiðr grasping the trillions of atoms that made the metal, and tugged.
He felt the atoms twisting as his seidr grabbed a hold of them. He felt the energy being sucked out of all of them as his seiðr grasped the heat and dissipated it into the surroundings. As he made the temperatures of the metal plummet. Plummet to near absolute zero, as their incessant vibrations died down into a slow, sloppy motion.
As he felt a crack in the structure and smirked.
Loki stood up again, noting that both his glamour and his force-shield still stood intact. Underneath the veil of his glamour, the azure of his true form receded back to white as his body transformed skin cell by skin cell into the form it had been raised in. A pang of pain shot through his chest as Loki winced involuntarily. He was taxing his seiðr.
But he was nowhere near done yet.
“Now!” Loki ordered.
Five arrows swiftly shot through the chamber in opposing directions, hitting the corners precisely. A moment, nothing happened. Then five separate explosions of blue-white light, followed by a loud crack. The metal structure was fracturing. Loki grinned in triumph.
This was when Loki’s seiðr reached out and gripped at the waists of Valkyrie, Zeln, and Ameria, and pulled upwards.
The floor of the chamber collapsed. Loki snickered to himself as the Valkyrie let out an undignified squeal on being levitated through the air, not caring for the positively murderous looks sent his way.
Well. That worked.
Their levitating bodies drifted over to the untouched hatch that led to the bridge. Loki watched as the cracks in the metal carried themselves upward. Whether that would lead to further structural damage, Loki didn't care to find out. With any luck, the engines would likely have taken enough damage to shut down. Sure enough, the lights of the corridor began to blink red, a blaring announcement of "Damage to main engines detected. Repeat, damage to main engines detected," following. Loki smirked in triumph.
All right. Loki took a deep breath. Everything was going swimmingly, barring a few minor issues he could work around. The end to this battle stood right down this hallway; Loki could feel that cadaverous aura growing stronger. His shoulders tensed in anticipation, his heart throbbing faster. The Other’s defeat was within his grasp; he was right there on the bridge at the other side of the corridor. All he needed now was a plan.
Which, of course, was when Commander Zeln's Nornsforsaken comms in blared Gerd’s panicked announcement of “The shields have been breached.”
In hindsight, this had been a terrible idea.
Running blindly into the battlefield was Thor’s forte, not his. He was supposed to be the one who meticulously thought out each and every step, who looked thrice for every possible contingency, whose backup plans had backup plans.
In hindsight, he should have waited, waited back inside the Sanctum for scryers to give him a better view of the Other and the bridge so he could teleport right there, waited to assemble a proper team. Waited at the end of that hallway to come up with a scheme, a plan, to come up with anything that did not involve Loki doing what he’d decided to do: barge straight into the bridge.
But no, he’d panicked, latched on to the first and most self-destructive idea that had popped up in his Nornsforsaken mind, and ran. Ran because the clock was ticking. Ticking and only seconds from midnight. Ran because one more Kree missile fired could resurrect the Titan. In hindsight, it was a cruel twist of irony, for Thor to be the one who followed some semblance of a well-thought-out plan while Loki charged in blindly.
In hindsight, this was a terrible idea, because right now, the Other stood in front of him. And Loki’s blood ran cold.
“Look who it is.” The Other’s loud, cruel voice echoed in the chamber. Loki could hear his heart hammering in his chest. “The fallen prince. The betrayed king.” He taunted. With the same voice that had taunted him for months upon months. Taunted him when he’d screamed and begged for mercy. Taunted him when — No. No. This wasn’t time to wallow in self-pity.
Breaths held, the four of them raised their weapons. Waited for the Other to make a move. The Chitauri stood near the end of the bridge, just before the navigation panel, surrounded by a flank of heavily armed Kree and Chitauri guards, no doubt much more highly trained than those they’d fought until now. Loki thought he vaguely recognised one of the Kree; he must have been one of Ronan’s personal guard.
The Other held a golden spear in his hands, one with a curved silver spearhead. It looked disturbingly similar to the Sceptre. Loki had to remind himself that it wasn’t, this was standard Chitauri spear design, it wasn’t the Sceptre. Not the Sceptre.
Grappling his irrational anxieties away, he considered his options. Arrows would barely land on him with his superspeed; they’d already tried that when they’d charged in. That had been their chance for surprise, and they’d lost it. Damn the bridge for being so damn long. Damn the Other for being so damn fast.
It was almost impossible to get close enough to use ice weaponry or freeze him. Freezing the surroundings wouldn’t work either: the Chitauri were cold-blooded species that could survive in temperatures as low as 173 Kelvin. And any lower than that could risk fracture in the metal structure of the bridge.
And collapse the bridge like he’d done with that chamber, and he’d be flung out back into the one thing that terrified him more than the Titan. Any structural damage here could lead to a reunion with the Void. And Loki wasn’t self-destructive enough to risk that.
The good old way his brother always advocated, then.
Anyway, first things first.
“Commander Zeln,” Loki called out, exchanging a fleeting glance with the man, then diverting his gaze to the Nav panel at the other end of the bridge. A message. Zeln nodded. Drew an arrow from his quiver.
The Other tilted his head in an almost amused way. Zeln loaded the bow with the arrow, pulling the string back and aiming. The Other stood there, chin raised, amusedly wondering why they would try arrows again. Hah.
The arrow shot straight at the Other. The Other effortlessly moved out of the way, rapidly closing the distance between himself and them, his spear unleashing an energy blast at Loki as he swiftly wove a force-shield around himself. The Kree and Chitauri soldiers rained a barrage of blasts upon them.
That was when the forgotten arrow pierced the bridge’s navigation panel. Loki smirked. The familiar explosion of blinding blue-white energy followed.
Goodbye, panel, Loki thought amusedly as the purple-white energy blasts of the Chitauri guns bounced back against his shield. Goodbye, any means to access another Kree missile.
Of course, that wouldn't assure them victory: there were still hundreds of Necrocraft out there. Along with Leviathans and Q-ships. The battle wouldn't end until that Nornsforsaken Chitauri was taken out.
Out of the corner of his eye, Loki caught the Other’s furious snarl. He smiled to himself. Annoying his tormentors had always been one of Loki’s few pleasures.
(Even when all it earned you was more pain, Silvertongue?)
The battle began anew. Loki counted ten Kree and fourteen Chitauri aside from the Other. The Kree were stronger than usual, Loki noticed. More durable, better trained. Of the newly reinstated Starforce, perhaps? Loki didn’t bother to find out. The Other moved in a swirl of rapid motion as he shot energy blast after energy blast, hard to keep track of and nigh impossible to hit. Ameria, after slashing down and maiming perhaps half a dozen soldiers, got hit by a Necroblast in the shoulder, but fought on. Zeln fought fiercely, abandoning his arrows — which could cause structural damage and potentially lead to collapse of the bridge — and instead fighting with Elven magic. They couldn’t stop. Not until the Other was taken down. Loki rained down his own skillset on them: fighting fiercely with a combination of daggers, illusions, telekinesis, and energy blasts of his own. His muscles were already aching; drawing breath was becoming hard. His head had started to throb in jolts of pain. His seiðr reserves were draining out. And that thrice-damned Chitauri parasite wasn't helping matters any.
Focus, he told himself. You know of his abilities; come up with weak spots. Come up with something to counter. You know him: exceedingly enhanced speed, astral projection, pain inducement, master combatant.
And drawn-out parasitism. On any source of energy available. Including seiðr. Including one’s life-force. Including fear.
The Other was a master of torture. Creative, innovative, ingenious in meting out pain. But no weapon, no concoction, no device of his could ever match up to what came to him naturally: leeching off the energies of another, gnawing at the very core of Loki’s life force, steadily sucking out from him the one thing that had never betrayed him even when his own skin hadn’t been so generous.
Intently ignoring the pulsing pain in his head, Loki briefly wondered whether the Titan had known of this. Whether this was the reason he’d been given to the Other and not the Maw.
“Why, Chitauri, I did not quite see a lot of Sakaarans among your forces today,” Loki quipped, deflecting the attack of a Kree guard and shooting an. “Something happen to your mercenary supply?” Taunting him had always been a fun pastime.
(Even when all it earned him was more pain.)
“So it was you,” the Chitauri snarled, "you snivelling scum, who ravaged the mercenary trade on Sakaar — ”
“You’re welcome,” Loki deliberately flashed a cheeky grin, hacking another Chitauri. He counted three Chitauri and two Kree guards remaining. The throbbing pain in the back of his head only grew.
“Hey, I deserve at least sixty per cent of the credit,” Valkyrie grumbled behind him. Her voice was lower in volume than what had echoed in the chambers until now. Somewhat sullen. The Other, he realized immediately. Parasite.
“No more than forty, my good Valkyrie, and I’m being generous,” he called out instead. Loki briefly heard the clang of swords behind him. He aimed an energy blast at an advancing Kree soldier, and another at the Other. The first a solid hit, the second a miss. Fuck superspeed. “Certainly your intel was valuable, but it was I who did most of the heavy lifting.”
“Don’t let Thor hear you say that,” she chuckled a chuckle that quickly morphed into a grunt. Loki spun around, dodging the energy blast sent at him. He registered the thump of footsteps behind him. Turning around, he spun his leg to knock out the balance of Kree approaching from behind, using the opportunity to drive a knife through his shoulder-blades.
“Quit your buffoonery!” the Other snarled in rage, raising his Sceptre —not Sceptre — and shooting a rapid flurry of energy blasts at them all.
Loki, pulling at the threads of air around him, telekinetically redirected the blast aimed at him. The ball of energy swung around rapidly. Pain flared up in Loki’s chest, but he ignored it, clenching his fists as he commanded the blast reverse trajectory, go faster, faster, faster —
It singed the Other, burning through the side of his cloak.
Loki smiled. The Chitauri's speed was already getting slower.
While the Other could sap energy from his victims, most of it was just dissipated back into the surroundings; the Chitauri was not built to wield seiðr even if he could claw it from others. Which, of course, meant he was relying solely on his own reserves of energy for doing anything.
“Loki,” the Valkyrie called out. He briefly spared her a glance. I'll distract him, the expression said. Loki nodded, stepping back as the Other lunged forward with his spear, meeting Valkyrie’s Dragonfang. Ameria charged forward from the other side, Zeln from a third.
Loki, on the other hand, erected a simulacrum of himself and slipped into a veil of invisibility. Gripping at the wisps of seidr to levitate slightly above the ground, he moved closer. Closer. Watching for an opening.
And then he struck. Swung his dagger straight at the nape of the Other’s neck, feeling the blade slice through Chitauri skin. He’d done it, he thought in that moment. He’d done it, he’d —
Swinging around in a quick flurry of motion, the Other thrust his spear at him. Loki’s eyes went wide. Blood rose up his throat and out of his stomach as the blade thrust into his gut, as his intestines erupted in sharp pain.
As he forced his trembling, sweaty palms to grip the shaft of the spear before it could tear through his organs. As blood throbbed in his ears and a surge of adrenaline shot through his veins. As he looked at the Chitauri monster and spat on his face, shoving him and the spear away with all the force he had.
Not again. Loki was not getting impaled again.
The Other tumbled backwards; shocked, if he dared say so. His navy-blue hood swept off his face. And Loki’s heart froze in terror.
A pair of monstrous golden slits stared into his eyes with infinite contempt. Loki’s breath hitched in his throat, his blood draining out of his face in paralyzing terror. He stood there frozen, sheer dread holding him hostage. Loki could see he Chitauri reach out and —
And grab Loki’s head.
Searing pain like a white-hot knife shot through his head and pulsed down his spine. His chest seized. His heart erupted in burning agony. His stomach churned, his intestines felt like they were being yanked out of him, being torn apart. He had to get — get away, this had to stop — Pain and unshed tears blurred his vision. Those mossy blue-grey tendrils were gripping at his magic, gripping at his soul, and Loki couldn't breathe — Stop, please stop, get away, get away, away — The Chitauri was — he was —
A sharp jerk and Loki was thrown backwards, his head crashing against the floor. He forced his eyes open; his vision danced in a blur. He attempted to force himself up, gasping for breath. His skull still throbbed hard; breathing hurt. His left shoulder stung mercilessly; a dislocation, if he had to guess. The Chituri had — Loki gasped for breath again, coughing, as the sharp pain at the back of his skull flared. He had tried to drain his life-force right out of him, using it to heal his own wounds.
From the voices ringing in his ears, he could make out Ameria and Valkyrie’s grunts along with the clang of swords and the boom of energy blasts. One of them had attacked the Chitauri. That was probably how he’d managed to escape.
This had been a stupendous idea, Loki. An incredible, amazing, genius idea. Good job, he congratulated himself sarcastically. Loki attempted to stand up, his knees threatening to give out and his head swaying. He bit his tongue sharply, ordering himself to focus, Nornsdammit. Loki tilted his chin upwards, hands raised, scrambling to draw out his seidr. The Other raised his spear at him. Loki clutched at the threads of his seidr, beginning to weave a shield.
Instead, the Other’s spear tilted away, and —
“Valkyrie!”
Loki watched as the glowing-blue energy blast shot out and hit her, sending her backwards as she collided with the wall behind her. The wall spattered red on the impact. He watched her grimace in pain as she spat out a mouthful of blood, her hand clutching her stomach. A hole in her gut, blood gushing out like a crimson stream. Loki’s eyes widened in unconcealed horror.
"I'm — I'm okay," the Valkyrie coughed out blood as crimson drained out of her stomach. She was decidedly not okay.
The Astral link told her she would live. If she were provided healing very soon.
“I’ll hold the Chitauri off," he told the Zeln, who was scrambling to rush to her aid. "Take her away to safe — argh! ” Loki winced as a Necroblast barely missed his waist, singeing his skin. Loki turned around and shot an energy blast at the Other’s direction. “Go,” he told the archer frantically. “Go."
“But, Prince Loki —”
“Find the hangars, you have a map,” Loki ordered. It was a bad move, he knew: sending support away like that. But that wasn’t going to stop him. “Get her medical attention. Get yourselves medical attention. You too, Ameria. I can handle this alone,” he told him, watching Zeln nod. He did not wait for Ameria's response, as Zeln wove a force-shield around them and limped towards the exit. Loki turned around.
If he must face the Other alone, he would.
Loki was done running away.
“The Jotun runt is looking out for another,” the Other mocked, baring his beastly Chitauri teeth. "The Jotun runt pretends to care. How charming .”
“Why thank you,” he spat, grabbing at the threads of air around that wretched Chitauri even as his very bones protested, pulling him up into the air. The Other, mid-air, shot a blast at him he barely managed to dodge. The Other attempted to latch on to his seidr, tear apart the threads, but Loki was not going to let go. His lungs protested in agony, his heart fluttering, his muscles begging for restraint, and yet he yanked the Chitauri violently.
And he smashed him against the wall.
His victory was short-lived, however. “Pathetic, false Asgardian. Pathetic,” the Other opened his eyes, spitting out blood on the floor. In the blink of an eye, the Other was up again, lunging at him with a spear.
He was not supposed to be durable. He was not— Panic flared in his traitorous chest. Chitauri were not supposed to be nearly as strong. How… but then, Chitaui wasn’t supposed to be allied with the Dictator of the Kree Empire and wielder of the Power Stone, either. Four years of Kree cybernetic enhancements. Could change a lot. Shit. “You’re pathetic, Jotun coward. Just as pathetic as when we found you mad and shattered from the void. Just as pathetic as we left you. Broken, shattered like glass.”
“And yet you find yourself surprised when the shards made you bleed,” Loki shot back. The Other smirked, monstrous golden eyes staring… over his shoulder?
Loki’s eyes widened. He swiftly moved away. Just in time for a burning energy blast to go right past him.
He turned around, eyes widening, heart drumming even louder. More Kree soldiers stood by the entrance of the bridge, brandishing Necroblasters and energy swords.
Fuck.
Twelve of them, more likely incoming. Had they somehow — somehow managed to forge their way through the collapsed central chamber? Hel, were the other three okay? What if they got ambushed before they reached the hangars? Before they escaped?
Shit. Shit.
“Bleed?” the Chitauri questioned. Loki dodged three energy blasts aimed at him simultaneously. His muscles burned. Bones screamed for mercy. He couldn't hold for long. “Like you did when we ripped your tongue out of that lying mouth and made you swallow it, Silvertongue? Your very being is nothing but a lie, Liesmith.” Loki clenched his fists. Drawing in a pained breath, Loki forced his rapidly dwindling seiðr to bend the photons around him, erecting half a dozen illusions of himself to hide from the firing.
“And yet you believed it. Believed I would cooperate,” The Lokis replied together. He knew he wasn’t thinking. How could he, as blue-grey invaded and polluted and tore out the last remaining greens of his seiðr? But defiance wasn’t something he needed to think for: he was the god of it. “How… gullible of you.”
“You are nothing more than a filthy beast, a savage monster.” The Other was stalling, he knew that. Stalling as the splitting, throbbing agony behind his skull only grew. Stalling as that parasite sucked out every last drop of Loki’s magic.
His muscles ached, begged for reprieve. Intense, overpowering exhaustion was beginning to settle in his bones. The simulacrums flickered, fluttered like fragile butterflies. He was running out of time. And he was ambushed. His chest felt hollow, his heart as if slowly being ripped apart. Ripped apart as that Nornsdamned parasite tore through it all.
And in that moment, Loki decided, defiantly, to pull. Let the porcelain guise shatter away to reveal the azure, icy, reality underneath.
Sharp pangs of pain tore through his chest as he suppressed himself from swaying dizzily. His seiðr was shrivelling, running out. Teetering towards almost complete exhaustion. How he wished for certain glowing blue cubes in his hands right now, but nay: that way lay ruin. More ruin than what lay before him right now, at least.
Two energy blasts aimed towards him. He forced his muscles to move, to dodge, as he turned around. The Kree soldiers still remained a problem.
Loki felt the temperature drop, ice beginning to freeze on the walls of the chamber. In a rapid flurry of motion, Loki spun around swiftly, unleashing a furious, desperate barrage of ice daggers in rapid succession in all directions. He watched almost detached as the knives tore through the Kree soldiers before they could respond. As they crumbled on the floor, painting it with cobalt blue. As the Other turned into a rapid haze of motion, as —
As one dagger pierced the Other in the gut.
(The Other was tiring out, his reaction speed reducing. Good. Loki could work with that. Good, he told himself.)
“Which makes your greatest folly your attempt to tame it,” he told the Other, snarling, baring his obsidian-black claws and bone-while fangs of his Frost Giant form. He sent another flurry of ice daggers at him even when noving hurt, breathing hurt, hurt like absolute Hel.
But he fought on, because out of the two of them, the true monster wasn’t him.
“Only ruin and destruction follows in your wake." The Other snarled back, wincing in what looked like pain on his expression. He clutched his stomach with one hand. Another ice-knife sliced through his right arm at that moment. He let out a raged snarl. "It trails you wherever you go.”
“And why did you expect yourself to be any different?” he snarled back merrily.
(Snarked back especially when all it ever brought him was more pain. Because even a shred of defiance remaining meant he was stronger than them.)
Fuck this. One agonizing energy blast at the panes in front of him, and he could take the Other down with him. He was sure the Chitauri couldn’t survive for more than a few minutes in the Void, and Loki could — he could ensure no nearby Necrocraft got to the Other before the Void extinguished him. Just one energy blast. One single blast, and — no. He couldn't, just couldn't.
He still remained too cowardly for braving Ginnungagap.
“Worthless, Loki of nowhere and no one." He raised his spear. Loki drew forth his magic to —
His seiðr was not responding.
Loki tried again, shoving through the pain and the haze. But it wasn't responding. It wasn't responding. Because there was not enough left. Because it could, could barely sustain vital life functions right now, not —
His breath froze.
A blast of energy hit him squarely in the gut. As searing, burning pain shot through his stomach. As he was propelled backwards from the blow, his skull crashing into the metal walls. As he heard the Chitauri voice echo "Loki of nowhere and no one. Worthless."
That hope no longer exists to protect you, Thor had said, meaning every word. You betray me, and I kill you. And I kill you, kill you, you savage beast, disgraceful coward, Frost Giant monster — No. No, he told himself, Thor had not said the latter parts. This — his memory was getting muddled again, this wasn’t real, Thor would never —
No one is coming to save the Jotun runt, the Chitauri used to laugh. Laugh as his throat tore itself apart screaming in agony, as his eyes burned and ran dry, no tears remaining to crawl down his shrivelling cheeks. No one cares for that monster, no one wants that monster.
You’re a disappointment, Loki, Thor had cackled when he’d watched Loki dangle at the broken edge of the Bifrost, tears of mirth and relief lining his electric blue eyes as contempt at Loki shone through. Your birthright is to die, he’d said, as he’d shaken away Loki’s grip on Gungnir, tossed him into the — no. This was a lie. A cruel lie the ever-accursed stone had once fed him, a cruel lie his brain was recalling in its haze. A lie.
No, Loki.
No, Loki, he told himself forcefully, shaking his head vehemently. His hands trembled violently, and yet he drew forth a knife. You will not give up.
“I’m not sure if I believe you,” Loki rasped, smirking. What was the joke again? “The Titan was rather pleased to see me, if I do say so myself.” Purple spots danced across his vision, every intake of breath hurt as if inhaling glass, blood drained out of his wounds as the searing pain only magnified.
“It’s time you know your place,” the Other shot him a contemptuous glare, his sickly parasitic tendrils gnawing away at the last shreds of his magic and his life-force as Loki fought to cling to them. It seemed very much a losing battle.
“I do,” rasped Loki, spitting a mouthful of blood at the Other’s feet, smirking a defiant smirk. His vision swayed. Hands trembled, a cocktail of dread and fury and spite and adrenaline holding him upright even as gnawing, excruciating pain and paralyzing, near-fatal exhaustion dragged him down. “And it’s not. Under. Thanos’s feet.”
“Oh, I never said that.” The Other raised his spear. Loki braced for the impact, clutching at the very last remaining wisps of seiðr within him. Begging them to form a shield. Form something. Do something.
The blow never came.
The Sceptre fired, the heat of the energy blast sizzling past him and striking with a loud boom. But it wasn’t him it struck. Loki took a moment to realize it was never meant to.
Instead, the hull beside him cracked open.
Loki’s eyes widened. The meaning dawned on him, but only a second too late. His lips let out a silent no as a gasp died in his throat, his breath stuck in his lungs, his chest seized. His heart skipped a beat. Colour abandoned his face. His blood froze in true, absolute terror. No. No.
Through the hazy blur of his vision, he saw the Other smirk in triumph. Through the thump of his own drumming heartbeat, he heard the Other mouthing, “Know your place. ”
The Void pulled.
Loki fell. The Void swallowed him.
|
She wakes up on Saturday morning with her mouth dry and her head pounding. Groaning, Amy lifts one hand to shield her eyes from the way-too-bright light streaming in through the curtains. With her other hand, she gropes blindly for her phone on the bedside table. When she doesn’t find it immediately, she drags herself out of bed and makes her way toward the kitchen.
She gets herself a glass of water and fishes her phone out of her purse, which was on the floor just a few paces away from the messy heap of fabric that was her coat and scarf.
She opens her phone, and her eyebrows scrunch together at the notification on the screen: “Congratulations! You have a new match!”
Her eyes flicker to the icon accompanying the message. The small red flame brings back hazy memories of the night before - Kylie taking her phone hostage and downloading the app, Kylie setting up her profile, the two of them cracking up while swiping left and right for an hour.
She sips from her glass and pulls up the app with a sigh. She taps the screen a few times to check her matches and messages, bracing herself for anything inappropriate and praying she didn’t send out anything too terrible herself. (She doesn’t recall doing any messaging of her own, but she also doesn’t recall getting home and throwing her jacket on the floor, so.)
She chuckles at a few of the messages and grimaces at others, but her heart nearly stops, and she almost drops her glass when she scrolls down and sees a very familiar name.
In his tiny profile picture, he’s looking somewhere off camera and has a single eyebrow raised. His lips are drawn into a somewhat half smirk, half smile. For some reason, she can just hear Gina’s voice, giving him directions on how to pose. (”Okay, Jake. Remember, we’re going for sexy, but not like we’re trying too hard. Like, sure, we’re trying, but it’s almost effortless.”)
There’s a blue star on his photo, and Amy vaguely recalls Kylie telling her this means he swiped up to “Super Like” her. Her ears burn at the idea Jake would ever actually super like her.
After setting her glass down on her coffee table and taking a seat on her couch (to avoid breaking glassware, falling over, or other potential consequences), she takes a deep breath and opens up his messages.
santiago’s on tinder?! whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat?!?!?!!! were the magic themed singles nights not working out for you? :o
gotta say i’m supes flattered you swiped right
but fyi i’m totally going to bring this up at briefing on monday
the whole world has to know i matched with amy santiago!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
She rolls her eyebrows but continues reading.
uh
unless you don’t want me to??
ames??????????????
k you’re not replying
that tells me you either passed out in shock after matching with me (tbh i get it, nbd)
or you and kylie are having the craziest night of your life :P
There’s a new timestamp before the next message, and when she checks, she finds he sent it over half an hour after the prior one.
look i’m only saying this cause you swiped right first but if this wasn’t a joke and you were actually interested, i’d be up for dinner or whatever
It’s the last of his messages, and it sends her reeling.
Heart racing and hands shaking, she fumbles with her phone to call her best friend. She figures the woman who got her in this mess should help her out of it.
“H-hello?” Kylie’s voice is hoarse and weak, and this makes Amy feel a teensy bit better about her own hangover. Except she’s still freaking out.
“KYLIE! DID I SWIPE RIGHT ON JAKE PERALTA LAST NIGHT?”
There’s a laugh on the other line. “Honey, you grabbed your phone from me to swipe right the second his face came on the screen and then yelled at it when he hadn’t responded within 30 seconds. You didn’t even bother reading his bio - although I checked, and it was just full of Die Hard quotes and emojis… Not the best or most creative. Like what does that even mean dating-wise? What does that tell you about him as a potential lover? Nothing, Amy, nothing. The only thing it says is that his ideal date is probably a Die Hard marathon and make out session.“
“Oh, God, can we not analyze Peralta’s Tinder profile right now?”
“You asked about him! Anyway, what’s up, boo? Did your smoking hot partner actually match with you?”
“Smoking hot?”
“Your words, not mine.”
Her cheeks flare up at that, and she groans. She combs her free hand through her hair. “He might have… sent me a bunch of messages and said he was up for dinner or whatever if I was actually interested.”
Kylie makes a high-pitched squeal, and Amy has to bring her phone away from her ear for a second. When she brings it back, her best friend’s talking a mile a minute. “So you are going out with him, right? There is no way in hell you are passing this up, Amy. You’ve been into him forever! You know what, I’m ending this call right now. You need to message him back or text him or call him or something. Text me updates ASAP!”
The line goes silent after that, and Amy’s left with a bigger headache than the one she woke up with.
After staring at the ceiling for another minute or hour (she can’t tell), she goes back into the app and pulls up his message. Throwing all caution to the wind, she sends: Hey! :) Are you free tonight?
His reply comes almost instantaneously, which is good because she otherwise would have gone insane.
ya! what do you want to do?? i’m up for anything ;)
ps that winky face wasn’t meant to be sexual or anything, we could literally just sit and talk and eat
or something
no pressure
An increasingly familiar swell of affection rises in her chest. She pauses to consider her response. Die Hard and takeout at my place?
noice. i’ll be there @ 6
can’t wait, ames!!!!!!! ♥
A series of knocks sounding vaguely like the Imperial March announces his arrival later. Amy tucks her hair behind her ears, takes a deep breath, and gets the door.
Jake has a boyish grin on his face and a spark of amusement in his eyes. “Y’know, Amy, Tinder’s Safety Tips page says you’re always meant to meet someone in public. I hope you don’t invite all your matches to your apartment for movie night. What would Holt say if you got murdered? How would we explain your death to your parents?”
She chuckles and rolls her eyes. Just like that, all the nervousness she felt dissipates. “Come in, Jake.”
The night ends up going on both of their good date lists. - They order Chinese and fight over the last egg roll. Jake recites half the lines of the movie. (Only half because Amy shushes him at some point). They make out on her couch as the end credits roll over the screen.
They also delete their Tinder accounts.
Permanently.
|
Under Eleanor's protection, a slow kind of healing begins. The elder's house is a sanctuary from the familiar misery of Schönbrunn. Eleanor believes she has seen and known everything in her long life. She says Amelia's infatuation with Meryem is nothing more than the madness of a blood bond. Perhaps Felix wants Amelia to teach Eleanor the same lesson she taught Meryem. How to feel again, love again, and then lose it all. Would that be close enough to justice?
Amelia can only confess the truth to Eleanor so many times before it becomes unbearable. Sometimes the elder laughs it off as foolishness, sometimes the betrayal cuts her deeply. Without fail, Felix tears the memory painfully from Eleanor's mind within the hour leaving the elder shaken and disoriented, and no wiser. Knowing her sire's nature well now, Amelia pays careful attention to which of her emotions to feed. Love, even grief and sorrow nourish Felix. Violence and jealousy aggravate his shadow. He insists that the charade must continue, and to Amelia's shame, she complies.
Each dawn as she lies on the narrow cot, Amelia presses her back against the cold plaster wall. She imagines Meryem's hand resting on the curve of her hip, the cold rush of her lover's breath on the nape of her neck. The last night they rested together there was no urgency, no passion. They lay as though they would always be together, like time could stand still.
It is made more bearable by her duty to those mortals who depend on her. Detached from the acute loss of Meryem, Amelia goes through the motions, passing from one task to another. She is hyper aware of her grief, it distracts her and leaves her cold, but there is no mystery for anyone to solve. Amelia plays the part of a widow in mourning after all. Her mortal friends comfort her in her just as they always have done.
And as for lovers, selfish vessels are safest. They are too consumed with their own pleasure to look too hard or too long at Amelia's response. Nothing can compare to Meryem's kiss. Better still to creep soundless into bedrooms where her sometime lovers sleep, and drink their dreams like the waters of forgetfulness.
Eleanor acknowledges Amelia's misery as coldly as she acknowledges the duties her student undertakes. There is power in suffering, she says, and strength in survival.
The praise is not mere empty words. Everything Amelia is tasked with has purpose. One duty well executed leads to another duty given, a smattering of errands; lessons, substantial and worthwhile. It is so different from the tutelage she has known before. Nevertheless, Amelia is still suspicious when Eleanor brings the ghoul maid from the palace to wait on Amelia.
It is necessary to reward all ghouls servants with vampire blood regularly, lest they age as they would have done without the gift. Amelia allows Sylvie to take her vitae at least weekly, horrified at the thought of the poor woman withering away from neglect. It must always be at the last possible moment before dawn, or the ghoul would soon become aware of the strange character of Amelia's blood.
A ghoul of many decades, Sylvie yearns for the vitae she cannot live without. At the palace, such generosity is unheard of. Perhaps a dozen palace ghouls are served at each change of the moon, and there are no extra measures. If you miss your turn, it's your own loss.
Sylvie is always very grateful, but it's impossible to ignore her restlessness, her yearning for something more. Whatever the law, Sylvie's keepers have ignored it more than once. There is a forbidden desire for the irreplaceable kiss, that Amelia feels all too keenly herself.
Wolf-Dietrich was adamant. If a ghoul loses fear and respect, there is only one cure. Thankfully despite her knowledge and desires, Sylvie seems to have a healthy measure of both, and never outright asks for the kiss. She does confess to Amelia that she would rather die to anyone's kiss than be forgotten.
Eleanor is always willing to teach and so Amelia asks her keeper directly, "Is that your purpose, madame? That I destroy her?"
Eleanor turns up one corner of her lip and sets aside her pen. She caps the inkwell, and leaves her work open on the desk, moving closer to Amelia, too close for comfort.
"Do not presume to know my purpose. Are you asking for my permission?"
Amelia baulks at that. "No, of course not, only your guidance. I have no wish to harm her, but the poor woman is so frank about her desire, I wondered if someone might have put it there deliberately."
"An interesting perspective." Eleanor says more sternly. "No doubt your experiences with ignorant mortals are more recent than my own, how much knowledge can you tolerate in a servant?" The proximity of the elder is unsettling. The cold judgement in her words even more so.
"I have the utmost respect for secrecy, I reveal nothing." Amelia tries to sound confident in her reply, but these are ominous questions.
"Simply sublime." Eleanor scowls. "If a mortal you presume to call a friend, say, moved you to tears? What action would you take to protect the masquerade?"
"But Sylvie is a clan ghoul, she's not like other mortals."
"As I suspected." A note of sadness creeps into Eleanor's words. "He left you to gather this vital information from a haphazard mixture of books and clumsy experience."
"You can't expect me to kill her just because she's seen me cry," Amelia says indignantly, "she literally held the bowl the first time Wolf-Dietrich had me fed."
"By extension this house is covered by the same indulgence as the palace, but you were not to know that. What I asked you," Eleanor lowers her voice and somehow it sounds more intimidating, "is what level of knowledge you tolerate among your friends. Your mortal friends to be more specific."
"None, madam." Amelia consciously slows down her reply. It wouldn't do to sound flippant. "No knowledge at all of our kind. I misunderstood you, please forgive me."
"I find that laughable. Do you expect me to believe that you are capable of silencing any of these mortals you associate with in the event of a masquerade breach?"
Wolf-Dietrich never cared. As chilling as this unexpected interrogation is, Amelia takes comfort in Eleanor's concern.
"I know I seem soft to you, but I have full control of my faculties. Of course I don't hold back in your presence, what would be the point? But I take my duty to protect the masquerade very seriously. If I had to silence one of my friends because of my stupid mistake then I would destroy us both. Does that satisfy you? And I wouldn't hesitate. Because without such action the knowledge could spread and everyone who found out would fall to the sheriff."
"Then why have your husband spared?" Eleanor asks sharply.
That was unexpected. Poor Franz. Likely her husband is still under Wolf-Dietrich's thumb.
"That was not my decision, my lady. My sire is a law unto himself, but I recall swearing my vows to him, and did not lightly set them aside," Amelia says with a note of defiance.
"Beautifully put." Eleanor seems to soften at last. "The ghoul could be useful to you, a knowing pair of eyes and ears among your retinue. She will need work, mind. She is a well worn tool indeed."
"Madame." Amelia dips a knee as she keeps her eyes on Eleanor's. "Sylvie is a good servant but as you point out, she only exists with the indulgence of the city. I am grateful that you have allowed me such a privilege. What restrictions must I impose on her service to fulfill my duties to the domain and the masquerade?"
"I trust your discretion." The elder turns away and returns to her letters. "I task you to break her out of the self destructive melancholia which threatens her equilibrium. I expect that it is within your nature to rekindle her sense of purpose, do whatever you feel is necessary."
"To what end?"
"Find something with which to occupy yourself that does not tax my patience, childe."
*
Felix comes and goes. Amelia can feel the familiar weight of his presence when he chooses to stay. He is entirely disapproving of necromancy, paranoid and suspicious of her motives, unashamedly jealous of other spirits. He doesn't seem to mind Amelia's mortal interaction, but weeks pass before any spirits dare to make contact with Amelia. Only the most determined, those whose families rely on Amelia, and those whose fetters are in her care dare approach, and then only when Felix is away.
Sylvie somehow procures the services of an elderly exiled gentleman who consents to become their guardian, complete with his own property portfolio. She acts as his secretary, posing as Amelia's older and more responsible cousin. The ghoul manages daytime affairs with ease. Soon, alongside grants from the charity Amelia set up, Franz's dower gift of a grand house out in the wald also delivers a steady income of rent.
At Amelia's insistence, Sylvie hires a cook, a housemaid and a groundsman to complement Eleanor's stoic butler. This leaves Sylvie with ample free time, and could make Amelia's new home less lonely, if only she could overcome her distaste for how little choice the woman really has.
Even in the small hours before dawn, Sylvie rouses herself and attends to every detail of Amelia's instructions. The ghoul rarely offers a word to her mistress, least of all an opinion, but her familiarity and tenderness give some hope that she is at peace with all this. Still, she makes lustful eyes at Amelia at times, and the vampire is growing more and more fond of her in turn.
Does the ghoul truly desire Amelia, or only her vitae and the kiss? That need for the kiss is excruciating. Amelia dismissed it once as immaterial, certainly secondary to the pleasure of Meryem's company and devotion. After going without for weeks, the physical yearning cannot be denied, and doesn't seem to fade. Felix is sympathetic, and surprisingly directs her to seduce Jerome.
The malkavian has the curious affliction that in the two centuries since his embrace he has felt no emotion at all. In fact the only thing that brings him satisfaction is the acquisition of wealth. The old high clans like to think that they monopolise influence, and perhaps they do. But Jerome has ruthlessly amassed enough raw wealth to buy the city twice and it sits in a hundred different secret places doing absolutely nothing. Amelia makes no demands of him on that account, but it hardly eases her conscience. Jerome would never agree to a one sided blood bond if it wasn't for Felix's influence.
It's very different from serving Meryem. The malkavian's unusual nature dampens the obvious signs of his bond. He is never effusive in his affection, he rarely stays long after each furtive liaison, but he is fiercely loyal and extremely sensitive to Amelia's criticism. This despite the fact that he sees her as nothing more than a wayward ventrue fledgling. Paranoid Felix actively destroys any knowledge of Amelia's nature, even among her true clan.
So it is that weeks become months. Amelia's painful memories lose their sharp edges, and her appetite for life gradually returns.
One rare evening, Amelia returns home an hour before midnight fully sated. She sits in the parlor, savouring the lingering scent of female pleasure on her gloves. None of her closest friends were out tonight. Fortunately, two submissive sisters and their decadent brother in law took a shine to Amelia at the card table. Within an hour they were upstairs in a brothel room. Blindfolded, they pleasured each other with mouths and fingers as the vampire flitted from each to the next like a bee in a garden of flowers. When they fell asleep, drunk on wine and orgy, Amelia chose not to linger. Feigning pleasure was a performance she had no heart for tonight.
She could send out calling cards for next week perhaps? Maybe have a browse over the stock ledger Gaston sent her from the library? No. The mortal vessels will wake halfway through and she'll be too distracted to make a good job of any of it.
Eleanor is at the palace and will be away until Wednesday. Felix isn't around. Sylvie doesn't seem to be awake. A little knot of dread fastens itself in Amelia's throat.
She hurries down to the kitchen and finds it dark and silent. She hurries up to check the ghoul's bedroom, but Sylvie is not there. More than a little afraid of what she might find, Amelia enters her own windowless room on the uppermost floor and finds the ghoul snoring on the floor at the foot of the bed. The woman's clothes are in complete disarray, her left hand rests on the naked valley of her sex. There's a half empty bottle of schnapps clutched in her other hand.
Relief overpowers Amelia's irritation. Certainly the ghoul did not expect her mistress to return at this hour.
Sylvie stirs at the sound of her mistress clearing her throat with mock indignance. Amelia watches with some amusement as the woman snatches her hand away and hurriedly pulls down her skirts. Less amusing is the sheer terror on Sylvie's face. Full blown panic and a belly full of alcohol steal the last of the poor woman's dignity. She rolls to one side and vomits, coming to rest on her knees, heaving and sobbing. Helpless. Utterly helpless.
Amelia can feel Sylvie's entire body shaking in terror as she kneels down with her. She straightens the ghoul's clothes as best she can, and gently brushes the soiled hair off the woman's face. The bitter scent of alcohol and vomit is overpowering.
"Shh... shh... Sylvie, Sylvie, try to calm yourself, sweetheart please."
"I... I..."
"Don't talk now, you're unwell. Breathe slowly my dear, calm down."
Amelia gathers the woman into a firm embrace, but Sylvie doesn't raise a hand to return it. She hangs limp in Amelia's arms entirely passive as her sobs gradually subside.
"You're in such a dark place tonight," Amelia says gently, "you'll feel much better in the morning. Come now, let's get you to bed."
Amelia helps the woman to her feet and allows her to lean heavily on one shoulder. She guides the servant painstakingly down the stairs and into her own room. Amelia looks into Sylvie's eyes and the poor woman begins trembling again.
"There's no need for that." Amelia says firmly. "You're safe here with me. It's about time the other servants pulled their weight at night. Sit here." She guides Sylvie into the chair by the dresser and pours some cold water into a bowl from the pitcher on the nightstand. "Wash your face for God's sake woman. And rinse your mouth out properly."
After rousing the housemaid to clean the mess in her bedroom, Amelia changes out of her evening wear and into some night clothes. She rarely bothers these days but it's necessary to keep up appearances to the mortal staff. Not to Sylvie. Amelia shakes her head sadly as the reluctant maid asks if that is all. No it isn't. Not nearly enough.
"Draw a hot bath down in the kitchen please, Ingrid. Set a cold meal for two out on the kitchen table, then you can rest."
The girl is sullen, but does as she is asked.
Of course when Amelia returns to her, Sylvie is sitting just as she was left. Head bowed, she flinches as Amelia rests a hand on her shoulder but doesn't look up.
"Please tell me what's wrong." Amelia says quietly. "How can I help if you shut me out?"
The woman rests her head against Amelia's arm, but doesn't answer.
"Alright." Amelia says. She carefully unfastens the seams and buttons on Sylvie's soiled dress, opening it out. She gently cleans the filth from around the servant's mouth. Nothing. It's as though the woman has no hope. Is she so afraid for her life, so afraid of how the kindred might punish her? Amelia leaves her sitting at the dresser in her stays and chemise and lies down on the neat single bed.
"I have coupled with strangers tonight." Amelia says awkwardly. She tries to suppress the squeamishness that comes from a lifetime of propriety. Fuck propriety. "I hate it. I hate that it's necessary. But because I did, you have nothing at all to fear from me, Sylvie. The beast is a kitten now it's had its pound of flesh."
Sylvie looks up at last, a spark of interest in her frightened eyes. Amelia forces herself to continue, but she can't help blushing as she does.
"I see how you're looking at me. But I can't put my finger on why. Is it just for the kiss, Sylvie? Really?"
"What do you want me to say?" There is a shade of despair in the ghoul's words. "It wouldn't be right."
"I don't want you to be so deathly afraid of me, Sylvie, don't you trust me at all?" Amelia says. Immediately she regrets it. Not only does it sound foolish, it burns so hard in her heart. How dare this heart feel anything after what was lost. How dare Meryem be right. "Must I hide it every time I feel something?" Amelia says.
The ghoul's eyes never leave Amelia's but she offers no reply.
Part of Amelia falters. They're worlds apart but there is a spark, it was there the first night they met.
"Would you believe me if I said I wish I could come to know you? Why am I selling my soul to strangers for scraps when you clearly want to be more than my chambermaid?"
Almost mechanically, Sylvie unfastens her underwear and crawls to the foot of the bed leaving a trail of discarded fabric behind her. She waits on her hands and knees, head bowed.
Her naked back is a network of old scars, and ugly black tattoos mar the skin on her shoulder blades. Amelia recognises the strange lettering from the clan ledger. They are domain marks.
"Mistress?" Sylvie whispers. "My only purpose is to serve you. I... I've disgraced myself so completely..."
"Disgraced yourself?" Amelia interrupts. "After all you're service, it would take more than one drunken mistake to anger me."
"It's... it's not the first time I went into your room without asking." She whines miserably.
"I don't care if you did it every night you've been under my roof," Amelia laughs. "You're always here for me, aren't you? Other servants are fast asleep but as soon as you hear the front door close you come to me. Who else would you imagine while you pleasure yourself? Show me Sylvie. Don't be ashamed."
Sylvie offers her soft middle aged body as penance or as tribute. She lies back on the cold floorboards, knees spread wide, her pale breasts topped with broad plum coloured teats. The breasts are just as imperfect as her backside, crisscrossed with dozens of silver threads. A less ordered collection of scars marks her belly, some livid, some cratered. Even the neatly manicured hair on her sex is patchy with scars.
"How you have suffered." Amelia sits on the edge of the bed and pulls down her loose nightgown. Sylvie stares up at her naked breasts in confusion. "You don't need fantasies." Amelia rests her foot gently on the mound of the woman's sex. "Tell me what you need, beautiful Sylvie."
"I need to serve you, mistress."
It's exactly what a ghoul should say, but it breaks Amelia's heart a little to hear it. The vampire stands and allows the flimsy silk negligee to fall away entirely. She kneels between Sylvie's legs and strokes the firm muscles of the woman's calves.
"How long has it been since someone served you?"
Amelia lifts the trembling foot and lightly brushes her lips against Sylvie's ankle Inch by inch she drifts closer to the prize, lips teasing the woman's flushed skin. Sylvie keeps her frightened eyes on Amelia's face until the vampire breathes gently into the downy fur of her sex. Amelia allows her blood to elevate her senses. She moans in anticipation at the heady scent of Sylvie's sweat and musk.
The woman's eyes flutter closed and the tension melts out of her body. Sylvie's sweet little sigh brings a smile to Amelia's face as she puts her tongue to work, painting long strokes up the sensitive folds of Sylvie's vulva. The dark flesh, stretched and marked by years of hard use, is still eager.
The awkwardly shaped remnant of a clitoris dares to peek from under its ragged hood. Amelia circles it affectionately with a wet finger and though there is no sound of protest, Sylvie tenses. Amelia lifts the offending finger off the sensitive nub and slides it very gently into the slick channel instead.
The ghoul whimpers her gratitude as Amelia begins tonguing sweet circles lower down, just around the tiny opening of her urethra. The woman's hands clutch at the floor beside her. Amelia slides her left hand under Sylvie's right and holds it gently as she begins to tongue fuck the ghoul. She adds a second finger to the hungry pussy, stretching, pressing down, resisting Sylvie's bucking hips as her tongue snakes steadily in and out, stroking across the more sensitive little hole with each pass.
"Oh mistress! Please, mistress! I can't bear it, I can't!" Sylvie's words tumble together into a little song of euphoria as her body spasms.
Amelia unpins Sylvie's cunt and allows the woman to buck and ride now, suckling the bittersweet skin of her labia, pushing out her tongue as far as it will go. Inevitably her rising eye teeth bite, tearing into Sylvie's swollen vulva like an overripe peach. She grasps both the woman's hands as Sylvie fucks and grinds into her face, shrieking with delight. Amelia gives herself over to the eager woman's need, moaning deep in her throat as forbidden morsels of ghoul blood trickle from the wounds.
Sylvie's orgasm rolls into Amelia's kiss, inseparable as the rain and the river. Amelia suckles in earnest now as Sylvie grasps her unbound hair to force her mouth down harder. Amelia surrenders herself to the ghoul's aggressive need and Sylvie rolls her over. What a beautiful sight to behold. Sylvie straddles her face and rides with not a thought for the consequences, eyes alight with fierce desire. Amelia reaches up to fondle her lover's swinging teats, offers her finger to sweet Sylvie's mouth as her tireless tongue splits the ghoul's sodden cunt.
"I'm coming again! Oh Jesus!" Sylvie howls. Waves of pleasure wash over them both and Amelia's vision clouds over in pink as her eyes well up with vitae. Sylvie shuffles off Amelia's face and straddles her waist, grasping the vampire's breasts hard enough to bruise and lapping at the bloody tears with passionate abandon. Amelia laughs at her enthusiasm and pulls her lover down for a more mutually enjoyable kiss. Their lips tease, tongues are split on Amelia's razor sharp teeth and forbidden fluids mix in their eager mouths.
Exhausted for now, Sylvie gives control back to Amelia. It's as subtle as the angle of her jaw, the curve of her brow. Amelia shifts her weight and the ghoul rolls aside, resting her weary head on Amelia's shoulder.
"Do you like this?" Amelia strokes the softening nipple and it springs instantly back to hardness as Sylvie gasps. "Your tits are beautiful, you know?"
"Oh please." Sylvie laughs weakly. "I know damn well I'm not beautiful."
"Your gift to me is beautiful." Amelia gently kisses Sylvie's greying hair.
"That's good enough for me."
All the aggression of the ghoul's beast is gone. There is still fear of course, but the woman's eyes are softer and more trusting now. There are so many questions on Amelia's mind, who beat her? Who cut her? All those tattoos didn't spring up overnight and Eleanor's mark is not among them, how did the elder arrange this? Indeed, what poor soul has taken Sylvie's place?
"I only scratched you with my teeth, but you won't heal well if we leave it."
Sylvie spreads her legs wide and sets her hands submissively by her sides as Amelia licks at the wounds, carefully avoiding the poor woman's mauled clitoris. Sylvie lies passive as her skin is healed over. Amelia probes inside the ghoul's sex with two fingers and watches her face. Sylvie opens her mouth a fraction and spreads her knees almost imperceptibly wider.
"I can't kiss you every night, what else do you like?" Amelia asks gently.
"Everything." the ghoul says without hesitation. "But especially this." She swallows nervously. "When you care for me."
"Because you can see I enjoy it?" Amelia asks.
"I... I used to love it when Mistress Elizabeth took care of me." Sylvie says shyly. "She would bleed her precious vitae right into my greedy pussy." Her eyes widen again as though Amelia would take offense at such a thing. "I'd say it was only a chore to her, she found our unnatural lusts amusing and she liked to humiliate us."
"Do you like being humiliated Sylvie?" Amelia teases.
The ghoul shakes her head. "It's not about that, Mistress Amelia. I desire to please all my masters. Such blood games amused Mistress Elizabeth and Master Rudolphus, but they made others weep for sorrow and they angered Mistress Eleanor. But I used to love it when everyone could see. It wasn't humiliating at all, it made me feel free." she hesitates before continuing. "Mistress?"
Amelia feels the woman's pulse quicken as she resumes steadily fingering that slick cunt.
"Don't you fret. Would you like me to fuck you again tonight?"
Sylvie gives an eager nod and gasps as Amelia twists four fingers into her cunt and rests a little finger on the dark ring of her arse."
"Ingrid has prepared a bath in the kitchen, I would love to molest you in front of such an innocent witness. The more I see of you the more I have to wonder. How many of these scars you're wearing are from punishments?"
Amelia slaps Sylvie gently on the arse and the woman grunts as the vampire pulls her fingers into a half fist and forces her thumb up beside them.
"And how many were rewards?"
"Uh! Fuh!" She bleats as Amelia's fist pushes higher. "Ah! Ah! Ah!" She whimpers a helpless staccato as her anatomy is forced to accommodate Amelia's entire slender hand. The vampire smirks as the warm cunt swallows up more of her wrist than she anticipated.
"Poor thing." Amelia says breathlessly. It does hurt, it burns like fire as her knuckles pinch nerves against bones, the blood they shared blurs the lines between their bodies. It's heaven.
"Sorry mistress. It feels lovely now that you're inside me." Sylvie corrects herself, as the echo of Amelia's pleasure confuses her emotions. The dishonesty makes Amelia uncomfortable.
"I wish you did love me inside your body. Did anyone do this to you before?"
"No mistress." Sylvie sniffs pathetically. " They used to say it was n... nice and tight... before."
"You are nice and tight. But I don't have a little cock." Amelia carefully nudges in and out, barely half an inch as Sylvie grunts, holding her shaking legs as wide as they can go with white knuckle grip. "I know you aren't afraid. You need to relax sweetheart. Relax and trust me to fuck you properly. You've come twice and you're soaking wet all the way inside. Now if you were some weak little mortal I would offer you some oil. Is that what you are Sylvie? Is that what you want?"
"No mistress, and I do trust you."
Amelia kisses the ghoul's bullet hard nipple and gently licks and sucks the sensitive little scrap of flesh as she inches her hand inexorably further in and out. Sylvie gives an excited gasp as Amelia puts more pressure against the softer tissue at the back. The ghoul whimpers as Amelia closes her fist and works it against the muscles. How deliciously similar it feels to being buggered.
"Mistress," Sylvie whispers fearfully, "you're going to fuck me so hard aren't you?"
"Oh yes my sweet pet. When you're ready."
"Whenever I was in your room mastubating, I'd picture you on that first night. I'd remember how your beautiful hair felt. You're so graceful when you move... Uhn! Ooh! I n... never imagined you'd be c... capable of this."
"Surprise." Amelia carefully withdraws from Sylvie's reddened hole. "A lot has happened since then." She smiles and waits patiently.
"Thank you Mistress." Sylvie says shakily. She kisses Amelia's damp hand.
"Come now. Let's decamp to the nice warm kitchen. How long has it been since someone did anything exciting to your sweet little bottom?"
"Some time." Sylvie says quietly. "I should have known better than to act like this, but I missed it so much." She pulls the coverlet off the foot of the bed and offers it to Amelia. The vampire takes it and drapes it over the ghoul's shivering body instead.
"We're pushing our luck, Sylvie. I don't want to cause trouble, you know what could happen."
"I know." She sits on the blanket box and waits, watching Amelia.
Modesty is a difficult habit to kick, but Amelia thoroughly enjoys the ghoul's hungry eyes on her as she pulls her negligee back on.
"I was always manipulating them into feeding from me, in the end they pilloried me for it and left me without for some time. Master Rudolphus oversaw it all. He was kinder than I deserved, he said it was for my own good, and it really did h... help I suppose. I'm not as lustful as I was, and I learned my place." She wipes away an errant tear. "So in honest answer to your question, Mistress Amelia, it's been well over ten years since anyone has had me that way. And I'm scared of what will h... happen to us now."
"Why?" Amelia says gently. "Do you think it's your fault that we can't control ourselves?"
She sits beside Sylvie and dabs at the ghoul's tears with the sheer sleeve of her silken gown.
"They set you up from the very first day with their conditions and commands. They kept you ignorant and weak. You had enough knowledge to hurt them, so they had to control you and manipulate you and the easiest way was to make you feel ugly and unwanted, Sylvie. Now the first time I show you an ounce of kindness you cling to me like there's no one else in the world, except it's not true. They stole your youth, yes. But you were never unlovable. You were never ugly. I wish I could help you see it."
No tears now. They sit together on the edge of the narrow little box holding hands.
"We should go down stairs before the water gets cold." Sylvie says. "Did you really mean all that?"
Amelia shrugs. Bloody Eleanor. Pulling people's lives apart, patching them together.
"Every word." She brushes a thumb against the ghoul's crow's feet. "I'm not interested in forcing you, Sylvie. Do you want me to come down stairs with you tonight?"
Sylvie nods, an adorable twinkle in her eye.
Amelia decides to push her luck.
"Do you want to come out with me next weekend and meet some open minded somewhat feral nobles that will happily take turns stuffing all your holes?"
Amelia takes guilty pleasure in allowing Ingrid to watch her games with Sylvie that night. Though she is a poor servant, the disgust on her face as Amelia bends Sylvie over the kitchen table is worth every penny. It titillates Sylvie, easily doubles the ghoul's pleasure, and it grounds Amelia. It helps her remember why secrecy is a matter of life and death. Ordinary God fearing people would see women hang for this sodomy. Amelia conditions the maid thoroughly, so the poor girl has no chance of ever being able to give an account of what she's seen.
The girl is paid double the going rate for a house maid, though her work barely passes muster. Sylvie finds the girl's laziness and contempt irritating, especially when Ingrid foolishly lies about completing her chores. Amelia loves to see this side of the ghoul. She gives Sylvie free rein to discipline Ingrid at will and the floors are soon polished to perfection.
Sylvie seems to take pride in correcting the idle servant with all propriety, forcing Ingrid to admit her omissions and falsehoods and regularly tanning her backside in full view of the other servants as an example.
What begins as bitterness and resentment drifts to compliance and even affection over time, as Ingrid slowly comes to the realisation that this is her lot in life. The young woman sends much of her money home to her parents who live a good day's travel from Vienna, but little luxuries and small freedoms mean a lot to the maid.
Though Sylvie will never admit it, she is learning from Ingrid too. The ghoul's life at the palace was so far removed from ordinary experience, she takes joy in the most mundane activities. In the beginning, choosing her own unique clothes, anything but the drab grey uniform, feels alien. Soon she is deciding what to eat, when to go out, filling the house with flowers and plants.
Amelia watches the gradual change from frightened slave to contented servant with some satisfaction. Yet the marks of Sylvie's enslavement are plainly written on her body and cannot be ignored. Until Amelia can claim the ghoul for herself, all this is a mirage of sanctuary, fleeting as her time with Meryem. Knowing that, she squeezes every drop of pleasure from this precarious existence.
*
Sylvie fits in well with Amelia's lovers and playmates. To say the woman is eager to please wouldn't do her justice. Even the most well endowed and impatient lover finds the ghoul's mouth a deep well of pleasure. She heaves and drools, sometimes forgets to breathe and becomes lightheaded as she makes an eager cunt of her face. All the skimpy costumes, sometimes no more than a few strips of leather make her self conscious at first. The truth is, nobody could care less about her sagging skin and wrinkles. Among the nightlife of Vienna her battle scarred body is a badge of honour.
Amelia laughs about it on the way home at four in the morning.
"I don't need air and I can't keep up with you. What's your secret?" Amelia teases. "Have you learned to breathe out of your arse?"
Sylvie smiles knowingly.
"Ah, well," she says proudly, "when they taught me to suck cocks they seemed a lot bigger than that."
"Don't be ridiculous." Amelia scoffs. "You swallowed over eight inches as thick as my wrist. And what was that thing you did with your tongue?"
Sylvie grins. "Precocious talent you could say." She turns her face up to the cold clear sky. "You've helped me so much, Mistress Amelia. I think I'm starting to accept this tired old body for what it is at last, and it means a lot to me."
It takes all of Amelia's skill as a courtier to fix the smile on her face and change the subject.
*
When Amelia finds the courage to ask about it, Eleanor seems pleased with her.
"The vessel was a little whore." Eleanor replies without even looking up from her needlepoint. "Orphaned, I believe."
Amelia's head is spinning.
"Why ghoul a child? Why steal an orphan, a child for God's sake and feed from them!"
"Precisely." Eleanor says, the word dripping with disgust.
Amelia sits on the little stool at Eleanor's feet and takes the basket of thread. She orders the skeins and lays out the gold and green ones on the arm of Eleanor's chair. The elder divides the fine threads into tiny wisps and twists them, the gold and the green together, as she details the little tapestry. It's not obvious what it will be when it's finished.
Sylvie's four clan marks are aligned from top to bottom, starting from the nape of her neck. The three older tattoos have faded to grey, and their shapes mean nothing to Amelia. Rudolphus' black mark is the freshest, but he left the city the night Meryem died and she has no way of asking him now.
"Clan records aren't enough, my lady." Amelia says. "Though I pored over the ledgers, I swear half the ghoul's marks may as well be penned in chinese."
"And you are wise enough not to press for the information, good. Very good. You would undo much progress if you force her to dwell on the past, and you recognise that."
"Does the past matter now?"
Eleanor glances briefly down at Amelia. That wicked smile of hers is back.
Amelia says nothing more, allows the question time to gather substance. Eleanor inclines her head at last, presumably in approval.
"Certainly it should matter to us if it matters to Prince Paracida. Why should the records be incomplete?"
*
Leopoldine has always been very approachable, and no one else is as familiar with the clan records.
Wary of drawing Wolf-Dietrich's attention, Leopoldine spirits her away to a quiet corner of the labyrinth beneath Schönbrunn to talk in secret of why the meticulously kept scrolls have omissions.
"It happens to be an old Roman custom, the Latin for it is damnatio memoriae, but it's obvious, right?"
It's not obvious at all to Amelia but she remains silent.
"You upset the prince, you suffer. Your legacy becomes a cautionary tale, but it cannot remain in the record, it cannot erode the dignitas of our clan. Paracida tolerates vices as far as he can, but if they threaten the masquerade... You're lucky. The true path of enlightenment is humanity, everyone agrees these days. Even those who proudly flaunt their inhumanity are prevented from deliberately destroying the souls of their childer. Your sire never had time for such nonsense, but his sire? The less said about it the better."
It's tempting to digress and ask Leopoldine more about this spirituality, but Amelia keeps her focus.
"Were any of these my grandsire's domain marks?"
Leopoldine takes the proffered scrap of paper and casts a wary eye over Amelia's carefully copied symbols. She lifts the note up to the torch and sets it alight.
Amelia holds her tongue. Poor Sylvie. What is this madness?
"I would be doing you a grave disservice if I answered that question. Where did you obtain such contraband?"
"Madame, it makes no sense to me at all. These are domain marks, I'm sure of it, but there are no examples of them in the ledgers."
"Twelve years ago the prince ordered our records purged of all reference to your grandsire. Mere weeks before your embrace, the records were similarly purged of all reference to your brother in blood. You have no idea how quickly the hammer can fall on a transgressor, so I am telling you now to drop this nonsense. Whoever put that information in your hand is no friend of your sire."
"It was the Lady Eleanor." Amelia says.
Leopoldine's face is like thunder. Her words drip with saccharin sarcasm.
"Then how considerate of you to involve me."
"I am friendless, madam. Truly, friendless. My sire would see me burn, my only patron would give me enough rope to hang myself, and you, once my only glimmer of hope, would cast me underfoot. I'm so sorry to have troubled you."
Amelia hurries away into the shadows lest her damned emotions embarrass her yet again, but there's nothing to stop Leopoldine summoning her back, of course. Amelia does not resist the summons. She wills her frustration away, and takes a knee contritely at Leopoldine's feet, and meets the scrutiny of her elder just as she's been taught.
All Leopoldine's girlishness may well have been an affectation. The vampire is as stony faced as any other soulless courtier.
"No-one in their right mind would tell you any of this. If the prince gets wind that you know what I'm about to tell you, you might not be alive long enough to realise why you're dying. Do you understand me, Amelia-Marie? If you value your patron's reputation at all, if you value mine, keep this madness to yourself."
"Yes my lady." Amelia replies.
"Alright."
Amelia sighs with relief as Leopoldine's expression softens at last.
"It is absolutely forbidden to use a ghoul as a vessel, it is absolutely forbidden to arm them with the knowledge of what we really are to them, but it was not always so in Vienna, stupid and dangerous as that might seem. One or two respected kindred had difficult feeding preferences, and so without a ghoul's fortitude, their vessels would not have survived a single feeding."
"Respected kindred like Catherine?"
"You have no instinct for self preservation at all do you?" Leopoldine scoffs. "Something like that I suppose, but without the shameless insanity you could say. Anyhow, none of Rosemary's childer had her aptitude for cruelty, and none of them showed any interest in her twisted visions of the road of heaven either. Your grandsire had more success influencing these secretive kindred, supplying them vessels robust enough to last a few weeks. Ghouled specimens of older, younger, or erm... maimed kine."
"That's dreadful." Amelia says weakly. "But what does it..."
"The first sigil on your little truth bomb is her personal cypher. You won't see that in the records because it's been entirely expunged. The second sigil is interesting, because four of her captive herd wore that mark. It's a mark of absolute protection, meaning final death to anyone foolish enough to kill the mortal. You might still see reference to it at times if you comb carefully through the record, but it's usually only attached to influential mortals of the royal family these days, not mere vessels. The third sigil is of course the cypher of the unfortunate Gregor von Habsburg. Your brother in blood."
"Now." Leopoldine reaches down to touch Amelia's upturned face. "Don't take me for a fool, childe. Who really wants to blow the lid off all this? Because it certainly isn't in the Lady Eleanor's interests, or your sire's."
"I'm telling the truth." Amelia says quietly. "I swear it was the lictor. Don't you see? Her priority is always the good of the clan, not her own interests, she must have her reasons."
Leopoldine shrugs. "Rosemary became a victim of her own hubris. A pair of those long suffering blood slaves attempted to embrace each other with her stolen vitae. It went badly wrong and your grandsire was diablerised. The lictor shed no tears but the prince was beside himself. Anyone who carried the slightest whiff of blame... well. Rumor has it they met a less gentle fate than beheading."
"I know nothing of rumours." Amelia says. "Wolf-Dietrich, I mean my sire, he never speaks to me about anything of consequence unless he's threatening me or beating me for breaking some rule he never told me about, but Lady Eleanor has always been fair to me. She wouldn't have given me this information for sport, she wouldn't have asked me about it if it wasn't important."
"Strange times we live in. The lictor knows as well as I do what those marks are, so who knows why she's sent you on this fool's errand. Wicked Gregor fed only from debauched children, and Rosemary fed his disgusting habit. As soon as these diabolical antics came to the prince's attention, Paracida decreed that they desist or be banished from Vienna. Of course, Rosemary discreetly ignored the edict. When she met her end her assets were dissolved, and Gregor was forced to look beyond the clan to avoid censure.
"The toreador filled Rosemary's niche before the week was out but they didn't have her control over Gregor, they didn't dare Fred him ghouls, the whole thing was scandalous. It's obscene the number of innocent... But of course, you must be painfully intimate with that unpleasantness already." The tone of sympathy in Leopoldine's voice is worrying. It seems genuine.
Amelia kisses Leopoldine's hand as it is offered, and rises up off her knees at last.
"Please forgive me, madame, I don't think I followed what you said."
Leopoldine smiles and winks at her.
"Of course you don't. Sweet childe."
"No, really, madame," Amelia says in confusion, "have I missed something?"
"I mean all that business with Arpad?" Leopoldine frowns in confusion herself, "And your degenerate husband? Well surely..."
Leopoldine covers her mouth and her eyes widen in an almost comedic expression of horror.
Amelia stands in horrified silence. Franz has no desire for women. He has no desire for men either. Only vampires. And children. Bile rises in the back of Amelia's throat.
"You're saying that Franz..." Amelia chokes back a sob. Of course. On that morning at the matchmaker's, Franz had seemed besotted with her. Mother had bound Amelia up into the most unflattering gown, made such a fuss of letting her hair hang down her back in curls, in ribbons, and hadn't allowed her a scrap of rouge or artifice. What a contrast to their wedding day when Papa lifted the veil from her face and put her hand in Franz's at the altar, the disgust on her husband's face. The horror. "Oh Leopoldine!"
"Saints preserve us. You really didn't know."
"What does it matter now?" Amelia is shaking. And they all knew. Mama, Papa, his parents, they all knew. And Wolf-Dietrich. Not only did he know, but he gloats all the damn time about how stupid Amelia is. And now Franz has a son who must be what? A year? Two years old by now? "I have to go," she sobs, "Urgently! Please let me go, Leopoldine, I won't tell a soul."
"Not so fast, childe. I'm giving you one last chance to come clean to me. Where the devil did you get that note? Or... perhaps we need to have a less amicable conversation in private?" She adds menacingly.
This is beyond comprehension. Leopoldine must be one of them. Why else would the woman be so invested in who else knows about Rosemary? Amelia calculates the odds. If she's right, there is a chance she can use this whole nightmare to her advantage after all. Amelia sinks back to her knees and offers Leopoldine her throat as she meets her judgement. There's no doubt that if Leopoldine suspects a lie, the next few hours will be excruciating, and that Sylvie's fate will be equally brutal.
"No one gave me that note, it's a copy of a tattoo. What do I care about any of it now that I see the truth?" Amelia says. "Franz is a monster. He may have been Rosemary's vessel once, a victim, as all those poor children were, but I feel nothing but contempt for him now. It was sloppy of all of you to leave your twisted creature to prey on the innocent. Wicked and foolish of you all to leave your mark on him."
"Really?" Leopoldine sneers. "Of course. Gregor was such an ass." Like the sun coming out from behind a cloud, Leopoldine's smile returns. "You've done the right thing telling me, childe." She tousels Amelia's hair affectionately. "Don't feel bad about it. In fact you always brighten my day, and I can never refuse to indulge you."
As Leopoldine offers her hand once more, Amelia kisses it as she must.
On Amelia's return home, she insists that Sylvie draw a bath at once. Amelia scrubs every inch of her skin, but somehow she still feels Franz's spit congealed there, still feels Leopoldine's fingers caressing her cheek. Sylvie is baffled by Amelia's insistence that she wash her mistress from head to toe again, but as always does her duty carefully and thoroughly. The ghoul is pleasantly overwhelmed by the affection the vampire lavishes upon her afterwards.
Amelia is counting on Leopoldine's paranoia, and is not disappointed. By the end of the week, Leopoldine acts. Franz's young wife becomes a widow in mourning, regent to her infant son who is now the Baron of Shönborn-Buchheim. God willing, he will never know of his father's perfidy.
*
"I'm so very proud of you. You're all I could have hoped for."
"Whatever has happened, Felix?" Amelia answers groggily. "It's the middle of the day."
"Just you wait, my precious little strumpet. Come with me."
Amelia feels herself separate along the edges. Different parts of her want to split off in a hundred directions like confetti, but somehow Felix holds her together and they drift up towards the clouds.
The sun is a pale dream of itself, a silver coin hanging behind the cumulus clouds.
They sink back down through a roof top and into a dingy little room where a wide eyed Leopoldine has literally been nailed to the floor.
Long rivets of wrought iron run through the flesh and bone of her limbs. Her feet have been bound extra securely, with a rivet through each arch and ankle; each toe caught with its own little noose of wire, so it might reach as far as it can towards its destruction. Her mouth is wide open, but packed so full of wadding her futile cries of terror are reduced to nothing more than muffled moaning. Things are about to take a turn for the worse.
Poor Leopoldine is watching the line of wan daylight creeping across the boards as the sun moves ahead, and inch by inch it approaches her immobilised feet.
Eleanor is lying on a little cot in the same room, deep in her death sleep. The prisoner's now continuous pleas for mercy are falling on deaf ears.
Leopoldine closes her eyes tight as the sunlight reaches her at last. Then sliver by sliver, the creeping shaft of sunlight claims first her toes, then her feet, then her ankles, and then by some miracle, nothing more than that. Felix and Amelia bear witness just long enough for Leopoldine's fear frenzy to subside back into pathetic weeping.
It could have been a fever dream, except that Gaston takes the minutes from now on, even when Leopoldine finally does return. The once light hearted kindred's respect for Lady Eleanor has graduated to full blown terror and avoidance.
Eleanor never mentions any of it to Amelia. As her little tapestry steadily takes shape, she doesn't seem to mind Amelia peering at it at all.
|
The truly terrible thing about waking up in the future, thinks Steve, is that everyone who looks at him sees Captain America, national icon. An icon 70 years in the making, never mind that he's really only lived 25 years. (Years don't count if you spend them in the ice, do they?)
There's no one left who sees Steve Rogers, the kid from Brooklyn. No one who knows first-hand how skinny he was, how sick he used to get. No one who knows that Bucky was more than his best friend.
(Peggy knew some of it. She knew him before the serum, and he suspects she guessed about Bucky, but the file SHIELD gave him says she's got something called Alzheimer's and doesn't remember much of anything a lot of the time. He hasn't had the courage to visit her yet. Or even call.)
People will come up to thank him for saving New York from aliens, or the free world from the Nazis, but he can tell they don't quite think of him as a real person.
He works hard at being a real person, instead of an icon. When he's not on a SHIELD assignment, he has an apartment in Brooklyn. He goes to the market and does his own cooking. He does his laundry in the basement of his building, thankful that his neighbours don't treat him any different from the other real people they share a building with. And every once in a while, he splurges on something. A meal in a nice restaurant. A Broadway show.
Tonight, he's going to Kinky Boots. ("Do you even know what kinky means?" Tony says when he finds out about the tickets. Howard Stark's kid is as guilty of mistaking Steve Rogers for Captain America as anyone else. Someday, Steve is going to tell Tony about the bars he and Bucky used to go to, and what they used to do in them. If he times it right, he thinks he can get coffee to come out of Tony's nose.)
Steve tries not to make a fuss when he goes to a show, but he's always recognized, and he's always invited backstage. It happens tonight, and he finds himself making small talk with performers who treat him like Captain America, just like everyone else. But tonight there's a change to the script. He's finished talking to the members of the chorus—he always makes sure to meet the whole company of any show; he remembers how much the girls on the USO tour appreciated any attention—and is about to leave when he notices one young man hanging back, looking at him nervously.
Steve hates making anyone nervous, so he smiles and approaches him.
"Steve Rogers," he says with his hand out.
"I know," the young man stammers out as he shakes his hand. "I'm Ryan Sutton. My dancing teacher knew you. During the war," he clarifies. "She said she danced with you."
"I didn't do much dancing," Steve says. There's not a day that goes by that someone doesn't claim that their grandfather or great aunt or distant cousin knew him during the war. "What was your teacher's name?" he asks, not expecting anything to come of it.
"Audrey Smythe. That's her married name, anyway. I'm not sure what her maiden name was."
"Audrey…" Steve is suddenly back in a London restaurant, Bucky on his arm, introducing him to Audrey and her fiancé. He can see candlelight reflecting in Bucky's eyes, can see how happy Audrey and her fella both are. He feels how happy he is that he gets to take Bucky out before they're shipped across the Channel and back into the war.
"Captain Rogers?" There's a light touch on his arm. "Captain Rogers? Are you all right?"
He blinks, and he's backstage in the theatre, and the chorus boy, Ryan, is standing in front of him, a worried look on his face.
"I'm fine." He swallows around the lump in his throat and forces himself to stand straight. "Audrey was a good friend of mine."
"You really did know her." Ryan looks amazed, as if someone had just told him the fairy story he heard as a child is one hundred per cent true.
"I really did. I’m glad to hear she married. She deserved that happiness."
"Don't make it sound like she's dead," Ryan says.
"Wait, she's alive? She must be--"
"Old," Ryan completes his thought. "She's old, but still teaching. Only the senior students, and only once in a while, but still teaching."
Steve's mind is racing. Audrey is alive. Someone who knew him is alive. Someone besides Peggy.
"Um, I really wanted to…um, thank you." Ryan is suddenly looking even more nervous than he was before.
"Thank me for what?"
Ryan turns red, and he looks like he's regretting saying anything, but Steve can tell that whatever it is, it's important to him.
"You can say what you need to, son." Ryan's probably not much younger than he is (the 70 years in the ice definitely don't count), but right now Steve feels about a million years older than him.
"Okay." He clears his throat and looks down at the floor. "When I was 16, I had a really bad time. I'd come out to my parents. Um, I told them I was gay," he explains quickly.
"I know the term," Steve assures him. He suspects he knows where this is going, and he's feeling nervous himself.
"Yeah. Um. They weren't exactly thrilled about having a gay son. Threatened to throw me out of the house. Treated me like a monster. The usual stuff."
Steve feels sick that treating your child like a monster could be considered the usual stuff, but he doesn't say anything. After all, things had been much worse when he was a young man.
"And Madame Smythe, she must have noticed there was something going on, because she took me aside one day after class and told me about her friend Steve. About how he had a fella, and he disobeyed orders to go off and save him. How Steve was a national hero. How I should never think there was anything wrong with the way I felt, because I was just like Captain America. And it really helped." Ryan trails off and finally looks up at him, his expression nervous and hopeful and grateful and brave.
Steve's embarrassed that his first instinct is to lie, to protect himself, to protect Bucky's reputation. For years they'd loved each other, but they hadn't been able to share that with many people. Just other guys who'd go to the same bars. And the rare trusted friend, like Audrey.
But it's not 1945 anymore. Gay people can serve in the military now without lying about themselves. Gay people can marry. The cops don't raid gay bars and arrest people anymore. It's still hard and there are still people who don't understand and who hate, but things are so much better than they were when he was growing up.
Ryan's been so brave, sharing this with him, trusting him. He can't betray that trust.
If Steve doesn't want to be mistaken for Captain America anymore, maybe this is the first step to becoming a real person: acknowledging who he was. Who he is.
"Do you have a boyfriend?" Steve asks.
Ryan nods, and blushes all the way to his hairline.
"Are you happy?"
Ryan nods again, looking less embarrassed now.
"That's good." Steve smiles. "Look after each other. That's what Bucky and I did." He puts out his hand for a handshake, but somehow it turns into a hug.
He leaves the theatre feeling more like a real person than he has since he came out of the ice.
A week later, Steve takes the train into Queens. The Smythe Dance Academy is wedged between a bodega and a plumbing supply store. When he'd called the day before, the receptionist had told him that Madame Smythe would be teaching an afternoon class today. He hadn't left a message. He hadn't been entirely sure what he was going to do with the information, but he's here now.
He opens the door. The woman behind the desk looks at him, wide eyed, someone else who sees only the icon.
"I'm looking for Madame Smythe," he says, keeping his voice low.
She points behind her. Steve can hear music and the light thump of feet on a wooden floor working their way down the hall. He follows the sounds, past two closed doors, until he comes to one open door. At first he can only see the dancers in the studio, four young people, two boys, two girls, twirling across the floor, the girls leaping into the boys' arms before they regroup and do it all again. He leans against the doorframe and a bit further into the studio, and that's when he sees her.
A tiny old woman with wire-rimmed glasses and hair that's gone completely white sits beside the piano in the studio's far corner. She holds a cane in gnarled fingers that she thumps on the floor for emphasis.
"No, Jake, you need to be in position for the catch a beat sooner." The dark-skinned boy nods at her. "Maddy, your jeté should be a bit higher."
"Yes, Madame," says the lithe red-haired girl.
"From the top."
Steve watches as the pianist begins again and the dancers run through their routine. They look wonderful to him, strong young people who create beauty with their bodies.
Finally, the lesson is over. The dancers applaud their teacher and then file out past Steve, gawking at him as they pass. Only when her students have left does Audrey turn to Steve.
"You, there. In the door. What do you want?" She glares at him with a slight squint that tells Steve she hasn't recognized him. He steps into the room, and he hasn't gone three steps when Audrey gasps.
"Steve!" Her free hand goes to her mouth. "It's you! It's really you." She stands, but he's at her side before she can take a single step.
"Hello, Audrey," he says, and then they're hugging, Steve so very conscious of how frail Audrey is, nothing more than skin stretched over bone. But he can still see the girl she was in her face. Her eyes glint with tears, and one of her hands clutches at his shoulder.
"Hello, yourself." She lets him go, and then whacks his leg with her cane. "Why haven't you come to see me before now?"
"I didn't know you were still alive," Steve sheepishly admits.
"Well, I thought you were dead, too, so we're even." She bumps him with her elbow. "How'd you find out I was alive?"
"I ran into one of your students. Ryan."
"Ryan." She smiles. "He's a good dancer. He might even be great. He's in a Broadway show, now."
"I know. Kinky Boots. That’s where I saw him."
"Kinky Boots." She snorts. "They don't make them like they used to."
"I thought it was good. Better than our Star Spangled Man number."
"Don't remind me." She hugs him again. "It's so good to see you again. You know what? You should come to dinner. It's just my oldest daughter and me, and it won't be anything fancy, but we can have a good catch-up."
Steve freezes for a moment. It's been a long time since someone invited him for dinner. (Tony's fancy dinner parties at Stark Tower don't count.) Probably the last time was when Bucky told Mrs. Edwards upstairs to look after him when he went off to basic training. It's something he hadn't realized he misses.
"I'd like that," he says, and gives her one last gentle squeeze.
They take a taxi to Audrey's house. Along the way, Audrey fills him in about her family, her daughters and grandchildren.
"I've even got a couple of great-grandchildren," she says. "I'm so old."
"You've still got great gams," Steve says with a wink.
"Stop it!" She pokes him in the side. "I'm not 19 anymore."
"You are to me."
"Oh, Steve." Audrey's eyes suddenly look suspiciously glassy. She looks away and takes his arm. Steve ignores the tightness in his own throat and pats her hand.
Audrey lives in a tidy little house with vinyl siding, the sort of place he could never have dreamed of living in the '30s. Audrey's told him that her daughter moved back in with her after her own kids moved out and her husband had died. ("We're just two old widows, living together.")
The door is opened by a grey-haired woman who looks like a younger, stouter Audrey.
"Holy shit, it's Captain America!" she says, her eyes as wide as Audrey's receptionist's had been. Steve smiles at her. Audrey frowns.
"Liz! This is my friend, Steve." Audrey takes his arm and ushers him into the house. "I've invited him over for dinner."
"I hope your friend Steve likes leftover meat loaf," Liz says with an eye roll. "Because it's that or we order pizza."
"I love meat loaf," Steve tells her with a smile.
"You were right about one thing, Mom." Liz looks at him warily. "He's charming, all right."
Liz's meatloaf is delicious, and the company is wonderful. Steve and Audrey keep her daughter amused with stories about the USO show.
"We kept trying to get Steve drunk," Audrey reveals at one point. "Did you know Captain America can't get drunk?"
"Steve Rogers can't either," Steve pops in.
"You're right. You're Steve Rogers, not that blowhard Captain America." She turns to her daughter with a gleeful expression. "Did you know Steve Rogers can't get drunk. But we kept trying, and all that would happen was Steve would have to make sure the whole chorus line got home from the bar."
"I think you all did it so you could pretend to be drunker than you were and drape yourselves all over me."
"I don't know that there was much pretending involved, but that was a definite benefit." Audrey's eyes are twinkling. "It didn't make up for the hangovers, though."
"My mom got drunk with Steve Rogers," Liz says, shaking her head. "I think I'm traumatized."
"You're 62, Liz. The thought of your mother getting drunk shouldn't traumatize you."
Liz seems to have an infinite vocabulary of eye rolls. Steve would bet that last one was developed when she was a teenager.
"You two go sit in the living room," Liz says as they're finishing up the pound cake she produced for dessert. "I'll clean up."
Steve tries to help Audrey up, but she fends him off with the cane and leads him to the living room.
It's a cozy place, with a flowery couch and matching chair, a coffee table with doilies on it, and a fireplace on the other side of the room. Audrey takes the chair, and Steve sits on the couch beside her, letting himself relax. Audrey isn't entirely through with the reminiscences.
"Did you know Jerry signed up after you left to become a real soldier?" Audrey asks him. "I think he wanted to make up for being fake Hitler."
"I thought he was 4F."
"They got a lot less picky near the end of the war."
Steve winces a little, wondering if they'd have taken a scrawny kid from Brooklyn if he'd waited until the end of the war. He starts thinking about what his life might have been if it hadn't been for Dr. Erskine and Peggy Carter and their Project Rebirth. He wouldn't have gone in the ice. But he also wouldn't have been there to save Bucky, wouldn't have given him those extra few months of life. Shit, he doesn't want to think about any of this.
"Tell me about your life, Audrey. What did you do after the war?"
So she tells him. Tells him about marrying Christopher and coming to New York. How she danced in shows for a while but decided in the end to teach. How she and Christopher raised three daughters in this very house. How she did a different kind of mothering to generations of kids at the dance school.
Steve is happy that Audrey had a good life while he was sleeping in the ice.
When she's finished telling him about her life, she starts asking him questions. And that's decidedly less good.
"It's been, what, six months since aliens attacked Manhattan? How long had you been out of the ice before that?"
"Two weeks."
"Two weeks! And before you crashed that plane, how long had it been since Bucky died?"
Steve isn't expecting that question, and he freezes. He's back clutching the side of the train, the wind pulling at him as Bucky falls into the gorge. He wants nothing more than to let go and follow Bucky down, but he knows he can't.
"A week," he croaks out.
She doesn't say anything, just leans over and clutches at his hand. He lets her, conscious of keeping his own grip light, of not crushing her delicate bird bones in his grip.
"What have you been doing since the aliens?" she finally asks.
"Running missions. Doing my laundry. Having a life."
"Oh, Steve, that's not a life. The rest of us got to have a life. The boys got to come home from the war. We all got to have families. You just got more war."
"I don't think I would have had a family." Steve looks down to where his hand holds Audrey's.
"Bucky was your family. And you haven't really had a chance to mourn him properly yet, have you?"
Steve clenches his jaw and swallows. He can't speak, so he just shakes his head.
"That's wrong." Audrey's voice is firm. "Christopher's been gone two years now, and for the first six months I couldn't do anything but mourn him. I still miss him every single day."
"I miss Bucky," Steve manages to say.
"Of course you do." There's a pause before Audrey speaks again. "Do you know what we're going to do? We're going to have a wake. Right now. You're going to get drunk and tell me everything you can about your fella."
"I can't get drunk, Audrey. You said it yourself."
"I know you couldn't. But do you know what I think? What I think is that you didn't apply yourself." She leans forward and pokes him in the chest, and it actually hurts.
Steve has a flashback to his days in the USO show, to Audrey getting stubborn and insisting that they all had to go to a bar or go out dancing or some other damn scheme she'd come up with. Bucky had always said he was the most stubborn person he'd ever met. He may have changed his mind if he'd spent any time with Audrey.
"How am I supposed to apply myself to getting drunk?"
Audrey practically cackles as she gets up and stiffly walks over to the cabinet beside the fireplace. She throws open its doors and reveals the biggest collection of booze Steve's seen outside of a bar.
"We bought it all for Christopher's wake, two years ago," Audrey explains before he can ask why the hell she has so much alcohol in her place. "But it turns out a lot of our friends were dead. And the ones who came didn't drink so much. We're all too damn old."
"Do you want me to drink all of that?" Even with the serum, he thinks that much booze might kill him.
"Here's my suggestion. I'll pour myself a drink. I've always been partial to bourbon. And for every sip I take, you drink a whole bottle. I bet that'll make a dent in your super soldier metabolism."
This is stupid. This is Bucky Barnes magnitudes of stupid. He totally shouldn't consider doing this, not least because he doesn't want to contribute to the delinquency of a nice old lady.
But, fuck it. Audrey isn't a nice old lady. She's his friend. And maybe she's right that this is exactly what he needs.
"Okay. I'm in."
He doesn't feel the first two bottles at all. (Vodka and a single malt scotch that deserves better treatment.) But he does talk about Bucky. He tells Audrey how they'd met, when two bigger kids were kicking the crap out him and Bucky had stopped them. He tells her how Bucky had sneaked into his room through the window when he'd gotten quarantined with scarlet fever. He tells her about their first kiss when he was thirteen, how they'd hid in his bedroom closet when his mom came home unexpectedly from a shift at the hospital, both of them scared and shaking but wanting more.
With the third bottle (rye whisky) he feels the beginnings of a faint burn in his veins, and he tells Audrey how Bucky had been there when his mom had died. How Bucky had talked him into sharing an apartment. How they'd scraped together enough money to get a rundown place with a shared bathroom.
The fourth and fifth bottle (saki and maotai and why did Audrey even buy this shit?) put him over the top. He actually feels dizzy. He wish he'd known back in London that all it took to get him drunk was a really ridiculous amount of alcohol consumed in a really ridiculously short period of time.
He tells Audrey about having Bucky go to war ahead of him, and how worried he'd been. He tells her about the serum and how painful the process had been, but how he'd thought it was worth it if it would get him into battle with Bucky. He tells her how he'd been terrified he'd be too late when he stormed off to rescue Bucky. How relieved he'd been when he found him alive. How invincible he'd felt fighting with Bucky at his side.
The sixth bottle (gin, because he's always hated gin and saved it until he was hopefully too drunk to taste it) lets him tell Audrey about the things he hasn't wanted to face. The fight on the train. Bucky picking up the shield. Bucky getting blown out of the train car. Bucky falling. And all of it his fault. All his fault.
He curls in on himself and feels his breath begin to hitch in his chest. His shoulders shake and his stomach hurts and he finally realizes he's sobbing.
Steve has held himself together through sheer will since Bucky fell. First, he couldn't fall apart because there was a war on and he had to take down Schmidt. Then he couldn't because he was in the future and there was so much to learn that he didn't have time to break down. Then there were aliens. Then there were other ops. And then, and then, and then, never time to feel what he was feeling. Now, he has time. Audrey has given him that.
He sobs harder, unable to stop now that he's started. Audrey eases onto the couch beside him and rubs his back in slow, gentle circles. He concentrates on her touch. His mother would do this for him, rub his back when the asthma hit and he was so panicked that he couldn't breathe. Bucky would as well, a couple of times in their apartment when he was so sick and Bucky was so worried.
He cries for his mother. He cries for Bucky. He cries for the boy Bucky was, for the man he could have been. He cries for himself, waking up in this strange new world when the person he loved most is dead.
He cries until his eyes are swollen nearly shut, until his face is sticky with tears. He cries until he has no more tears to shed and his body finally stills. And then Audrey stands and straightens him out on the couch. He distantly feels as she drapes a knit throw over him.
"Sleep, Steve," she says, then brushes the hair off his forehead.
And miraculously, he does.
He wakes in the middle of the night, head pounding and with a strong need to piss. He stumbles to the bathroom, taking in his bloodshot eyes and ravaged face in the mirror. With a grimace, he relieves himself, then washes his face, and drinks about a gallon of water straight from the tap before collapsing back on the couch.
When he wakes in the morning he feels…better. Not just physically better—the serum has taken care of the effects of the alcohol poisoning he inflicted on his body last night—but mentally.
He still misses Bucky horrifically. But now that he's acknowledged that loss, he doesn't have to spend so much energy denying his grief, keeping it under control, making sure he doesn't inconvenience others with his emotions.
Maybe, just maybe, he can make himself a life now.
Audrey comes down an hour after he wakes. He's rummaged through the kitchen and made coffee, and she heads straight for the pot and pours herself a cup. She sits at the small table in the kitchen across from him, drinks the entire cup, and only then does she give him a wary "Good morning."
"'I thought you only had six sips of bourbon," he says with a smirk.
"I may have had a bit more than that. Why do you look so chipper?" She looks betrayed.
"Super soldier, remember. Apparently I can get drunk when little old ladies ply me with enough alcohol, but the serum deals with the hangover."
"I hate you." She pours herself another cup of coffee. She drinks it more slowly while Steve starts cooking bacon and eggs he finds in the fridge.
Liz comes down as he's finishing the eggs.
"Is Captain America cooking us breakfast?" she asks.
"My friend, Steve, is cooking us breakfast," Audrey tells her. "How many times do I have to tell you that?"
"Tell your friend, Steve, that I'll marry him in a heartbeat."
"He's young enough to be your son, Liz."
"He's older than you, Mom."
"Breakfast is served, ladies." Steve puts plates in front of both of them, not wanting to point out that they're both right. Sort of.
Liz eats quickly, then heads over to the sink with her plates.
"I've got to get to school."
"School?" Steve asks.
"I teach high school. Could've retired a few years ago, but what can I say? I enjoy teaching the little shits."
"What subject?"
"Science. Physics, mostly."
"Bucky would have loved talking to you."
"Bucky? Bucky Barnes?" Liz looks bowled over.
"Yeah. He'd drag me to science fairs for fun."
"Christ, I can't believe Captain America is in my kitchen telling me Bucky Barnes was a science nerd."
"My friend, Steve, is in my kitchen, telling you his fella was a science nerd."
Steve freezes. Liz freezes. And Audrey laughs at the pair of them.
"You just outed Captain America," Liz says with a gasp.
"I didn't out him. You already knew he had a fella."
"He didn't know I knew!"
"Do you mind, Steve?" Audrey asks, all innocent.
"Um, no."
"See? Steve doesn't mind."
Steve finally forces himself to move. He takes Liz's plate from her hand and shoos her out of the kitchen. "You get going to school. I'll clean up in here."
"Thanks," Liz says. "And thanks for coming to visit Mom. She talks about you all the time." And then she's gone.
"You talk about me all the time?" Steve raises an eyebrow at Audrey.
"You're the most famous person I've known. I get a lot of mileage out of you." Audrey doesn't look the least bit sorry. Steve laughs.
"I suppose I can't blame you."
He does the dishes and wipes the counter and sits down at the table with Audrey, feeling more at home than he's done anywhere since he woke up in the future.
They talk about not much of anything, until Steve finally brings up what brought him to Audrey's door.
"I know Liz isn't the only one you've outed me to."
"You talked to Ryan?"
"I talked to Ryan."
"I hope you don't mind. I didn't think I had to keep your secret anymore. "
"Clearly," Steve says with a laugh.
"And he needed to hear it. A lot of kids did, over the years."
"I would have given a lot for someone to tell me it was okay to love who I loved when I was a kid."
"Why don't you?"
"Why don't I what?"
"Why don't you tell more kids it's okay?"
"I don't even know how I could do that." Old instincts are telling him this is not okay. That he needs to keep his head down. That it's dangerous. But still-older instincts are telling him that he's never backed down from a fight in his life.
"If the newsreels are to be believed, you took out whole Nazi bases practically by yourself. I'm sure you can figure out how to help a few kids."
"Um."
"Jeesh," Audrey says. "Find a community center. Find an LGBT group. Find a kid who needs mentoring. Find a bunch of kids who need to hear what you can tell them. Heck, places like that always need money. Hold a Captain America fundraiser for LGBT causes."
"I thought I was your friend, Steve, not Captain America."
"Captain America would raise more money."
'I don't know…" Steve knows he's blushing, but he can't stop.
"If you're not ready to come out, start with one kid. You could make a real difference in one kid's life."
"I'll think about it."
"Good." Audrey grins at him.
"What?"
"I know you. That means you'll do it."
He waits a second, and then grins back at her.
He is going to do this. He's going to find a way to make a difference in one kid's life. In a lot of kids' lives. It's a fight that won't need weapons and won't need the shield. It just needs Steve Rogers to use the courage everyone thinks belongs to Captain America.
Two days later, at SHIELD headquarters, Steve tells everyone that Bucky was his boyfriend and that he'll be volunteering at the Brooklyn Community Pride Center once a week if anyone wants to join him.
Nick Fury mutters under his breath about dumb ass old guys finally getting their shit together. Natasha makes a satisfied fist pump. Clint passes Bruce a twenty. And Steve has timed his announcement so that coffee actually does come out of Tony's nose. (Once he stops spluttering, Tony also writes a big check for the Pride Center. Howard's kid is a good guy.)
Just like that he's out to his colleagues (or are they friends?), and it's okay. It's really okay.
It's not perfect, though. He misses Bucky so Goddamn much that it's like a permanent ache in his heart. He wishes so fucking hard that Bucky had made it to the future, had made it to a time when he didn't have to hide who he was. But Bucky didn't and Steve did, so Steve is going to work hard at living well enough for both of them.
|
"I remember Mickey being around a lot when I was little." Liam said quietly as he sat on Ian and Mickey's back porch with Ian as Mickey, Harlow, Max, Jake, and Hyde ran around the backyard. "He was always nice to me when I was a kid; didn't treat me different just 'cause I didn't talk." Ian was curious about what brought this subject up, but Ian loved the idea of Mickey being a good companion to Liam when everyone else was convinced he was incapable of thought.
"You never told me you remembered him; you were so young I just thought you forgot him bein' around." Ian said, setting Cian down so he could crawl around on the porch.
"I did for a while." Liam admitted. "I remembered someone talking to you all the time, kissing your cheeks, and telling you to take medicine. I could remember the voice, but the face was... Kinda fuzzy for a long time." Liam had a far-off look in his wide brown eyes as he watched Mickey run around with Harlow over his head making "airplane" noises. "I can remember him telling me not to listen to what people said; that there was nothing wrong with me."
Ian had smile at that. Of course Mickey would say that; he may look like an asshole to the outside world, but he had the biggest heart out of anyone Ian had ever met. "He's right, you know? There's nothing wrong with you, Liam." Ian said, turning to face his younger brother.
"I don't like loud noises." Liam mumbled, clearly embarrassed.
"Neither does Mickey." Ian countered. It was true; Mickey got really twitchy anytime thunder would rumble outside.
"It takes me a long time to figure stuff out at school." Liam said, sadly.
"And there's nothing wrong with that. No one's perfect, man; we all have our flaws." Ian knew Liam had his problems in school, but he also knew Liam was in no way stupid. "If you ever have problems with school, come to me, Lip, Mandy or Mickey; I tested out of all of my English classes Sophomore year, Lip's a science wiz, Mandy can tell you anything you need to know about History, and Mickey's scary good with numbers."
"Can I ask you something?" Liam asked, finally looking away from Mickey and the kids.
"Sure." Ian agreed, wondering what Liam was curious about.
"Is it hard to tell when you're in love? Lip had a hard time figuring it out, but as long as I can remember you've been in love with Mickey." Liam explained, clearly wondering how his brothers could be so different in that aspect.
"Honestly? No, it wasn't for me; Mickey had my back any time I needed him to, and I realized pretty early on I loved him. Not just 'cause he had my back, but because he was just... Mickey." Ian hoped his explanation would clear things up just a little bit for Liam. "I loved him 'cause he showed me his softer side, and I knew that he never even let Mandy see that side of him. Because he was willin' to take care of me, and because he was there anytime I needed him to be."
"Papa, can I have a snack?" Max asked as he ran onto the porch, careful not to disrupt Cian as he played with two brightly colored trucks and his Mickey Mouse that never seemed to leave his side.
"Yeah, Chipmunk. Let's go get you some carrots." Ian said as he stood up, ruffling Liam's hair as he entered the house with Max at his side.
"Liam remembers you." Ian said quietly as he and Mickey laid in their bed later that night, listening to the soft sounds of Max's snores and Cian's soft breaths coming through the baby monitor.
"Fuckin' hope so; kid sees me almost every god damn day." Mickey mumbled, clearly trying to fall asleep, even though Ian was trying to talk to him.
"Smartass. I meant when he was younger... When I first got diagnosed." Ian may be more open about his disorder now, but that didn't mean he had to like being reminded that he'd treated Mickey so poorly in the early days.
"Didn't think he'd remember that shit; kid was pretty young." Mickey yawned, throwing his bare leg over Ian's hips in an effort to get more comfortable.
"He didn't say anything about it until today. He told me you used to talk to him, and... Thank you. For bein' there for my brother." Ian whispered, kissing Mickey's hair when the brunette's breathing started to even out. Ian had seen for years how hard Mickey had worked to turn his life around and be a better man for Max-and now their other two children-but he'd never thought about how much he'd changed to help him during his time of need.
Mickey was usually the more talkative between himself and Ian-despite Ian being more open and friendly-but in the week after Ian's talk with Liam, Mickey was quiet, and it reminded Ian far too much of the episode of depression Mickey went through shortly after they got back together. "You okay, baby?" Ian asked softly, watching Mickey as he gave Cian a bath.
"'M fine." Mickey replied, looking down at the brunette baby, giggling and splashing his chubby hands in his bath water.
"Mick, baby, talk to me." Ian gently ordered, allowing Cian to take a hold of the index finger on his left hand.
"Jus'... Forgot how long it'd been since I acted like the real me." Mickey admitted, lifting a squealing Cian out of his tub.
"Mick, honey, I hate to tell you this, but that asshole you acted like when you were a kid? That's not who you are. This is; the guy who takes care of everyone and loves his kids? That's the real Mickey." Ian said as softly as he could, taking Cian and dressing him in a diaper, a white, long sleeve onesie, and a pair of black sweatpants. "All ready, little guy." Ian cooed to his son, kissing Cian's chubby, dimpled cheeks. "You gonna talk to your therapist about all this shit?"
"Should I?" Mickey asked, watching Cian roll around on their bed with his favorite toy.
"Yeah, or you're never gonna learn how to cope with all this "I'm not the real me" shit." Ian commented, giving Cian a pacifier.
"I got an appointment next week." Mickey said, seemingly okay with the idea of talking his issues out with a trained professional before things got out of hand.
|
Felicity’s morning started shortly after 7am with a text from Oliver, letting her know he was on his way over. Part of her wanted to groan at that, but the bigger part of her could understand Oliver’s intentions. The sooner he got his stuff out of the mansion, the sooner he was done with the whole ordeal and didn’t have to risk running into his father again. Especially not after the fallout during dinner the night before.
Deciding to push the planned conversation with her foster father a little behind, given the circumstances, Felicity got out of bed and got dressed. As usual, Raisa was already up, roaming around in the kitchen.“Raisa, do you ever sleep?” Felicity asked with a small smile when she walked into the kitchen, thankful to see her personal mug already waiting for her on the kitchen bar. The housemaid didn’t reply but only smiled warmly.While sipping her coffee Felicity couldn’t help but think about the last night and how things got out of hand so quickly.“Raisa, can I ask you something?” she asked the maid, who never stopped working but smiled and nodded.
“Anything, Miss Felicity.”
“Do you think I’m breaking this family apart? I’m sure you heard the fight during dinner last night. Even a deaf person would’ve been able to hear that.” she sighed. “It made me wonder, once again, if I’m breaking this family apart because this isn’t something I ever wanted to do. The Queens have done nothing but help me in the past 3 years and now it feels like I’m causing a rift between them.” The thought had kept her awake almost all night and ever since the fight between Oliver and his father, things seemed to be getting only worse instead of better. And no matter how she tried and turn it, in her head it always led to her being the cause for all that.
That made Raisa stop working and look up at the young woman sitting opposite of her. Felicity didn’t look at her, she kept her eyes focused on the steaming coffee in front of her, seemingly lost in thoughts. Raisa didn’t say anything for a long time and when Felicity guessed she wouldn’t get an answer from the maid at all, not that she ever expected one in the first place since Raisa rarely spoke her mind, the maid surprised her when she actually replied.“My dear, don’t you ever think that! It isn’t my place to speak about Queen family business, so forgive me if I overstep boundaries right now. But I don’t think you are breaking this family apart. If anything, you are the glue this family has needed for many years.” Raisa smiled and patted Felicity’s hand once.
Felicity clearly couldn’t follow the maids train of thought and could only furrow her brow at her words.
“Long before the Queens welcomed you to their family, everyone only minded their own business. Miss Thea often stayed out all day while Mister Oliver was rarely at home at all. Family dinners, like the ones you are having now, were only served every few weeks at best. It saddened me to see a family living together but being so far apart nonetheless. But it’s not my place to say anything, of course. And then you came to this family and things changed. I actually get to prepare a family dinner at least once a week now, sometimes even more. Miss Thea is at home now most evenings of the week, looking more relaxed than I’ve ever seen her before. And Mister Oliver? He is a completely changed man. He’s smiling more, looks happy, and doesn’t seem to prefer staying away from home any longer, as much as he did before you arrived here. So you see, you’re not breaking apart this family. You actually put them back together.” Raisa smiled with a confident nod, not doubting her own words one bit, and went back to work on the bread dough in front of her as if everything important for her had been said and things don’t need to be discussed further.
Hearing Raisa speak so openly really stunned Felicity. Of course the maid knew of almost everything going on in this house and probably even more than that, but never in the 3 years that Felicity lived under the Queen roof had she heard the maid speak so much, especially not about her employer, people that Felicity knew she called ‘friends’ more than that.It took her a moment to process everything Raisa just told her, but as soon as the words sank in, another wave of doubt clouded her mind.“But how can you think I’m putting this family back together when I am actually the reason Oliver is moving out and won’t speak to his father?” Of course Raisa already knew about Oliver’s move-out. If she hadn’t heard it last night at the table, then she’d definitely seen him carry the first few of his boxes out of the mansion last night.
“You see, that’s where you are wrong.” Raisa smiled. “Mr Queen and Mister Oliver are two very stubborn men. And until lately, Mister Oliver always obeyed his father’s wishes. To be honest, it always saddened me a bit to see the boy’s future so predefined, but this really isn’t my business. But then you came into his life, and since that day I’m seeing a different Oliver. A more poised, more confident one, and I think because of you he started to decide for himself. That’s not a bad thing, even if it seems that way to you right now.”
“How can you be so sure of that? All I’m seeing right now is one of the Queen siblings moving out and quitting his job at the family company, apparently threatening the entire business because of it. That doesn’t look very good at all, from my point of view.” Felicity sighed.
“Give it time and you will see.” was the rather cryptic answer that Felicity got before Raisa ended the conversation in her own way by resuming to work the bread dough. When she was about to head back upstairs, the distinctive sound of footsteps in the hallway made her look up. Seeing Oliver entering the kitchen, a small smile lighting up his face the moment he spotted her sitting at the kitchen counter, made her smile as well. Having to spend the night alone sucked big time and she couldn’t wait to hear what Oliver’s plans were and how his conversation with Tommy went.
After a hug for Raisa and arming himself with a large cup of coffee they both headed upstairs to work through Oliver’s last clothes and boxes. Since his Porsche could barely transport 2 people and a bag, they decided to take Felicity’s car, giving them time to talk about his plans in private.“It’ll be so weird without you in the house.” Felicity sighed and loaded one of his boxes into the back seat of her BMW. She didn’t want him gone, but knowing he was living down the road, even if just temporarily, really helped her.“So what are you going to do?” she asked him as soon as she steered the car off the property and on to the Merlyn manor. The way things were between them wasn’t ideal at all, given the fact that Oliver wouldn’t be sleeping at the mansion and she couldn’t sneak out to Tommy’s place every night when she had school. Moira definitely wouldn’t approve and she really didn’t want to upset the Queen head more than she already had. So a suitable solution was something Felicity would’ve greatly appreciated.
“Well, for starters, we are going to see my temporary place now. Tommy offered me to stay in one of the Merlyn lofts for overseas clients down in the city. Since they closed the branch office in Japan two years ago the lofts are hardly ever used, anyway. He said I could stay there for as long as I want and take my time looking for a place. It’s also very close to Starling High, and has an underground garage for multiple cars. So you could stay there with me a few nights a week and won’t have to worry about getting to school.” he smiled broadly, looking far more relaxed than the night before. The whole mess didn’t actually seem to faze him one bit, something that still surprised Felicity very much. How could she feel more affected by all this than him who was even more involved than she was?
“Do you think Moira will agree to letting me stay overnight during school week?” Felicity asked, her eyes never leaving the road while Oliver explained her where to drive.
“You’re 18 years old, sweety. It’s not that she can lock you up in the mansion any longer.” Oliver half laughed, half groaned.
“Yeah but I really don’t want to cause any more anger within this family. So laying low for a while definitely isn’t the worst idea I’d say. And I won’t do this by asking her if she agrees to let me sleep at your place, in the city, while school days.”
Oliver could understand why she was hesitant to take that step, but the bigger part of him just wanted to grab her, pack her stuff as well, and just take her with him. But of course she wouldn’t agree to that, at least not until he had his own place and settled things with his parents first. Or with his mother, at the least.“Let’s check out the apartment first, and see how far from school it actually is. Maybe Mom won’t be so averse once she hears you’re almost in walking distance to the school and the company.”
Of course the entire building was nothing but luxury and of course it wasn’t that Felicity expected anything less from the Merlyn’s. Tommy’s father had always been one for opulence and overstatement. But Oliver was right, the loft was indeed in just a very short walking distance to Starling High, as well as the yoga studio and any other facility she normally frequented. The fact that Oliver would have an apartment all to himself, with no one to walk into them or to interrupt them, also helped.
It took them 2 tours to get everything he’d need upstairs to the 23rd floor before Oliver took her out to lunch.“So how long do you plan to stay at the loft?” Felicity asked him when she stirred her coffee. Ever since the big fight during dinner they didn’t really have the time to talk, much less discuss Oliver’s plans for the future, so she was happy that they had a few moments of silence, only the two of them.
“At least until I’ve found a place to rent. Tommy offered to get me in touch with one of his realtor friends. I’ll talk to him later and see what he says. I don’t want to move too far from the city, to be honest, but renting a place downtown depends a lot on the area.”
“You still haven’t really told me what you’re going to do now,” she replied, thoughts about monthly rents in the average thousands and how he’d afford that if he didn’t want to rely on his parents flying through her head. “I mean, I know you said you have a new job already, but what is it that you do?”
Oliver couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at his lips at her words. She looked genuinely concerned about him and his future, something that really warmed his heart. It was just another reminder of why he loved her so much.“Two years ago Tommy and I started investing in the stock market. What started out as a silly idea quickly turned out into a quite lucrative side job. At least for me. So I started acquainting myself with the business a little more. Turns out I have a knack for anything stock market - based, leaving me with a nice chunk of money every month. So I kept it up during my time in college and even after that.” he shrugged like it was no big deal, but Felicity looked at him so utterly surprised that he couldn’t help but blush a tiny little bit. There weren’t many things she didn’t know about him by now, but this definitely was something he hadn’t told her about before. “Turns out it was a pretty good idea of mine because on my way over to the mansion I got a call from my buddy Lou, who works for the Starling National Bank, telling me that my father froze all my accounts this morning.”
“He did what?” Felicity called a little too loud, pure shock covering her face. When a few heads around them turned and looked their way, she ducked her head and lowered her voice again.
“It’s not a real surprise to me, Felicity.” Oliver shrugged, looking completely unfazed by the news his banker had dropped on him just a few hours ago. “Like I said, I don’t rely on their money.”
“But are you successful enough to finance your own life with it? And is it a stable income?”
“It is,” he nodded with a small smile. “In fact, it’s been a quite stable income for me for a long while now. Stable enough that I didn’t have to depend on my family’s money at all in the last two years.”
That earned an outright shocked look from his girlfriend. She clearly didn’t expect to hear that, and the fact that he was able to tell her about an achievement of his, one that seemed to stun her so much, at that, made him proud. There weren’t many things he’d classify as ‘personal achievements’ in his life so far, so this one definitely was something he was proud of.
“So you’re saying you have been living completely off your own money in the last two years? With any purchases you’ve made, anything?”
The proud nod and Oliver’s smile made her sit up a little straighter.
She didn’t look utterly convinced, though.“What about your car? Or all the gifts you got for me?”
“Well, the first Porsche was out of my parents’ money, but when I traded it for the new model, I completely paid that one myself. Same goes for your gifts.” he grinned. She looked so completely stunned by everything he’d just told her that casually explaining her that he’d purchased a 100.000$ car on his own didn’t really help, apparently.
And then a thought crossed her mind.“What about Castiel?”
“Even Castiel.” Oliver replied and took one of her hands in his. “He’s a very personal gift from me to you. Paying him with my parents’ money would’ve been just wrong. I wanted to give you something from me, something that I worked and paid for myself.”
The sincerity in his eyes made Felicity tear up. She’d loved the gift ever since the day she’d received it from him, but she never spent a thought about how he must’ve purchased Castiel, or even with whose money. All she cared about was the fact that Oliver had gotten her the most thoughtful and wonderful gift she’d ever gotten. Knowing now that he even spent his very own hard earned money on the horse instead of just swiping his parents’ credit card through, made her love him even more for it.The look of awe on her face made him smile. He loved surprising her, even if it was just with a few information about him. And then he could see something else form on her face entirely - pride.“God, I love you.” she whispered completely at awe, making him smile even more and lean over the table to steal a kiss from her lips.
It was a text message from Thea, telling Felicity that she was bored as hell and waiting for her to come back to the mansion so they could take the horses out, that pulled them out of their bubble and reluctantly made them leave. Just when Oliver was about to turn and open the door for Felicity, he almost crashed into a very familiar face.
“Ollie.” Laurel smiled after stepping back to catch herself, completely ignoring Felicity standing right next to him. “I haven’t seen you in a while.”
“Yeah, I’ve been pretty busy.” he replied curtly, clearly not in the mood for a conversation in the middle of the coffee shop, with his girlfriend by his side, the woman Laurel still so consequently ignored.
When she cast an annoyed glance away from Oliver and over to the person standing to his right, she gave Felicity a way-too-fake looking smile and held out her manicured hand.“I don’t think we’ve ever been introduced before. I’m Laurel Lance. You’re Felicity, right? Oliver’s adopted sister?”
Oliver flinched when he heard Laurel’s arrogance-laden words and was about to say something when he saw the almost devilish smile on Felicity’s face.“Girlfriend, actually.” she replied and shook Laurel’s hand, pressing the brunette’s fingers with a little more force than actually needed, just to mark her territory properly. This definitely wasn’t just a male thing. When she let go of her hand, she hooked her arm through Oliver’s and leaned on to his shoulder with a broad smile on her lips.
Laurel quickly retreated her hand and looked from Felicity up to Oliver, confusion and shock written all over her face.“I didn’t know you had a girlfriend.” she told him with an almost accusing tone in her voice, clearly disgusted by what she just heard. Oliver just had no idea if it was the fact that he was dating Felicity, the former Queen-foster-kid, or if it was him dating someone in general, someone that wasn’t her.
“Guess that’s what happens when you don’t cross paths that often any longer.” Oliver half shrugged and interlaced fingers with Felicity, sending her a bright smile over his shoulder. “If you’ll excuse us now, Felicity and I have somewhere to be.” he grinned, making Felicity snicker.
With a slight eye roll, Laurel nodded and stepped away from the door.“Alright, have fun then. See ya, Ollie.” she replied and walked around them and up to the counter.
“I’m sorry she was so mean,” Oliver said as soon as they were out of the coffee shop and walking back to the parking garage. He was ready to give Laurel a piece of his mind when she disrespected Felicity like that, but once again his girlfriend surprised him by seeming completely unfazed of Laurel’s words and behavior.
“Oh it’s okay,” Felicity shrugged and followed him into the building and down to the parking garage. “I just realized I’ve never known her true character until now.”
Back at the mansion, Thea was already waiting for Felicity in the foyer, dressed in her riding gear, ready to leave right away.“Give me 10 minutes to change and we can head off.” Felicity laughed at her best friends’ eagerness and headed back upstairs. After a quick stop in the kitchen where Raisa had prepared them a ton of food for their trip, Felicity met Thea at the stables, the horses already saddled and ready to go.
“It’s been way too long since we’ve last done this.” Felicity sighed with content, enjoying the silence and fresh air of the woods surrounding them while the horses carried them along the trail. And it had indeed been weeks since the girls last had the chance to spend some quality time together with the horses, just like they did almost every day when Felicity first arrived at the Queen mansion 3 years ago.
“So how is Ollie doing? I heard mom and dad talk this morning when you were gone. Mom tried to argue about Ollie’s accounts or something?”
“Yeah, Robert froze Oliver’s accounts this morning.” she replied with a small sigh, not sure if Oliver would want anyone to know, but since Thea had already heard her parents talk about it, Felicity didn’t see any reason not to tell her.
At her words, Thea looked back at her in surprise.“He did what??”
“Yeah, that were my words, exactly. But Oliver already got it covered, so all good there.”
“Covered how?” Thea replied, clearly intrigued by Felicity rather vague answer.“You better ask him that herself, Thea. I don’t want to tell anything that’s his to tell.” Felicity honestly replied with a small shrug, hoping her friend would drop the topic and move on. She really didn’t want to reveal Oliver’s plans to anyone without having talked to him about it first. The fact that he’d told her about it this morning didn’t exactly mean that everything was set to stone yet and ready to speak about, so she’d rather kept her mouth shut.“So what with you sneaking out on me and visiting Tommy?” she grinned and waggled her eyebrows at Thea. That seemed like the perfect topic to steer her friend away from anything Oliver-related for a moment. Besides she was genuinely interested in the things going on between her best friend and her boyfriend’s best friend.
At the change of topic, and especially the mention of Tommy’s name, Thea blushed profusely, something Felicity had never seen her do before.“He asked me out.”
“You mean like a date?” Felicity replied, surprise and excitement for her friend coloring her voice.
“I think so,” Thea shrugged slightly and slowed her horse down so she could ride next to Felicity. “At least it sounded like that when he asked me to have dinner with him, only with him. Not that I mind having you and Ollie with us, but with my brother being there it always kind of dampens the mood. Tommy’s way too nervous that Ollie could suspect anything.”
“Oh my god that’s so awesome! When is the date? What are you going to wear? Where is he taking you?”The questions almost bubbled out of her, making Thea laugh out loud. Ever since Tommy had asked her out, officially, in Paris, Thea had been a nervous wreck herself about where he’d might take her and what she should wear. But knowing her friend was just as excited helped her a bit. So she wasn’t just overreacting.
“Breathe for a moment, Fee.” she laughed. “He hasn’t told me anything yet. But if you want to help me, we can go dress shopping tomorrow anyway. I decided to buy a few different dresses for multiple occasions, just to be sure.”
“Oh my god I’m so down for that!” Felicity squealed excitedly. “I’m so happy for you, Thea. I know how much you like him.”
The girls spent the rest of their day in the saddle, with Felicity pressing Thea for details about the afternoon she spent with Tommy alone at the Merlyn manor and more chit chat about the upcoming date. Halfway on their tour they did a stop and enjoyed the treats Raisa had packed them, when the topic changed to school and the college applications both girls had filled out just a few weeks before.
“Have you decided where to go yet?” Thea asked over a mouthful of steamed chicken, while feeding the broccoli on her plate to her horse.
“I really want to go to Central State, but I haven’t heard from them yet.” Felicity shrugged.
“With your grades they would be blind and stupid if they didn’t accept you. Have you decided on any majors yet?”
“Well if I get accepted at Central State I’ll probably go for Animal Science.”
“So this whole ‘I want to become a vet someday’ talk when we were 14 wasn’t just talk?” Thea replied, a small smile tugging at her lips at the memory of the first day Thea had taken Felicity to the stables and showed them the horses the Queens owned. Felicity had been completely drawn in by the fact that Thea owned a few horses, even though they technically were her parents’. From that day, regular visits at the stable had been mandatory every time Felicity was over at the mansion.
“No, not at all.” Felicity smiled and looked over to her friend. “What about you?”
“I’ll just wait for the replies from the colleges, then I’ll decide.” Thea shrugged. The fact that the girls probably wouldn’t be able to study at the same college hung between them for a while now, since it would be the first time they’d be separated ever since Felicity arrived back in Starling City.
“But you’ll still go for fashion design, right? If anyone, it’s you who’s made for that.” Felicity smiled and nudged her friend’s hip with hers. “After all it’s you I have to thank for everything in my closet. And on my feet. And on my head.”
At Thea’s confused look, Felicity snickered slightly. “Well if it hadn’t been for your... persistence, back when Clarissa pulled that number on me with the whole Cheerleading fiasco, I’d probably still be a brunette with way too untamed hair.” she laughed, making Thea giggle as well.
“God, Clarissa was such a bitch.” she replied. “Did you hear that she’s pregnant?”
“Shut up!” Felicity shouted with a laugh and whirled around on the small bench to face her friend.“Yeah, and if rumors are true, 3 guys from the Central City high school football team are up to discussion of being the father.” Thea snickered, not feeling a least bit sorry for Clarissa. That woman had always been a bitch, but the way she treated Felicity over a year ago made her lose all last flicker of respect Thea had for that woman.
The girls arrived back at the mansion early in the evening, but since Moira and Robert were still in the office anyway, they didn’t bother to make it back to dinner on time. Since Oliver already texted earlier that he’d be looking at possible new places with his realtor and that it’d probably take all afternoon, Felicity and Thea settled for some popcorn and a chick flick in the movie room as their evening entertainment.
The following days some routine started to form for Felicity. Every morning it was Oliver’s voice that woke her up through the phone to start her school day, followed by a still somewhat tense breakfast with her foster parents. Robert still didn’t seem to accept that Oliver and Felicity’s relationship and obviously couldn’t even look at his foster daughter, something that still kind of hurt Felicity. Moira, however, at least tried to mend fences with her foster daughter, asking her about her college applications and school exams. It was the only form of conversation Felicity got with her foster parents ever since the fight almost a week ago, and sometimes she wondered if she was the one who should make the first move towards them to clear the air, but in the end she never did. It wasn’t her who started this fight and she’d been dragged into it unwillingly, too, so she didn’t really see the point of bringing this conversation up. So she accepted the situation for what it was at that moment and dealt with the small snippets of shallow conversation over breakfast and dinner.
Thea, bless her heart, was a lot more vocal about things however. What started out as a strong disagreement with her father over kicking Oliver out and cutting him off quickly changed into a shouting match between father and daughter, ending with tears and an escape from the dinner table on Thea’s side and a strong comment from Moira to her husband in a voice that Felicity had never heard her foster mother use before. It shut Robert up immediately. Felicity excused herself from the table shortly after, telling Moira she’d look after Thea, earning a small but thankful smile and a nod from the Queen head.
Oliver never made an appearance for the family dinners. And while Felicity first tried to talk him into at least giving it a try, she was glad Oliver had vetoed the idea, if the fight between Thea and her father had been any indication of how tense things still were. Oliver being there would’ve done no one any good.
Whenever Thea and Felicity had different classes and couldn’t ride back home together, Felicity took the time to pay Oliver a visit. Tommy had made sure to leave two key cards to the apartment, giving her the chance to surprise Oliver every now and then with lunch.She usually found him sitting hunched over a large amount of papers, sometimes about apartments that his realtor had found, but most of the time it looked like stock market stuff, something Felicity had no idea about and wasn’t too interested to get acquainted with. But no matter what, she realized she had never seen him so relaxed, especially not at work, even though she couldn’t still wrap her head around the fact that Oliver was now able to work from home most of the time and didn’t have to be at the office at 8 in the morning any longer. Either way, she enjoyed seeing him so relaxed, so at ease no matter how stressful his work looked. It seemed like a ton of weight had been lifted off his shoulders the day he quit his job at QC, and seeing him like that helped Felicity believe it was the right decision, too.
He sometimes visited her at the mansion, too, but always made sure to avoid running into his parents at all cost. Moira knew Felicity was spending her afternoons with Oliver and even asked her how he was doing one day, looking a little sad that Oliver was avoiding her so much, even ignoring her calls. Felicity took the small conversation to go ahead and ask how her foster mother felt about her spending one or two nights a week at Oliver’s place. She was sure Moira would disagree, or at least tell her she felt bad about this since Felicity still had school to attend, but much to her surprise her foster mother was okay with it. It felt like a little step back to how things had been between them before the fight, something that Felicity was very grateful for. It also meant she could finally spend the night in Oliver’s arms again, at least two or three times a week. Having to leave every night to avoid just more stress in the mansion felt bad for her, but seemed like the most responsible thing for her to do.
Two days later Felicity found herself completely alone at the mansion except for Raisa rummaging around in the kitchen. Oliver had told her he’d be looking at a few more places and had some work stuff to handle so he’d be out until at least the evening and Thea had some school trip that she couldn’t skip, leaving Felicity all by herself. She contemplated on going to the yoga studio, just to kill the time until she could meet with Oliver for dinner, but decided that some studying would be the wiser idea. A firm ass would get her nowhere in college.A soft knock at her door pulled her out of her concentration. A quick check on her phone revealed no new message from Oliver, nor was it the right time for him to come and pick her up. And it wasn’t exactly that she expected some visitors, if her very casual tank top and shorts were any indication.“Yeah?” she cautiously asked and waited for the door to open.
When Tommy’s head peeked through the door, an impish grin on his lips, she gave him a small smile.“Oh hey, Tommy. Thea isn’t here, she’s still at school working on her culminating project, but she should be home in an hour or two.”
“Actually,” he began and opened the door a little wider, taking one hesitant step inside her room. “I was looking for you.”
“For me?”
“Yeah. Do you have a minute?”
She studied him for a moment, realizing for the first time how tense he was, entirely different to the loose expression he normally wore all the time. A quick look down at her books told her that she wasn’t in the mood to study any more anyway, so she closed them and looked up at him again.“Sure, how can I help you?”
Tommy turned and closed the door behind him, then walked over to the adjoining door to Thea’s room and closed that one as well after risking a quick look around. His whole off behavior made Felicity only frown even more. When he walked up and took a seat at the edge of her bed, she did the same, all while making sure to keep a respectable distance between them, given her rather light clothing of sleep shorts and a tank top. No need to make the situation any more awkward.
His fidgeting around definitely made her even more confused and when he finally spoke up, Felicity instantly relaxed as well.“I might need your advice on something,” he began, making her sit straighter within a second. Tommy coming over asking her for help had never happened before. Usually she was the one asking Oliver’s best friend for help or advice, especially when it came to surprising Oliver. “Or at least I’d like to hear your input.”
“Okay. Shoot.”
Tommy looked around her room once more before he faced her again, looking completely nervous and uncomfortable. Felicity found it kind of adorable to see Tommy Merlyn so out of his comfort zone, even though she still had no idea what this was about.“I, uh... I’m sure you already know about... I mean, I’m sure she already told you about -”
“You’re talking about Thea and you.”Tommy gulped and nodded, looking as nervous as she’d ever seen him. He clearly felt very uncomfortable talking about this topic and Felicity could relate to that all too well.“Well, how can I help you?”
He sighed and rubbed his face with his hands, clearly trying to find the right words.“I don’t know. I just wanted to talk to you since Ollie and you... I mean, you have been in the same situation, so I kind of hoped you could give me some advice on how to handle things... because I’m really at a loss here.” he confessed and looked up at her.
It took Felicity a moment to gather her words. She definitely didn’t expect to see Tommy at her doorstep that day, and she most definitely didn’t expect such a conversation to take place.“Okay, well... this is kind of weird.” she confessed with a small laugh, earning a small chuckle from him as well. “I mean, of course Thea and I talk about stuff, but honestly, I don’t know how I could help you?”
“I’m unsure what to do. And that’s been keeping me up for quite a while now, to be honest. I mean, she’s still underage, so what should I do? I can’t give in to my feelings like that.”
“So there are feelings?” Felicity replied, a protective streak for her friend kicking in. She knew how in deep Thea was with Tommy, and if she got the impression he wasn’t having the same feelings about her she wasn’t going to help him.
“More than I’m ready to admit or even understand.” he sighed with a small nod.
Felicity got herself a little more comfortable on the bed and looked over at him.“Okay, this is kind of weird and I try not to think about it too much that you and I are talking about your and my best friend’s sex life right now,” she laughed, making Tommy chuckle as well. “And I can’t give you any real advice except that if you decide to really do this with her, you have to stay faithful. And not just from the day you two are allowed to sleep together, but from the day you actually commit to each other. And from what I’ve seen from Thea so far, she’s already pretty in deep with you. So all I can really tell you is, be sure in your decision.”
“Jesus,” he groaned and leaned back onto the bedpost, eyes closed. “I wasn’t even thinking that far. It freaks me out enough as it is thinking about how to handle the situation with her age and the fact that she’s my best friend’s little sister we’re talking about.”
His words made Felicity laugh slightly. She could relate to that all too well.“Well, this may sound like a phrase, but nothing worthwhile ever comes easy.”When Tommy didn’t reply, she continued. “Your situation is a little different from mine and Oliver’s. With you, there’s more at stake than the relationship between Thea and you, and some legalities of course. If you mess it up, either way, you’re risking Oliver’s friendship, too.”
Tommy let out a sigh and rubbed his face with his hands, letting Felicity’s words sink in.“So you’re telling me I should break things off with her before it gets even more intense?”
“No, that’s not what I mean. I’m just saying that you have to be sure that, no matter how you decide, this really is what you want. If you decide it’ll be too much, tell Thea, but tell her soon. In that case, Oliver doesn’t even have to find out. Thea will be heartbroken, no doubt, but it would be the most honest way. If you decide to give it a try between you two, Oliver has to know at some point, of course. And I don’t think I need to to tell you that you have to be the one telling him.” she smiled.
“He’ll rip my head off.” Tommy groaned.
“Of course he will,” Felicity laughed slightly, “but imagine what he would do if he found out through someone else.” she smiled knowingly.
That conversation at least helped him clear his mind about a few things, even though he still had no idea how to keep Thea at arm's length for another 2 months. Making a mental note to set some ground rules and have a conversation to clear up some things between them, he checked his calendar to find a free night when he made his way back home from the talk with Felicity. The sooner he could talk to Thea, the better. Besides, he couldn’t wait to spend some more time alone with her, just the two of them. The afternoon she’d spent at his place, cuddling and snuggling with him like some teenagers, made him realize that.
Deciding to take the chance, he sent her a short text, letting her know he wanted to take her out this saturday. Her response came almost immediately and made him grin like a fool.’And you’re telling me now? On a monday? How am I supposed to sleep until then?’He couldn’t wait to take her out. Now he only needed to find the perfect place and form a plan on how to sweep her away without anyone noticing.
The rest of the week was spent with Felicity and Thea out shopping almost every afternoon for the perfect date-dress, before the girls usually parted ways so Felicity could spend the evening with Oliver. On thursday Moira even asked her to ask Oliver to join them for dinner, but since Robert hadn’t made any move towards Oliver or Felicity yet whatsoever, Oliver still refused to sit at the table with them again.On friday evening, Oliver managed to drag Tommy out of the house for some drinks out in the city, something they apparently hadn’t done in way too long. Tommy wasn’t really in the mood, not wanting to stay awake half of the night at some club when he was about to spend the following evening with Thea, but of course he couldn’t tell his best friend that. So he agreed, making a mental note to just have a drink or two and then slip away as soon as possible.
The first row of drinks flowed easily. Oliver was in a very talkative mood about his apartment-hunt, something Tommy greatly appreciated. He didn’t want to appear unsociable, but he definitely wasn’t in the mood to start any conversations, not that he had anything to talk about besides Thea at the moment, anyway. And that was a topic he very well couldn’t broach with Oliver, of course. At least not at a club, with alcohol flowing in masses and loud music and other guests interrupting.
As soon as the waitress left with Oliver’s order for a second round of drinks, a busty brunette in a tight bandage dress and way too high heels wobbled over towards their table, putting an extra sway to her hips when she saw Tommy look over at her.
Tommy had no idea who she was, but apparently the woman knew him.“Tommy Merlyn, it has been way too long since I’ve seen you out here. You avoiding me?”
Absolutely.“Nooo,” he shook his head, a polite smile on his lips, even though he didn’t feel like smiling at the woman whose name he yet had to find out. “Just been busy.”
“Oh, right, I remember you saying you’re becoming the biggest businessman in Starling in the next 24 months. I believe you also said not only your job title would match the word big,” she giggled at herself and flicked her hair over her shoulder. “That still true?”
From beside him, he could hear Oliver snort before he took a sip of his whiskey. At that moment, Tommy wished he’d had ordered something stronger than just rum and coke. That woman seriously grated on his nerves and his best friend apparently wasn’t about to make any move to help him out of his misery. Quite the opposite, actually. Oliver seemed to enjoy himself way too much.
When ’whats-her-name’ was about to sit down right next to Tommy, forcing him to slide back deeper into the booth in the process, he stopped her with a raised hand.“Look, Shelly, I really appreciate you wanting to wallow in the past with me, but right now I’d rather enjoy a drink with my best friend. In peace.”He tried to sound polite, he really did, but the fact that he wanted that woman gone from their table fast didn’t really help keeping his voice that way. And since he didn’t have any idea what her name was, he went with the first one that came to his mind. And that woman clearly looked like a Shelly.
The scrunched nose and small slits that suddenly looked at him told him that Shelly apparently wasn’t her name, though.“My name is Carly, you asshole. Go enjoy your night with your best friend, I hope you choke on your own drink!” she snapped at him, turned on her heel and wobbled away from them, almost toppling over twice. Or maybe it was just her way to catch someone else’s interest, since the dress was short enough to flash her buttcheeks every time she toppled over her feet. Tommy had no idea, and he didn’t care.
When he sat down with a small sigh, Oliver eyed him a little warily after watching Carly walk away from the VIP area and down to the dance floor.“What is going on with you lately?”
Tommy furrowed a brow at that.“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the fact that you just denied yourself the easiest lay ever! And now that I think about it, I haven’t seen you with any conquests in a while now -”
“Just like you.” Tommy cut him off while forcing an easy smile and wink, even though he was pretty sure his face lost all color. Oliver suspecting something definitely wasn’t what he needed right now.
“Yeah, with the difference that I am in a relationship, my friend.” Oliver shot back with a quirked eyebrow. “So what’s going on? You hiding a secret girlfriend you don’t want me to know about?” he grinned, making Tommy almost choke on his drink. Funny, wasn’t that what Carly just wished him a mere 2 minutes ago?
“Girlfriend? Me?” he laughed nervously after clearing his throat, desperately trying to sound as casual as possible, even though he most certainly wasn’t. “I don’t do girlfriends, and you know that.”
“Very true.” Oliver nodded with a small chuckle and for a moment, it hurt Tommy hearing his best friend confirming the words that he didn’t feel but had to say. It just confirmed him that Oliver would probably never approve of him as a suitable boyfriend for his little sister. And despite the pang of hurt that he felt at Oliver’s words, he forced a smile on his lips, trying to keep up the charade. Not only for Thea’s sake but certainly for his own as well.
The mood didn’t seem to want to pick up again after that, at least not for Tommy. Some college friends joined them at the table shortly after, and when the rounds of shots started to roll in, Tommy took the chance and excused himself for a moment from the group. Countless shots and two rum and coke certainly had done their work on him already.When he returned from the restroom and saw his best friend and their buddies laughing at the table, he decided to call it a night and send Oliver a text, letting him know he didn’t tolerate the shots too well and had to catch a cab home. That way he could still catch up on some sleep and wouldn’t have to feel bad for leaving his friend alone at the club.
Oliver quickly replied and, much to Tommy’s surprise, only wished him a relaxed night and to catch up soon. No protest whatsoever from him, something Tommy definitely would’ve expected. At least Oliver didn’t seem to have noticed how much off his behavior had been all night.
The next day Tommy awoke to a text from Felicity, telling him she and Thea would have to borrow the pool house to get her ready unseen for their date. The text message made him smile for various reasons. One was the fact that he’d be going out with Thea that night, of course, but another one was that he apparently had a great ally in Felicity when it came to the ‘relationship’ between him and Thea. And that was something he was very grateful for, given the fact that he basically had no one to talk about except Thea and Felicity. Plus, her taking care of preparations also meant he didn’t have to form a plan on how to sweep Thea away unseen. If she got ready in his pool house, it meant that they could leave together from the house. That only left him to take care of the reservation at the restaurant and to find a safe route out of Starling City where he didn’t risk anyone seeing them together, dressed to the nines. Because he really had no idea how to explain that.
Some time in the afternoon, the back door opened and closed, followed by two giggling female voices. When Tommy peeked out from the small office, he saw Thea raiding his fridge while Felicity waited for her near the patio doors, loaded with garment bags and a small trolley. Tommy had no idea how in the world they’d need all that stuff, but as long as Thea looked as beautiful as she always looked, when he was about to pick her up, he definitely wasn’t one to complain.
The girls didn’t even notice him watching them, giving Tommy a chance to listen to them talk for a moment.“So you think the blue one or the burgundy one?” Thea asked, her upper body hidden behind the open fridge door.
“Let’s just get you ready and see. We have plenty of time to try everything on.” Felicity assured her.
“Do you think Tommy will like it?” Thea almost whispered back, barely hearable for him. The way she sounded so adorably unsure made him smile.
“He would like you even if you wore a garbage bag.” Felicity laughed. “Have you seen how that man is looking at you?”
Her friends’ words made Thea blush. She loved that not only she was seeing it but others as well. It helped her realize she wasn’t imagining things.“I wonder what shirt color he’ll be wearing. Or if he wore a tie. Maybe we could color match.”
“I’ll ask him later.” Felicity smiled. Tommy took this as his cue to step out of hiding.
“No tie, but the shirt will be a dark blue.” he grinned and stepped into the room, making both girls whirl around in surprise. Thea looked stunned for a moment while Felicity quickly made sure all garment bags were closed, not that he wouldn’t see the dress later anyway. But the effort still looked kind of cute.
“Perfect.” Felicity smiled with a confident nod, linked her arm through Thea’s and pulled her off to the patio doors, pointing towards the pool house. “We’re out there. Don’t bother coming in.” she warned him with a pointed finger before dragging a laughing Thea out the door.
Tommy made sure to send Felicity a text to let her know when Thea needed to be ready. He was dying to take a peek at the girls but didn’t risk wanting to feel Felicity’s wrath. Plus, the girls both seemed excited to surprise him with Thea’s look later and he didn’t want to spoil the mood, even though he was curious as hell.
Exactly 2 minutes to 7pm he heard the patio doors open and close, even though no giggling or talking was audible from the living room. Tommy waited patiently in the foyer, his nerves already running on overdrive. When Thea rounded the corner though, she completely took his breath away.
It took him a full minute to come back to his senses and find the words to speak. It wasn’t that he hadn’t seen her dressed up plenty of times already, even to highly formal events with their families, but the fact that she’d dressed up in that gorgeous navy blue floor length gown, just for him, made his knees go weak. He’d had his fair share of dates, even some more special, but never before had he felt like he was feeling when Thea stopped in front of him, a incredibly sweet shy blush coloring her cheeks, her eyes twinkling with excitement.
Not a word passed between them for more than a minute, with both looking the other deep in the eyes. It was Felicity clearing her throat who broke the silence and pulled them both out of their trance.“I hate to break the staring contest between you two lovebirds, but if you keep doing that, you’re going to run late for the reservation.” she smiled, an almost amused grin tugging on her lips.
Thea still didn’t seem to get it together, so Felicity walked over and handed her her purse.“Moira said the Gala will probably last until late in the evening. I told her we’ll have a girls night at the garden shed, like old times. She wished us lots of fun, so don’t worry about it. I’ll stay in the garden shed and take my time to study a bit. Just text me when you’re back and I’ll make sure to get you inside unseen.” she winked.
“What about Oliver?” Tommy suddenly cut in from beside them. “Wouldn’t you want to spend the evening together?”
“I told him I had to study for the exams coming up and since I spent so much time at his place rather than studying in the last week, he didn’t even start to argue. AND I can actually take some time to study, so technically I didn’t even lie to him.” she smiled, before she ushered them both out of the door. “And now go and have fun!”
“Thank you, Fee. I owe you one.” Thea smiled and hugged her friend one last time before following Tommy down the steps to his black Aston Martin waiting for her.
“You both do!” she called with a laugh, earning a wink from Tommy.
Tommy couldn’t stop catching glimpses at her whenever he had to stop the car at a red light. Thea looked so beautiful tonight, he wondered if it was just the way her hair and makeup was done, paired with the dress, or if he hadn’t seen it so clearly ever before.“You look beautiful,” he spoke softly, pulling her out of her thoughts and making her look over at him, a shy smile tugging at her lips. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you look so stunning before.”
Thea had no idea what to say to that. Returning the compliment would fit, but since she’d seen him in a suit hundreds of times already, he didn’t really look any different to him.“Thank you. I wanted to look special for this special occasion.”
There wasn’t much more time for conversation though, when Tommy left the main road and steered his car up a smaller hill road. Thea realized she had never been to that area of Starling City before and she had no idea if they even were still in Starling City at all. When he pulled up in front of a small restaurant, nestled in the woods at the cliffs of the hill, her mouth fell open.“Oh my god, Tommy! It’s amazing out here! Where are we? I’ve never been here before!”
With a smile, Tommy helped her out of the car before handing the valet the keys to his car.“We’re at Hollins House, run by one of my college buddy’s girlfriend’s parents. They just opened a few weeks ago, so it’s still pretty new and unknown. But it seemed like the perfect spot for us, so I booked a table for us here.”
He stole a short kiss from her lips before she could walk up the steps to the restaurant, making her blush slightly.“Thank you for coming here with me,” he murmured into her neck, his arms protectively wrapped around her waist. “I’m happy.”
“Me too.” she whispered back and hugged him tightly. For the first time in a very long time she didn’t have to worry showing public affection towards him without being seen or judged. Casually fooling around in hiding was something that sounded fun in the beginning, but after a few months it really started to weigh on Thea. Whenever she hoped for more, or at least a more open behavior, there had been things ruining it for them.
They were seated at the large window front, overlooking the creek right below them with Starling City gleaming in the far distance. But all the beauty was nothing to the woman sitting opposite of him. Completely engrossed with the outlook, Tommy actually had the chance to fully check her out for the first time without being caught. He’d always found her cute when she was younger, something that only intensified when puberty hit her and she’d finally started to become the woman she was now. But up until that moment he had no idea how deep his feelings really ran.Part of him wanted to have this dinner date with her to figure out if he really could do this with Thea. Felicity’s words still lingered on the front of his mind all week, making him question everything he’d done with Thea so far. But the more he thought about it, the more he realized he needed to spend time with her under normal circumstances, like normal couples would do, to see if his feelings were the same.The fact that he could totally see himself dating the woman who currently sat opposite of him definitely helped making a decision. He loved her charm and witty humor, the only thing he’d never been sure of was the question if they would fit together in public; if she was any different with him as her partner as she was when they were out as friends. So far she hadn’t said much, but still seemed to be at ease and happy.
A bottle of red wine and some casual talk about school and his job seemed to do the trick. Thea visibly relaxed the more the night progressed, even started making jokes every now and then. It also helped Tommy to relax, taking away a tension from him he hadn’t felt in years, especially not when he went on a date. But of course, with Thea everything seemed to be different.
“You know,” Thea began and made Tommy look up at her from his dessert. “When you asked me out in Paris, I started to wonder... why then?”
It didn’t take him long to answer that.“I should have done it way sooner. I just had no idea when to do it. And I needed to figure out a few things first.”
“About my brother.” she replied, a small frown tugging at her lips.
“No, not about him. About you and me. That’s the only thing that matters to me. Things with Oliver will get handled when the time comes.”That reply made her look up at him again, a flicker of hope glowing in her eyes again. “I want you to understand that I’m not staying away from you because I’m not sure about this. I’m doing this to keep myself from doing something stupid, at least until your 18th birthday.”
Thea let his words sink in for a moment before she replied, still a little fearful she might understand him wrong.“So you’re saying you want to do this? Really do this? With me? Despite what my parents or Ollie might think?”
“Yes, I really want to do this with you. That is, if you want that, too. I have no idea if things will work out, or if you’ll have enough of me after a few weeks, but I at least need to give it a try. You’ve become way too important to me and I would be a foolish idiot if I let you move on.” he told her, his voice full of honesty. “And contrary to your belief I’m not scared of anyone’s opinion.” he smiled and took a sip of his water.
They talked about her upcoming birthday and what she had planned while finishing dessert. Tommy didn’t want the evening to end, but he knew he couldn’t take her home with him. Besides, she started to look a little sleepy, something that he entirely blamed on the wine and not some boring company. So very reluctantly, he paid the bill, helped Thea out of the restaurant where he stole another two or ten kisses from her. It was the valet who casually cleared his throat after they stood making out for minutes next to Tommy’s car with the engine running and the doors wide open. Thea blushed profusely when she caught the valet trying to hide an amused smile, but Tommy seemed to enjoy himself way too much.
Some time during the drive, she’d fallen asleep. Tommy found it so cute that he had to pull over and snap a picture of her. And even though her head was leaning to the side, her mouth slightly opened, she still looked drop dead gorgeous.After shooting off a short text to Felicity, letting her know he was on his way to drop off Thea, he steered the car back onto the road, making a mental note to plan another date like that one very soon.
A soft knock on the apartment door lulled Felicity out of her sleep. After waking up to a text from Tommy, she’d gotten up and settled on the couch to wait for Thea, but sleep still got the best of her again. When she opened the door she didn’t see her best friend standing there though but Tommy, carrying a very sleepy Thea in his arms.“Fragile delivery for you.” he whispered with a smile and watched Felicity step back so he could enter. “She fell asleep during the drive back home and I didn’t want to wake her up.”
Felicity pulled back the covers so Tommy could place her on the bed.“This poor girl has been a nervous wreck ever since you told her about the date. She barely slept last night, so this -” she gestured toward the sleeping Thea in his arms with an amused grin on her lips, “doesn’t surprise me one bit.”
Her words made him chuckle. Thankful he wasn’t the only one affected by the date all week, he placed one last kiss on her forehead before he straightened up and turned to leave.“Thank you for your help tonight, Felicity.” he whispered with a last glance back to the sleeping Thea on the bed. “You helped me see things a lot clearer.”
“I didn’t do much. That was all you. But just for the record, you still owe me one.” she whispered back with a grin, earning a mischievous wink from him before he slipped out the door and back into the night.
|
Jimin woke with a startled gasp, his hands coming to his throat, the taste of iron fresh in his mouth, and the smell of copper pervading his nose. He looked around the dark room wildly, his green eyes glowing, his canines elongated. His eyes swept from one corner or the room to the other, searching for anything that could be a threat. When he found none, he finally tried to calm himself down. He took his hand from his throat and slowly passed them down his body, until they came to rest on his frantically beating heart. He took two, three shuddering breaths, his throat burning with every inhale. He tried to swallow, but it was like a hot rock had been lodged in his throat, making it impossible.
This had been the worst one yet, Jimin was sure of it, though all he could remember was what he always did. Blood, rain, and white as pure as snow. He thread a hand through his long hair, staring at the white strands before his vision blurred and he could no longer see. Tears began to fall unbidden down his face. He felt the spot next to him, and the hot tears fell harder when he realized that Taehyung was no longer there. He swore that the beta had been there when he fell asleep. How long had he been asleep? Who had looked over his duties while he slept the day away?
He stumbled off of his bed, never hating it more. It only ever seemed to bring him nightmares and loneliness these days. As much as he was afraid of his first coupling with Jungkook, and sharing the bed with his mate for the first time, he was beginning to loathe sleeping alone, about as much as he was hating being apart from the scent of leather and fire. Right now, he missed it desperately. He made it to the window, his throat closing on a sob. It was dark out, the moon high in the clear night sky.
He could go to Taehyung’s room across the hall, that would be the easiest and safest choice. Jin had taken to sleeping with Namjoon, and Yoongi’s room was clear across the house. He sometimes envied the fact that Namjoon and Jin could do what they wanted and sleep together, because what was Namjoon going to do? Jin was already pregnant, and Namjoon was the only one who was able to stop the nightmares that Jin himself had. But Jimin found that he didn’t want the comfort of his partner or the sweet scent of his omega brothers. He was usually able to wait until morning to have Jungkook hold him when he had these types of dreams, but something about this nightmare really shook him up…. He wanted Jungkook. He needed his alpha.
They were to be married in two weeks anyway, so who cares what he did anymore? He certainly didn’t.
Jimin sniffled as more tears silently slipped down his cheeks. He haphazardly threw his day clothes that he had fallen asleep in off and threw on his softest sleeping tunic and loose pants. He tried to stop the flow of tears, but found that he couldn’t, so he just decided to make his way to the “Jeon” wing of the house. Jungkook’s room was the closest to his out of the four of them, situated right off the hallway from the living room.
Jimin didn’t go in it often; the smell overwhelmed him. He didn’t bother knocking, Jungkook would probably be asleep anyway. For such a young alpha, who seemed to have boundless energy, he went to bed rather early. Yoongi always said it was because his father had told him he needed to sleep early to grow more, and Jungkook’s only ambition in life was to be as tall as Namjoon. Jimin was pretty sure Jungkook had stopped growing, but couldn’t condemn him for the lack of trying.
As soon as he stepped into the cozy room, he was calmed by the strong smells wrapping around him. Jungkook was surprisingly fond of smaller spaces, especially for an alpha, so he was okay with his room being the smallest. What Jimin hadn’t told him was the fact that this room used to be a large storage closet. The bed was squished into the corner and took up most of the room. He had a chest for his clothes and small desk crammed in the other corners. The desk didn’t even have a proper chair, as it was so close to the bed that Jungkook would just use the edge of it as a chair. Jimin complained that it was bad for his back, but Jungkook didn’t listen. Jungkook only ever complained about it when the papers that were on the desk would fall onto his bed, or his face, when he was sleeping.
Jimin let the door close a little bit harder than necessary, hoping to rouse the alpha enough to acknowledge his presence before he snuggled up close to him. Thank goodness Jungkook was a rather light sleeper, as Jimin heard the other male shift in his sleep, and he saw a dark silhouette sit up in the bed. As his eyes were already adjusted to the dark, Jimin saw Jungkook rub his eye and yawn. He shuffled further into the room as Jungkook slowly came to his senses. He thought he could hear Jungkook sniff the air before the younger man called out softly; “Sweet one? What is it, why are you here?”
Jimin opened his mouth to speak, but once again his throat closed and his eyes burned. What came out instead of words was a loud sob as Jimin completely broke down. His chest heaved and his hands came up to cover his eyes. He felt his legs go weak, and he was sure he was going to fall onto his knees, but soon enough he was wrapped in his alpha’s arms. Jungkook wasn’t wearing a shirt, but heat radiated off of him in pleasant scorching waves. Jimin’s arms scrambled for purchase on Jungkook’s back, hooked under his underarm. Jungkook held Jimin, one hand at the back of his neck, the other around his shoulders as he struggled to pull Jimin onto the bed with him. It was like Jimin’s legs couldn’t hold his weight anymore. Jungkook frowned at how light Jimin actually was, and his stomach twisted on itself when he thought he could feel Jimin’s spine through his tunic. But he could worry about that later, because this was right now, and Jimin was sobbing in his arms and he had to know why, had to help his mate in any way that he could.
Jungkook nuzzled the side of Jimin’s head after he had gotten the smaller man onto the bed with him, the omega’s legs on either side of his, his forehead against his chest. He knew that scenting Jimin would have been the fastest way to calm him down, but this was already breaking so many rules, and he didn’t know if he wanted to push it. “Hush, Jiminie, hush…” he breathed into Jimin’s ear as the omega cried hopelessly into his chest, the tears wetting the smooth skin, creating a strange mix of warm and cold. He willed his scent to remain calm and comforting, more leather than fire. He kissed the Jimin where he could and trailed his finger tipe up and down his mates shivering back. Jimin felt so cold, his skin clammy and frigid. “I’m here, my love, just breathe, okay? I need you to breathe.” Jungkook began to take deep breaths himself, letting them out in audible exhales, hoping that Jimin would follow.
Jimin revelled in the smell and feel of his alpha, the smooth skin of his chest and deep leather smell that the other was emitting. He snuggled his wet face into Jungkook’s chest and tried to control his breathing. He just felt so hopeless and scared and alone. He hadn’t had a chance to talk to his betrothed about his fears of marriage, or sleeping with him, and he hadn’t been able to find comfort in his mates advice. Maybe it was his impending heat coming up that was messing with his emotions so heavily, or it was the fact that he hadn’t been able to sleep alone in his bed without horrible nightmares keeping him awake, but he just knew that he needed Jungkook’s strength, even if Jungkook himself didn’t know how to help. Just being there would be enough. It had to be.
Eventually Jimin was able to calm down enough to breathe steadily, and Jungkook continued to give him soft words of encouragement and small kisses and caresses until he had completely calmed down and his tears dried. Now the two only sat in silence as Jungkook smoothed his hands down Jimin’s back, and Jimin leaned into Jungkook’s warmth. After a blissful eternity, Jimin finally leaned away from the alpha, sure that his face was puffy and splotchy, glad that it was dark enough to obscure it. Jungkook’s hand immediately went to his face, his warm palm cupping Jimin’s soft cheek. His thumb gently rubbed under Jimin’s swollen eye and Jimin leaned into the warmth, his eyes closing.
“What is it, sweet one? What happened?” Jungkook asked softly, his voice rough with the last dregs of sleep.
Jimin sighed and shook his head the best he could, “It’s that horrible dream… it was worse tonight than it has been in the past… and…” Jimin trailed off, his eyes opening only a little bit to take in as much of Jungkook as he could. He could barely make out the curls in the alpha’s hair, his dark eyes filled with worry and something deeper.
“Hmm?” Jungkook breathed, his hands leaving Jimin’s face to take both of his hands in his own.
“I just want to talk to you… we haven’t just talked in forever, and… I want to just talk. Not about responsibilities or what you’re doing to prepare for this stupid wedding, or how becoming the Head Alpha is going,” Jimin sighed, “I mean, I care about how it’s going. But I want to know how you
feel
, about how you feel about the wedding, about our first night together, about… I don’t know, the weather. We constantly talk about what we have to do, what our needs are, but not about how we feel about any of this, and I…” Jimin shrugged his shoulders. “I just wanna talk.”
Jungkook chuckled and squeezed Jimin’s hands in his own. He dropped Jimin’s hands before gripping the thin, too thin, man and pulling him further onto the bed next to him, all the way until Jimin’s head lay on the pillow at the head of the bed. Jimin blinked, and thanked the gods once again for the darkness, because he was sure that his face was bright red. He probably liked being manhandled a little bit too much, but again, who was he to complain? Jungkook grabbed the fur blanket that had been previously discarded in his rush to comfort his mate and tucked it around them both, the smell of leather and caramel mixing pleasantly under it. Jimin snuggled into the soft fur, inhaling the strong alpha scent coming from it. Jungkook tucked his arm under his head and Jimin mirrored him, their other hands meeting in the middle, their fingers intertwined. Jimin marveled at how small his hands were compared to Jungkook’s. He was almost startled when Jungkook began to speak, and his eyes went to Jungkook’s face.
“I didn’t want to say anything about my thoughts on the wedding, because I didn’t want you to think that I didn’t want to marry you,” Jungkook shifted slightly and took a deep breath, like he was gathering his thoughts. “I love you, Jimin. I love you so much that I can’t stand it sometimes. When I am apart from you, my chest hurts and I struggle to breathe,” Jungkook swallowed thickly, and Jimin rubbed at his eyes. He was getting tired of crying. “And this wedding that is being created to celebrate us being together feels like it is driving us apart.” He took another breath. “And I sometimes wish you were never meant to be the Head Omega. Then we could just be married in a small, quiet ceremony, with just my family and yours. But these are the circumstances, and I wish so much that they weren’t, but they are. I have been told my entire life that this would be my wedding day, that it would just be for politics and many people would be there, but when my parents and my position were taken from me,” he paused for awhile, until Jimin squeezed his hand. “I was almost relieved.”
Jimin nodded and slowly brought Jungkook’s hand to his mouth, leaving a soft kiss against his rough knuckles. Jungkook swirled his thumb on Jimin’s hand in return. “I was relieved because I thought that maybe once I arrived at this new pack that I could find a kind omega and settle down into a quiet life, but here I am. Falling so much in love with the next Head Omega, therefore sealing my fate as a Head Alpha forever. And besides that time that we can’t spend together because of your training and this wedding, I haven’t regretted any of it. I thought once we became engaged that I would look back and wish that I had finally left the life of a Head Alpha behind, but I haven’t, because I know that I have such a strong and beautiful mate at my side, helping me lead. I never in my life thought that I would get to marry for love, but here we are.”
Jimin sniffled before he leaned forward to kiss Jungkook. It was short and painfully sweet. He only realized then that Jungkook was also crying, though not as hard. Jimin didn’t comment on it however. He moved back, but not as far as he was before, their knees still touching under the warm blanket.
Jimin swallowed before he spoke. “I never wanted this, never even thought it would be possible. I accepted because I didn’t think I had another choice. All I knew was that Jin needed me, and I was there. I’m not really even their son… especially not now. I mean, my father still sees me as his own, but the Head Omega… she hates me,” he said softly. “Not that I don’t deserve it. I don’t accept that she talked down to me, badly about you, but I could have gone about it in a different way, could have been more kind. I don’t want to apologize, and I am scared that that makes me a bad person.” He smiled softly when Jungkook gently squeezed his hand, a silent reassurance. “And I am so sick of this wedding,” he laughed in exasperation. “We never see each other, and when we do, someone is always with us, so I don’t feel like we can talk like we want to. I suppose these weddings were made for a couple that don’t know each other before hand, so they don’t miss each other so desperately?”
Jungkook snorted, “Yeah, probably. It’s stupid.” He brought Jimin closer until the omega was snuggled underneath his chin, his warm breath spreading on his bare skin. Jimin giggled and pressed his lips to the top of Jungkook’s pectoral, and smirked when he felt the alpha shiver. They were silent for a short while, just enjoying each others company for once when Jungkook asked Jimin another question.
“You mentioned something about our wedding night?”
Jimin felt his cheeks heat a little. This was something that he had wanted to discuss with Jungkook for awhile. He had brought it up to his father, but that hadn’t gone as well as he thought it would. Jimin cleared his throat softly and looked down, even though he was pretty sure Jungkook couldn’t tell anyway. “Yes, I did.”
Jungkook trailed his hand down Jimin’s arm, a silent encouragement. Jimin wanted to pur at the undivided attention he was getting from Jungkook, but he couldn’t imagine his face getting any warmer.
“I’m…” Jimin shrugged the best he could. “It’s the only thing about this wedding that I’m excited about. Our actual mating… but…” he trailed off, unsure how to finish. Jungkook tapped Jimin’s chin.
“But?”
“I’m nervous,” Jimin mumbled. He had a strange feeling of guilt settle in his stomach at telling Jungkook this. Was he allowed to be nervous? He was supposed to be a good omega and submit, and he knew that Jungkook would never hurt him, never humiliate him, but he couldn’t help it. He was guilty because how could he be nervous around Jungkook, especially at a time when he would give everything of himself to the alpha, when he was supposed to love the other without question? It felt like a lie sometimes, that Jungkook could love every little part of him. The wedding night was the night that Jungkook would finally actually see every little part of him. His body, his heat, his most vulnerable state. Would Jungkook still love him as much as he did when he really saw him? He felt guilty that he didn’t know if the other would, and what kind of person did that make him?
Jungkook shuffled closer, his hand tracing over the omega’s face. “I hear your mind going haywire from here, Sweet One,” he folded the hand through Jimin’s hair. Jungkook wished he could see the other a little bit better. It was uncommon for Jimin’s hair to be undone, and he couldn’t help but feel like he was missing out. He smiled a little when he heard Jimin pur softly. He wasn’t sure if Jimin knew he was doing it, but he didn’t comment on it, letting himself make a low, warm growl deep in his chest. His smile grew even fonder when he felt Jimin relax completely. “Would you like me to tell you what I want from the night, what I am going to do?” Jungkook asked, his voice low and husky, warm and comforting.
Jimin swallowed, but nodded, his heart thumping against his rib cage. Maybe if he knew what was going to happen, it would help.
“Well, first, I am going to marry you in a pompous ceremony that neither of us want, in front of a bunch of people we do not know,” he laughed when Jimin laughed. “And then we are going to eat too much food, even you who is going to be in preheat, because I will make sure of it.” Jimin felt a soft hand brush his stomach for a short second before it returned to his hair, stroking gently. “We will say our thanks and our promises to become a good Head Alpha and Head Omega, and then the titles will be passed down to us. The previous Head’s will go for a respite, as is custom in retirement, and your preheat will become harder for us to bear,” Jimin swallowed again at the second mention of his preheat, this time more intimate than the first. He flushed at the “us” and not “him”. It was surprisingly comforting to know that Jungkook would be feeling every bit as desperate as Jimin would. Jungkook rubbed circles on Jimin’s wrist with his thumb, scent marking him, making Jimin’s sweet scent turn slightly savory, like smoked caramel. It wasn’t as good as scenting his neck, but it still made Jimin shiver. Jungkook’s voice went deeper and quieter. “And then we will make our excuses and everyone will know what we are doing, but that won’t matter because we won’t notice anyone but each other, and Yoongi and Taehyung will lead us to our secluded cabin near the hot spring, where they will leave us for the next week.”
Jimin couldn’t help but lean forward and brush his lips against Jungkook’s. Jungkook hummed in appreciation before continuing, “And then you and I will build our nest together with the softest of things, all of which were picked out by me as gifts for you.” Jimin smiled. Jungkook left a featherlight touch against his lips with his warm fingers. “And then we will wait for your heat to completely take hold, and I, Jeon Jungkook, your Alpha make this promise to you, here and now; I will never hurt you. I will be gentle when you want, rough when you want. I will take you how you want, and I will cherish and love you no matter what happens.” The alpha cupped Jimin’s cheek in this warm palm. “And if you do not want me that night, then I will accept that.”
Jimin blinked and swallowed, shaking his head furiously. “N-No… I would never, ever-” Jimin stopped and closed his eyes. He took a deep breath. “ I, Kim Jimin, your omega,” he heard Jungkook chuckle softly before his hand was grabbed once again. He opened his eyes and smiled so achingly soft and content, “Will love and adore you for as long as I live. I will never reject you, though it may take me awhile to get used to having someone take care of me, during a heat or otherwise. I will give you my everything, and I will make you as happy as I possibly can.” His eyes crinkled at the edges and he could just barely make out that bunny smile of Jungkook’s.
Jungkook pulled Jimin towards his body and kissed him softly. Their mouths melted against one anothers, and there was no need for dominance or the push and pull of an alpha and omega. It was just Jimin and Jungkook and the overwhelming passion for one another. Jimin sighed and he felt a couple more tears fall down his face. They broke away from each other, breathing a little heavier than before. Jimin suddenly felt so tired, his eyes straining to stay open and with the comforting scent of his mate on him and around him, he found that he couldn’t stay awake much longer.
“Sleep, my Sweet One,” Jungkook murmured, his own voice tired and slow.
“I love you, with all that I am Jungkookie.”
Jimin succumbed to sleep after a soft kiss was pressed to his forehead and warm arms wrapped him in an embrace.
“And I, you.”
…..
Jimin awoke the next morning in a much calmer way than earlier that night. The sun was right on his back and the room was pleasantly warm from the early summer morning. He stretched his arms over his head, letting out a content yawn. When he came to, he saw that he was back in his own room, though he still wore the blanket that he and Jungkook had shared earlier that night. He smiled softly, his hand passing over the black fur. Jungkook must have carried him back, as to not get into trouble with Taehyung or his father. Mostly Taehyung.
He turned his neck sharply and let out a pleased sight at the crack it produced. A soft knock came from his door.
“Yes?”
He smiled when Jungkook and Yoongi peaked in, the omega standing underneath the alpha. They were both dressed for the day in their customary black outfits, though they looked a little more fancy than normal. Yoongi wore a long sleeved tunic that crossed over his chest like a kimono, the lapels and bottom hem a creamy white. It ended just above his knees, and was held closed by a red belt, signifying that he was close to the main family, or part of it. He wore his nicer boots and sheer black leggings. The omega had even done his makeup, his porcelain skin even more perfect than it already was, a light rouge on his cheeks and soft pink gloss making him seem to bloom with life. He was leaning on the more feminine side than usual, and even his hair was curled in soft waves down his back. It turned out that Taehyung liked long hair, and Yoongi was happy to oblige. It was a far cry from his usual loose fitting short sleeved tunics and loose pants he usually wore, this outfit showing off his curves and figure. He was carrying a large box in his arms, one that Jimin recognized as what Yoongi brought to do Jimin’s hair when it needed to look nice.
Jungkook also wore black, but unlike Yoongi he wore no white. He wore a high collared tight shirt and a leather harness that accentuated his chest with straps going down his sides and across his stomach. He wore his lighter cloak meant for summer, the hem barely sweeping past his mid thigh, the top held together on his left side by his silver rabbit pin. His curly hair was pulled back from his face in a half ponytail, the part left down curling around his collar. For his red, he wore the scarf that Jimin had given him all those months ago around his wrist over the long sleeves of his shirt. He looked drop dead gorgeous, but what else was new?
Jimin snorted as he stood up and the other two came in. “Why do you two look so nice?” He walked to his large chest of clothes. On top of it was his earrings and rings he liked to wear. He was sure his hair was a mess. He usually put it up when he slept, but it must have fallen out after his nightmare, but he couldn’t find it in himself to care. After he and Jungkook had their little secret talk last night, he didn’t feel the slightest bit embarrassed anymore, and Yoongi attended to him nearly every morning anyway, so the other omega was used to it.
Yoongi scrunched up his nose and his eyes swung to Jungkook. “Why does it smell like you in here?”
Jimin quickly came to the rescue. “I snuck into Jungkook’s room earlier and stole his blanket,” he shrugged putting on his nicer gold earrings, because if the way Jungkook and Yoongi were looking was any clue, he would be wearing them anyway. “I thought it would help with the nightmares.” He met Jungkook’s gaze and Jungkook winked. He smiled wider. Yoongi’s eyebrow went up in suspicion, but he let it go with a noncommittal hum as he placed the box on Jimin’s bed. “Is something happening today that I forgot about?”
Yoongi waved his hand. “No, we didn’t really know when some of the nomadic tribes would be arriving for the wedding, but a few of them are starting to trickle in. The current leaders of the Chae and Im tribes are here, and their groups are setting up camp as we speak, so we wanted to get you ready to greet them, because I am sure that more clans will be arriving soon.”
Jimin nodded with a laugh. “We?” he asked glancing at Jungkook who smiled back. Again Yoongi rolled his obsidian eyes.
“Well, me and Taehyung,” he pointed at Jungkook with his thumb. “This dimwit shirked his morning duties, begging to come along with me to see you for a moment before the Head Alpha comes to find him.”
Jimin laughed at Jungkook’s betrayed gasp towards his brother. “I am not a dimwit!”
Jimin took pity on his betrothed and walked towards him, patting Jungkook’s face softly. “Now now, Kookie, we’ll have plenty of mornings together. Go help my father with the leaders, I’m sure he has his hands full.”
“Jungkook practically melted, his chocolate eyes going gooey. “Mmm’kay,” he mumbled, swooping in and stealing a kiss from Jimin. “I love you,” he breathed against Jimin’s lips, making Jimin smile.
“And I, you,” the omega whispered back, his lips in a permanent smile. He heard Yoongi make a gagging noise next to him before he felt a small hand against his chest.
Yoongi was pushing the two apart from each other. “Yeah, yeah, you love each other,” he grumbled, “Now get outta here, Kook, I gotta make Jiminie look pretty.”
Jungkook winked at Jimin before he left, his cloak sweeping behind him. “Jimin is always pretty,” he called from further down the hall. Jimin laughed and Yoongi was positive that he was going to throw up.
Jungkook passed Taehyung in the hallway, his arms full of clothes for Jimin to wear. Jungkook had a goofy smile stuck to his face, and Tahyung rolled his eyes.
“Gross.”
…..
About two hours later, after fussing and rearranging and fussing some more, Jimin looked, and felt amazing. His snow white hair was curled and braided in the style of the Jeon Pack once again. He found that he liked how intricate they wore their hair compared to the simplistic style of the Kim Pack. Despite it being pretty it was more practical, as it kept most of it out of his face. Since he was basically going to be paraded around today, his hair also had gold pins and black raven feathers woven in. His clothes were simple, yet the fabric was fine and thick. He wore a red, high collared undershirt to mask his scent and a snug sheer black shirt over it, the sleeved long and bell shaped. Today, even he teetered to the more feminine side of his omega, with a knee length leather skirt, covered in black wolfskin and fox fur, creating a small bustle in the back. Underneath he wore black leggings and calf high boots that Jungkook had made for him. His gold earrings sparkled and Yoongi had applied light, yet noticeable makeup to his face. Light red and pink eyeshadow around his green eyes and a touch of red lip color in the center of his lips. Jimin was used to feeling pretty, but right now… he felt beautiful.
“Wow… Jimin you look…” Taehyung tried. He was at a loss for words.
Yoongi smirked and crossed his arms, looking rather smug. “You think he looks good now, just wait until the actual wedding day.”
Taehyung snickered and put his arm around Yoongi’s waist. “You can only stake claim on half of that look.”
Jimin tilted his head. “What do you mean?”
Yoongi glared at Taehyung who quickly covered his mouth, though it was too late. He rolled his eyes. “In the Jeon pack, it’s custom for the alpha to pick out certain pieces of jewelry for his bride to wear. And Jungkook… chose a lot.”
Jimin blinked. He had no idea about that. “Like… how much is a lot?”
Taehyung coughed. “Let’s just say it’s gonna take awhile for you guys to actually become mates.”
Both Jimin and Yoongi smacked him on the back of his head for that one.
….
As it turns out, Jimin and Jungkook weren’t supposed to actually walk together through the camp. Jimin rolled his eyes. Who came up with these stupid rules?
As it were, they were supposed to start from the middle together, and then separate and walk the opposite directions of each other, around the camp greeting people, and then meet back up in the middle, bow to each other or something stupid, and then walk to the other side around the other side of the camp that they hadn’t gone to yet before meeting back up in the middle again. It would apparently take almost all afternoon, with the amount of nomadic and camp packs that had come. Within the last few hours that Jimin was getting ready, more than twenty other packs had arrived. He loved his outfit, but it was kind of warm, and he was sure to be a sweaty mess by the end of it. Jungkook’s hair was already sticking to the side of his face, so Jimin couldn’t imagine what he might look like by the end of this.
When Jungkook had first seen Jimin exiting the house, his jaw literally dropped. Jimin had smiled at him, but Jungkook seemed at a loss for words. Namjoon, who looked beyond splendid in his tan and brown leather, an intricate wooden cane at his side, had to tap Jungkook’s mouth closed. Jungkook had coughed and sputtered out “You look good.”
Yoongi rolled his eyes and smacked the back of Jungkook’s head. Jimin only laughed until he was falling on Taehyung for support.
Ordinarily, they would be walking with only one member of each others family to show their good faith, but the Head Alpha had decided to bend the rules just a little, seeing as the Head Omega wasn’t present to walk with Jungkook. Jimin had tried to ask her to walk with Jungkook himself, but the door was just slammed on his face.
So instead of walking with one member, they walked with everyone. Namjoon had tried to keep Jin at the house, but the other man had profusely argued, his voice high and whining as he nagged Namjoon endlessly. If he wasn’t going to walk with Jungkook, then who would?
So Jungkook walked arm in arm with Jimin with Jin waddling behind him, his clothes light pink and hanging off of his gently.
Jimin would walk with Namjoon and Taehyung, and Jungkook would walk with Yoongi, Jin, and the Head Alpha. Hoseok had gone to prepare for Yoongi’s heat, which was coming up rather quickly if his scent was anything to go by. He would probably be locked away after this walk, and Taehyung whined that he didn’t want to be apart from Yoongi for so long, as he might not be able to see the other before he was in heat. Jimin had pet his head, reminding him that Jungkook was walking with the two other male omegas as a show of prominence. Afterall, not every pack had three male omegas walking around, much less one.
Once the group had gotten to the middle of the camp, Jungkook squeezed Jimin’s hand before pressing a soft kiss to Jimin’s cheek. It was just chaste enough to be able to get away with it. Jimin smiled at his mate before they bowed to each other, Jimin with a subtle eye roll and Jungkook with a smirk. They parted ways and Jimin hooked his arms with Taehyung’s and Namjoon’s. He thought it was funny that both groups wouldn’t be going very fast. He didn’t mind much. He loved Namjoon and Taehyung’s company.
They walked and chatted with the other camp packs and nomads, shaking hands and bowing over and over again. Jimin welcomed them to his home, and accepted the compliments he was given with a coy smile. The sun was at its highest point in the sky by the time Jungkook and Jimin reached the middle of the camp once again. Both were sweating, but they still had a few more hours to go. Yoongi had disappeared and Taehyung whined. Jimin patted his head again, and Jungkook clapped him on the shoulder apologetically.
The Head Alpha had also disappeared, and to that Jungkook only shrugged. “He got a letter about halfway through, and he excused himself.”
Jimin hummed. He sighed and popped his neck, making Jungkook and Taehyung wince. “Well, let’s get this over wi-”
A crumpled piece of paper landed at Jimin’s feet after hitting him in the back. He looked up and he felt the blood leave his face. He suddenly felt very cold. Jungkook growled lowly and stepped closer to Jimin. The omega put a hand against Jungkook’s chest. “Don’t.” He pet Jungkook’s cheek before looking at the man who had thrown the paper, his wedding invitation, once again. He turned his body fully towards the alpha and bowed his head.
“Hello, father.”
|
Momoi Satsuki was always being told how lucky she was. Ever since middle school…
“Wow, you and Aomine-kun are childhood friends? How lucky! He’s SO handsome!”
“You’re friends with Kise Ryouta, the famous model? He’s so unbelievably sexy!! LUCKY!”
“You know THE Akashi Seijuurou? And you’re lucky enough to go to club activities with him every day?”
“Satcchan, you’re always surrounded by handsome men, I’m so jealous of how lucky you are! You could have your pick~”
“You could probably get together with any of them! Super lucky!!”
“Yeah, lucky my foot,” the pink-haired woman sighed to herself as she walked down the street. It’s not that she wasn’t happy for her friends, because she most certainly was. It was just kind of frustrating that all of her closest relations were either happily married or on their way there. “So, no, Acchan I can’t ‘get together’ with any of them because they’re all,” she paused, arms gesticulating in every direction, “together!”
“Mommy, that lady is talking to herself,” she heard a young child’s voice and turned.
“Just keep walking and don’t make eye contact, Miki-chan,” the woman, who looked no older than Momoi, grabbed her child’s hand and dragged her through the crosswalk and to the other side of the street. Momoi sighed again and continued walking.
It wasn’t so bad. Sure, all of her friends were paired off, but it’s not like they completely ignored her. In fact, just the other day, after their annual reunion, not one, but two of her ex-classmates invited her out on her day off. She was on her way to lunch with one now. Suddenly, her phone rang. She checked the caller ID and swiped the screen to answer.
“Oh, hi, Tetsu-kun,” she sang. “I’m almost there,” she checked the street sign to make sure she was heading in the right direction. “I’m not late am I?” she looked down at her watch, but saw that she had another ten minutes before their scheduled meeting time. Kuroko’s voice sounded strange, almost breathless. If Momoi didn’t know any better, she’d say he sounded nervous. “I should be there in about five minutes,” she said and then hung up the phone.
Less than five minutes later she stood in front of a fancy little café, complete with a host stand a velvet rope. She double checked the directions in the text that Kuroko had sent her. This was indeed the place.
Although it wasn’t strange for her friends to invite her out to lunch or to get ice cream, it was usually something fast and cheap, like Maji. A place this fancy was unusual.
“Ah, Momoi-san?” a tall man appeared from behind the host stand. “Your party has already arrived,” he removed the clip and held the velvet rope to the side. “Please come this way.”
Okay, this was seriously strange. Momoi gawked as she was led to the dining room. The restaurant looked like something out of the Akashi main house. And, although she was used to such extravagancies, this was not what she was expecting when Kuroko had invited her out to lunch.
“Kagami-san, your guest has arrived,” the man said, showing her to a booth in the corner. Momoi gripped the strap of her purse nervously and glanced down at her totally much-too-casual attire before walking toward the table. True to the host’s word, Kagami and Kuroko were already seated. They sat on one side of the both, which left the other side completely empty for her.
“Thank you for coming to meet with us, Momoi-san,” Kuroko said in his usual soft voice. She nodded dumbly and took a seat. It was then that she noticed that both Kuroko and Kagami were wearing suits. Kuroko looked as though he’d wandered out of Akashi’s closet and Kagami, who looked uncomfortable and kept pulling at his collar, actually cleaned up pretty well.
“So…” Momoi picked up the glass of water from in front of her and took a sip, if, for nothing else, just to give her something to do. “This place is…uh…” she looked around. “Not what I was expecting for a casual lunch between friends.”
“Ah, well, you see,” Kuroko began, but he was interrupted by their waiter.
“Kagami-san, I see your guest has arrived,” he smiled and clasped his hands together. “May I take your orders now?”
“Yes, of course,” Kuroko looked at the menu and ordered something Momoi had never heard of before. She quickly glanced at his eyes to make sure he was, in fact, Kuroko and not Akashi in a wig. Kagami stared at the menu and scratched his head.
“Uh…anything with a lot of meat?” he raised one split eyebrow.
“Ah, for that I would recommend the Hachis Parmentier,” the waiter folded his hands behind his back and wait expectantly.
“Um…yeah…sure,” Kagami blinked and handed him his menu. Momoi was glad she wasn’t the only one who wasn’t used to this sort of place.
“And for you, Miss?” Suddenly all eyes were on her. She took a quick glance at the menu and chewed her bottom lip. She’d heard of some of these dishes, but there were no prices. She quickly did the math in her head: The shoes she just bought yesterday, rent, the estimated cost of her utilities, plus that cute jacket she’d had her eye on for a while. She wasn’t sure she could afford anything here.
“Please order whatever you’d like, Momoi-san,” Kuroko’s soft voice broke her from her thoughts. “It’s our treat,” he gave a gentle smile and Momoi felt herself relax. She turned to the waiter and asked for his suggestion. She agreed to the first thing he offered and the man took her menu and bowed before walking away.
“So…” she tried again. “This certainly isn’t Maji Burger.” She gave an awkward giggle.
“Tell me about it,” Kagami pulled at his collar again, only to have Kuroko swat his hand away.
“So, what made you decide to treat me to lunch?” ‘Here, of all places,’ she finished in her head.
“Well, you see, Momoi-san,” Kuroko cleared his throat. “Kagami-kun-” he began, but his husband cleared his throat rather loudly. “Ah, that is, Taiga-kun and I,” he corrected, “have been talking quite a bit about Murasakibara-kun’s announcement at the reunion.”
“Oh yes!” Momoi brightened. “Isn’t that the best news?” she beamed. “How selfless of Mukkun’s sister to carry their child for them.”
“Yes, about that-”
“I mean, can you imagine?” she rested her elbow on the table and her chin in her hand. “Giving up nearly a year of your life to nurture a child that you don’t even get to keep?”
“Um, well, you see-”
“Going through morning sickness and the aches and pains and, oh,” her magenta eyes widened, “not to mention hours of labor and then the birth itself!” The men across from her were silent, staring blankly back at her. “Oh, sorry, I got a bit carried away just now,” she giggled. “What was it that you wanted to say, Tetsu-kun?” She blinked at them expectantly.
“Uh…” Kagami began and looked over at his husband for assistance.
“We were wondering if you would do us the honor of being a surrogate for our child,” Kuroko’s blue eyes never wavered. “Kagami-kun’s and mine.”
Momoi stared straight ahead. She heard what Kuroko had said, but it wasn’t processing quite right. She blinked slowly.
“Well, technically it would be either Tetsuya’s or mine,” Kagami offered. “But half of it would be yours,” he went on. “Unless we purchase an egg from a donor.”
“Oh, there is that option,” Kuroko responded, but their voices were drifting further and further away. Momoi didn’t realize she wasn’t breathing until she gasped when her hand slipped out from under her chin and her face nearly hit the table.
“Momoi, are you alright?” Kagami was already halfway standing, reaching out for her.
“Oh, sorry, I’m-” she was looking everywhere, but at the men in front of her. “Um, that’s, you see,” she swallowed and finally looked up at them. “You’ve given me a lot to think about.”
“We know what we’re asking is no small favor,” Kuroko reached across the table and grabbed her hand, his thumb slowly stroking her skin. “We would pay for all of the procedures and every prenatal visit,” he went on. “We would make sure that you had everything you needed.”
“That’s,” she pulled her hand back and ignored the look of hurt in Kuroko’s eyes. “I’ll have to think about it,” she said as she stood up.
“Momoi-san-”
“I’ll see you two later, I’m, um, going to be late for an appointment,” she bowed and started to walk away.
“But you haven’t eaten yet,” the shorter man frowned up at her.
“I’m not hungry,” she called over her shoulder as she rounded the corner, desperate to get out of the restaurant. Soon, she was beyond the velvet rope and host stand and back on the street.
“Be their surrogate?” She thought aloud. She swallowed nervously and looked down at her watch. She hadn’t lied about having another appointment, but she was in no way running late. “Their surrogate…” she repeated and walked past the entrance to the train station. She had a few hours to get where she was going and she needed a nice, long walk.
Three hours later, Momoi found herself seated on a bench in front of the entrance to the zoo. She still wasn’t over the shock of what Kuroko and Kagami had asked of her, but she had calmed down quite a bit. Which was good because it was nearly time for-
“Momo-chan!” Takao waved at her as he ran across the paved walkway toward her bench.
“Ta-chan!” she stood up and waved back.
“Sorry we’re a few minutes late,” he grasped her hands in his. “Someone just had to avoid trains today,” he rolled his eyes.
“Oha Asa ranked Cancer at number 12,” Midorima appeared, holding a stuffed panda in his left hand. “I couldn’t very well risk a train derailment.”
“Yeah, right,” Takao turned away from his husband and back toward Momoi. “I hope you weren’t waiting long.”
“Oh no, I just got here myself,” she lied.
“Good,” the dark-haired man grinned. “Now, c’mon, I heard that the new tropical frog exhibit just opened,” he released her hands and motioned for her to follow him. “Frogs are Shin-chan’s favorite!” he called and snickered when Midorima’s face flushed.
Frogs… She heaved a sigh. It had to be frogs.
But they never made it to the exhibit. Instead, when they walked into the main area of the zoo, a greeter handing out guide maps distracted them.
“Oh, hello there,” he waved and handed them each a map. “Are you a panda fan?” he asked Midorima, eyeing the stuffed bear.
“He sure is!” Takao grinned and slung an arm around his husband’s shoulders.
“Well, I’ve got great news,” the cheery greeter chirped. “Two pandas from China have just arrived in our Eastern Asian Pavilion.” He opened a map and pointed to the location. “They’ve only just arrived,” he added. “We haven’t even started advertising it yet.”
“How lucky!” Takao thanked the guide and grabbed Midorima’s and Momoi’s hands, pulling them forward toward the pandas. Momoi was glad. She never did care for frogs thanks to a certain ganguro childhood friend of hers that will remain unnamed.
The greeter had been right about the pandas having only just arrived. The pavilion was still being painted, but they were allowed to enter, being directed to walk under some scaffolding. Inside there was a giant wall of glass that showed a large expanse of greenery. They were hard to see at first, but Takao was determined.
“I see one!” He exclaimed, pointing toward a large patch of bamboo. Momoi squinted and spotted the black and white bear. “He’s so cute, Shin-chan!” He dragged his husband closer to the enclosure. “I want one,” he pouted, pressing his nose against the glass.
“I’m afraid you won’t be able to take one home,” a woman in a polo and cargo shorts came up behind them. She was wearing a matching khaki hat and an official-looking nametag that read ‘Zookeeper’ at the bottom. “But,” she added cheerfully, “Hopefully the two we have will become more soon.”
“Oh?” Momoi cocked her head to the side.
“These pandas are visiting from China to see our fertility specialist,” the zookeeper explained. “We’re hoping that the two will mate and help increase their numbers.”
“I see,” Takao’s silvery blue eyes were wide with awe. “Baby pandas,” he beamed at his husband. “How cute,” he added softly. Momoi furrowed her brow and looked over at the two. They seemed to share a silent conversation before they both turned toward her. “Momo-chan,” Takao began.
“If you’re done viewing the pandas, we’d like to have a word with you,” Midorima finished for him. Momoi felt the sudden change in the atmosphere. They both looked so serious. Even the childish gleam in Takao’s eyes had dulled a bit.
“Of course,” she frowned slightly. They turned to walk away and she followed them, a thousand thoughts running through her head.
Were they alright? Was their marriage okay? Was one of them sick? Did something happen?
“Momoi,” Midorima turned toward her and motioned for her to sit on a bench outside. The zoo wasn’t particularly busy today, but this area was especially private, hidden under a canopy of trees. She nodded and took a seat. Takao was shifting his weight from foot to foot before he decided to sit on the bench opposite hers. Midormi joined him, setting his lucky panda down next to him.
The silence was driving her crazy. She wanted to know why the usually bubbly Takao seemed so morose now. No, he wasn’t morose, she realized. He looked down, but more so, he looked…nervous.
“Momo-chan…” he cleared his throat.
“How about those pandas, huh?” she held a finger up. “They’re so cute and soon they might have a baby,” she gave a nervous laugh. “Isn’t that adorable?”
“Momo-chan,” Takao tried again. Momoi was scared. “Thanks for coming out with us today,” the dark-haired man smiled, the gleam returning to those silvery blue eyes of his. Momoi let out a sigh of relief.
“Oh, no problem,” she grinned. “But you guys scared me,” she blushed a bit, playing with the hem of her skirt. “You both got so serious, I thought maybe someone was dying or something.” The two exchanged glances. “I was wrong, right?”
“Well, yes,” Midorima adjusted his glasses. “No one is dying,” he looked at his husband and then back at her. “Um, we were hoping for quite the opposite, actually.”
“The opposite?” Alarm bells should have been going off in Momoi’s head, but she wanted so badly to hear what they had to say. Damn her morbid curiosity.
“Remember the other day at the reunion,” Takao took over, “when Murasakibara-san and his husband made their announcement?”
Now the alarms were going off.
“Well, Shin-chan and I, you see, we,” he paused, biting his lower lip, “we’ve decided that maybe it’s time for us to start trying for a baby.”
“Oh, what great news!” Magenta eyes started scanning the area for the best possible escape route. “I’m so happy for you two,” she stood up and waved. “I wish you both the best of luck, but you see I really must be-”
“Momoi,” the green-haired man interrupted her. “Kazu and I were wondering if you would carry our child for us.”
What did she look like? A walking womb?
“Uh…” her eye twitched. “Well, you see, you’re actually the second couple to proposition me today,” she admitted, hoping that this would end the discussion.
“Second?” Takao raised an eyebrow.
“Yes, Tetsu-kun and Kagamin just asked me the very same thing over lunch,” she let out an awkward laugh. “Well, I really must be going, so-”
“Can they offer you the proper medical care?” Midorima asked, brows drawn down.
“What?”
“What about creature comforts?” The bespectacled man continued. “Takao is willing to take leave from his work to ensure that you won’t have to lift a finger during the entire pregnancy.”
“But I haven’t agreed to-”
“And we’ll pay your bills so you won’t have to work either,” Takao offered.
Momoi suddenly felt terrible for that panda.
Well, she was sure as Hell not going to breed in captivity.
“I thank you for your invitation to the zoo,” Momoi turned away from them. “This is certainly something I need some time to think about,” she didn’t look back. “I had fun,” she added as she walked away as fast as her legs could carry her.
“Has the entire world gone insane?!” Momoi screamed to herself as she rushed out of the zoo, ignoring the vender offering her a free balloon. “Has everyone come down with a case of baby fever?” she wondered, pace slowing as she got farther from the zoo. She took a deep breath and sighed. She wanted to help her friends. It must be hard to want to have a child with someone and to not be physically able.
“But that doesn’t mean you should ask the closest person with a cervix,” she lamented. She looked up at the sky. It had steadily grown darker the farther from the zoo she got. There were thick, gray clouds overhead. A storm was on its way. “At least my apartment is only a few stops from here,” she said and started walking toward the nearest train station. That was, until she heard someone call her name.
“Momoi!” She turned toward the source of the voice. There was a black limousine pulled over next the sidewalk, a tinted window partially rolled down. “I thought that was you,” the window slid down the rest of the way to reveal a crop of red hair and crimson eyes.
“Akashi-kun?” she blinked in surprise, walking over to the sleek, black car. “What are you doing in Tokyo?” she asked.
“Well, I was here on business, but we decided to stay an extra day and go shopping,” he moved to the side to reveal Furihata and a giant pile of boxes and gift bags.
“Hello Momoi-san,” the brunet greeted.
“Hi Furi-kun,” she smiled at him. Just then, thunder rumbled above them. She looked up and saw that the sky had gotten even darker. “Well, it was good to see you, but I should hurry to the train station.”
“Nonsense,” Akashi shook his head. “We’ll give you a ride,” he offered, opening the door. Momoi was about to object, but another thunder clap convinced her otherwise. Just as she stepped into the car and sat down on the supple leather seat, the sky opened up, pelting the roof of the limousine.
“Thank you for the ride,” she smiled at the happy couple.
“Think nothing of it,” the redhead waved his hand in dismissal. “Just tell my driver your address and we’ll head there straight away.” She did as she was told and then turned back toward them.
“Thanks again,” she buckled her seatbelt and felt the limo begin to move. They took a turn just a little too sharply and one of the gift bags fell over, spilling its contents onto the floor of the car. Furihata immediately reached down and began to pick up the items. “Here, let me help,” Momoi offered. She picked up a few things and noticed a theme.
Pacifiers, onesies and the cutest little pair of socks.
“Presents,” Furihata explained.
“Are all of these for Mukkun and Himuro-san?” she gaped, looking at the giant pile of blue and pink-colored gifts.
“Well, most of them are,” Akashi said. “But some of them are for us,” he gave a small smile and Furihata blushed next to him.
“Oh, you two, you’re...?” Momoi grinned. “Congratulations!”
“Well, not yet we aren’t,” Furihata chuckled. “Just planning ahead.”
“No harm in getting things prepared early,” Akashi agreed. “Speaking of which,” he began as the car pulled to a stop for a red light. “Momoi, we were wondering, would you-” But Momoi was out of the car and into the rain before he could finish his question. She absently heard the two men calling after her, but she was not about to get caught in another awkward baby mama proposal.
She took off down the sidewalk, recognizing a street sign. She was only a few blocks from home. When she felt like she was far enough away from the limo, she slowed down, not caring that she was getting soaked.
In hindsight, she wasn’t even sure if Akashi and Furihata were even going to ask that of her. Akashi was rich, after all. He could probably just hire someone from a service. But, once bitten…or, in her case, twice bitten…
She was, in a way, honored that her friends had chosen her. Then again, she wasn’t aware of any other females with whom they regularly came in contact. Kuroko and Kagami had no siblings and Midorima’s and Takao’s sisters were much too young to be considered for such a thing.
Momoi wondered how someone else in her situation would have reacted. Would they have been scared? Would they have been worried more about their own body than their friends’ happiness? Was she being selfish? Murasakibara’s sister was giving her brother this amazing gift. Why was Momoi so opposed to giving it to her friends?
Maybe it was because they weren’t family. Despite spending the majority of her teenage years swearing that she loved Kuroko, she never truly did. She liked him, of course. She liked him a lot. But it wasn’t enough for such a favor. And Midorima, despite his cold exterior, had always treated her kindly. But she didn’t love him either.
She sighed as her apartment building came into view. It was already dark out. The rain had reduced to a drizzle, but she was already drenched. She didn’t want to soak the carpet in the main lobby, so she fished through her purse for her cardkey as she approached the side entrance. She paused for a second, catching sight of a dark figure next to the door. She’d recognize that silhouette anywhere.
“Dai-chan,” she studied him as she drew closer. The streetlamp next to them buzzed and then sparked to life, illuminating his tan face. He was just as soaked as she was, his clothes clinging to his body as he leaned against the side of the building, his hands in his pockets.
“Satsuki,” Aomine offered her a weak smile.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, noticing the red rimming his eyes. “Did something happen?” She looked around. “Where’s Ki-chan?”
“Kise doesn’t know I’m here,” he stated, eyes downcast. “I…I just needed to talk.”
“Well, come inside,” she walked over to the door and slid her keycard, unlocking it. Aomine followed her in and up the stairs to the third floor. They didn’t speak as they walked, the only sounds coming from their soggy shoes against the concrete steps. She unlocked her door and they walked inside. “So,” she offered him a seat on the couch, but he declined, choosing instead to stand. “What happened?”
“For the first time,” he swallowed, “Kise wants something that I can’t give him.” Momoi waited for him to finish, busying herself with making them two mugs of hot chocolate. They were quiet for a moment. The silence was broken by the beeping of the microwave. Momoi took one of the mugs out and walked over to Aomine, carefully handing it to him. “And Satsuki,” he breathed, staring into the liquid chocolate, “I want it, too.”
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with Mukkun’s announcement at the reunion, would it?” she asked. Aomine looked up at her with wide eyes.
“How did you know?” he asked.
“Let’s just say it’s a popular subject,” she shrugged and sat down on the faux leather couch, not caring if it got wet. “So Ki-chan wants a baby?”
“Yeah…” Aomine finally took a seat. He set the mug on the coffee table. “I don’t know what to do,” he sighed. “I want to make him happy, but I don’t even know where to start.”
“Well, shouldn’t you start by finding a suitable surrogate to carry your child?” she asked, sipping her cocoa. He scrubbed his face with his hand.
“Damn, you’re right,” he bemoaned. “The whole walk over I was thinking about which one of us would put his career on hold to stay at home with the baby and how we were going to pay for them to go to college,” he gave a lazy chuckle. “I didn’t really think about the mechanics.”
“Well,” Momoi scooched closer and put a hand over his. “What about me?” He turned to face her, navy eyes wide.
“Satsuki, I couldn’t ask that-”
“You’re not asking,” she said simply, setting her mug down on the coffee table. “I’m offering.”
“You do know what you’re offering, don’t you?”
“Yeah,” she smiled. “I do.”
It’s funny how anything can seem unimaginable until you love someone enough to imagine it.
|
Her little face is perfect. Round apple cheeks, perfectly shaped little mouth, nose like a button, sweet blue eyes, wispy curls of dark hair crowning her head. She's three weeks old and sleeps in my embrace, her mouth close to the nipple she will be looking for when she wakes up. We named her Paxton, a name that holds the Latin word for "peace".
I was still set on never having kids again when Peeta and I got remarried. I still don't trust the world we live in and I still carry the pain of not getting to raise my son every day and I didn't want anything more to do with bearing children. Peeta stopped spending all summer in the Capitol after we were married, limiting his visits to six two week visits each year spread out from January to October. The loss of our firstborn will probably always pain us and I knew that a new baby could never make up for that.
I've showed Peeta the crib his brother made. It was right around the time we got married again, when we had decided to finally give my house back to the government and trust each other and our feelings for one another enough that we would only ever need one house. I didn't want to leave the crib behind in the basement so I took Peeta down there and told him the story of the beautiful piece of furniture. It was difficult to see him then, his hand caressing the wood, remembering his brother and probably thinking of the son he never got to rock in a cradle. He decided we should keep it and give it to Victor the day he becomes a father. I took that to mean Peeta accepted that I wasn't going to give him another child.
I'm not sure what it was that changed my mind but I think it was a slowly appearing but increasingly strong desire to get to raise a child with Peeta. To have a baby that was part of us both and belonged only to us and whom nobody could ever take away. When I told him I wanted us to have another baby he did not need to be convinced. Paxton was conceived three months later.
This pregnancy was more difficult than my first. I spent most of it in an irrational fear that I might lose this baby too, either as an infant or that she would die young just like Prim, just like Rue. In addition to that I was worried that something that ought to bring spouses together might actually drive a wedge between Peeta and me. I knew beforehand that he had a lot of questions about when I was pregnant with Victor and he did ask a lot of them during these nine months. I should have known though that he doesn't have it in him to be hurtful or cold about things like that. All his questions came from genuine interest and concern and when he asked me how different stages of this pregnancy was compared to when I carried Victor he never had an ounce of blame in his voice.
He had an incredible amount of patience with me while my mood was all over the place. Even Haymitch avoided me for three out of the nine months. My erratic behaviour shocked me since I had been much more calm and in control of my emotions the first time around. Then again a lot of things were different about carrying this baby. I felt a lot more nauseous, gained more weight and I first felt her move much later than I did with Victor, which caused me to panic when I couldn't feel her. Peeta quickly learned when he could affect my moods and when it was better to just leave me alone. For the most part he was loving and attentive, often caressing my belly and talking to his unborn daughter, doing whatever he could to make the pregnancy easier for me.
The birth was a horrifying experience. I chose to have her at home out of a deeply rooted fear that if I gave birth at a hospital someone might take my baby away just like they did with Victor. It didn't matter that I knew things were different this time around. So I went through labour in our own home with meagre methods of pain relief. I thought it was bad the first time around. This time it was much, much worse and I have vague memories of screaming to Peeta first that I'm going to die and later begging him to kill me. He handled the whole thing calmly, or at least he faked calm in front of me, keeping me calm and focused as best he could.
They say that childbirth is easier when your partner is there with you. I don't know about that. At times it was very comforting but I was barely aware of Peeta's presence towards the end and frankly his voice constantly mumbling in my ear irritated me. What did help was going back to the thought I had when I gave birth the first time, about how other mothers could focus on knowing they would soon be rewarded by holding their baby in their arms. This time it was true for me and my whole focus was on my unborn baby and getting to finally meet her.
When she arrived I had my eyes and ears open, wanting to absorb everything. I was shocked at the sight of her, so red and wrinkly and tiny. I barely noticed the tears falling down Peeta's face, much less the ones on my own cheeks. Then she was wrapped in a tiny yellow blanket and Peeta gave her to me and it was the happiest moment of my life. To see her perfect face, feel her lovely scent, hear her adorable little noises and to know that I have as much time as I want with her. She opened her blue eyes and looked at me, seeming confused and almost as tired as I was. With the help of the midwife I got her to latch on to my nipple and this time I didn't take my eyes off my baby as she had her first ever meal.
"Ten perfect little fingers..." Peeta counted. "Ten equally perfect little toes."
"She's perfect" I decided. "In every way. And she's all ours."
When she was done nursing I gave her to Peeta. I wanted to keep her in my own arms and never let her go but I knew that seeing him with our newborn baby would be an incredible feeling too. He sat down next to me on the bed and stared adoringly at his baby girl and I could tell that she already had him wrapped around her little finger. He only took his eyes off of her to lean down and give me a loving kiss. I rested my cheek on his shoulder and together we watched our daughter yawn, stretch out her little fingers, form a fist with her right hand and then drift off to sleep with a sigh. I felt a moment of melancholy wishing we could have had this with Victor but I've long since accepted that I will never not feel guilt and regret over having had to give him away.
After she had been put in her crib, the one her uncle made all those years ago, we signed her birth certificate and I asked to keep a copy of it. I keep it framed, hanging above what will one day be her bed in her nursery. I walk in there several times a day and look at the legal document that promises that she belongs to us and nobody will ever be able to undo that.
Mother's name: Katniss Mellark.
Father's name: Peeta Mellark.
She was born on May 13th, only five days after my own birthday. By the time she is three weeks old school is out in the Capitol but this year Peeta is staying home with our new family. On my birthday he surprised me with the news that Sulla and Alexandria have decided to spend this summer visiting some of the districts with Victor and that they will be spending one day in Twelve. It's just for a day but for the first time ever my son will be in my home.
Victor is twelve years old now, turning thirteen in the fall. If we had kept him and there had been no revolution he would have been eligible for the Reaping. It's strange to think that more than a decade has gone by since I had my first child. He's on his way to becoming a young man now and in most ways he is still a stranger to me. I will never let that happen with Paxton. With her I will be an ever present mother, everything I wanted to be for Victor but couldn't.
Paxton's little eyes open and she sniffs for my breast. I can't keep from smiling. She's hungry, always. Every three hours she wants something to eat which means I can barely get any sleep. Peeta got me a milk pump so for the past week he has been bottle feeding her every evening, allowing me some time to rest. Some nights I fall asleep the second my head hits the pillow. Others I try to stay awake because I love watching him feed her. Her tiny hands try to grab the bottle but they're too little. Sometimes she closes her eyes and seems to just enjoy filling up her belly, other times she looks up at him with what I can only interpret as utter baby love. I'm torn between suggesting Peeta should feed her more often so I can watch them together and they can share that bonding time, and not wanting to lose a single such moment for myself. I feel safe when I nurse her. I know she's right there and can't go anywhere.
For the moment there's no dilemma as to who will feed her. Peeta is not at home. He has gone to the train station to greet Victor and his parents. Alexandria and Sulla will go straight to their hotel but Victor is coming here for a visit. I think Alexandria is very curious to see how we live but with a three week old baby in the house we wanted it to be just Victor visiting. There's a nervous pit in my stomach, a mix of excitement that he's coming and worry that he might not like me. I haven't actually seen him face to face since that time years ago, half his lifetime ago, in the Capitol. All I see of him is the occasional photograph and all the drawings Peeta has made.
"Your brother is coming for a visit" I whisper to Paxton. "All the way from the Capitol."
She pays no heed to my voice, focusing only on nursing. One of her tiny hands is on my breast and I place a finger gently on top of it, loving the feeling of her olive skin underneath me. Then my hand runs over the soft, dark curls on her head. They say it might change colour and turn blonde like her father's and that her eyes might turn into my grey ones. I don't care either way. All that matters to me is that she's healthy and she's here to stay.
I hear a car pulling up and turn my head in the direction of the door. I'm in an armchair in the sitting room and right now I wish I had chosen a different spot. Like right by the door for example. Then there are steps on the front porch and the door opens.
"... for some time" I hear Peeta's voice.
"That's neat" answers another voice, one I know well from hearing it over the phone.
I smile widely down at my daughter and decide she has had enough to eat. She protests when she's taken from my breast but I put my little finger in her mouth and she suckles on it and doesn't begin to cry.
"Hush..." I say softly. "We have a visitor."
I look over my shoulder as Peeta and Victor walk in. For almost a full minute I do nothing but stare at the boy who is my newborn child's older brother. When I last saw him in person he was six and still a small child but now he is twelve and an adolescent. His hair is still ashen like his father's and his eyes are still blue but they have kept the shape of mine. Other than that it's hard to tell which one of us he resembles, if he does in fact look much like either one of us. He seems tall for his age and sports a tan which suggests he spends a lot of time outdoors. I wonder if he plays sports, like his father does, or if he spends time out in whatever woods the Capitol suburbs have to offer.
Victor isn't looking back at me. He's staring at the infant in my embrace. It must be strange for him, I realize. Being as closely tied to this little bundle as two children can be and yet all he knows about her is her name. She doesn't look much like anyone at this point, just a tiny little face which is now creating large amounts of spit when my finger is no longer in her mouth. Peeta walks over and leans in to wipe it off with a soft bit of fabric from the baby blanket. He kisses my brow and encourages Victor to come up and have a look at the baby.
Slowly, hesitantly, the boy steps up.
"Hey..." he says carefully. "Hey Paxton."
The baby burps which makes Peeta laugh and Victor look startled.
"You can come closer if you like" I say and angle the baby so that he can see her better.
Victor leans in and takes a good long look at the infant. He doesn't seem overwhelmed, rather he looks like he doesn't get what all the big fuss is about. He takes a seat on the couch next to Peeta and the two chat easily with each other, though my son keeps looking over at Paxton and me. I stay mostly silent, focusing on the baby. It's enough for me at the moment just to see and hear Peeta and Victor together.
Victor stays for a few hours. Peeta sets out cookies and hot chocolate. Then they go outside for a while and I'm not entirely sure what they are up to but I think a ball is involved. While they are out I nurse Paxton again. When they come back inside they both take a seat on the couch but then the baby needs a diaper change and Peeta offers to do it. He leaves with our daughter and I'm alone with our son. I pull my feet up under me and smile faintly, trying to think of something good to say.
"It's a shame you can't stay longer."
"Uh-huh" nods Victor, looking around the room at all the things around us, as if he's trying to get a better feel for who we are. Or maybe just who I really am.
We sit there for a few minutes in awkward silence. I get the feeling there's something he wants to talk to me about or ask me but either he can't find the right words or he doesn't dare to. He looks at me with a frown, the look that reminds me so much of Ryean.
"When I get older, can I come here for visits during summer?" he asks, a question I had not expected at all. "Dad says it's okay but I thought maybe..."
"What would your parents think?" I ask, regretting having opened with that as soon as the words leave my mouth.
He shrugs and looks down at his shoes.
"Haven't asked them yet."
"Well... If it's okay by them..."
He looks thoughtful. I wish I could just tell him how much I would love having him here but I'm afraid I might frighten him if I'm too enthusiastic. We're still strangers to one another. He looks up at me again with hopeful eyes.
"Can I come and visit Paxton?"
"Of course" I say. "She's your sister."
He smiles at me and I wonder if it's my own smile I see on his face. It's not Peeta's or anybody else I can think of with blood ties to the boy. Perhaps it is his very own. Encouraged by his favourable reaction I find myself smiling back at him and giving a bit more generous of an answer.
"You're always welcome here."
"How long before she can... you know... do something fun?"
I laugh a little.
"Probably a while. She hasn't even begun to smile yet. She'll get there, eventually."
Peeta comes back with Paxton and sits down with her next to Victor. The boy leans in and takes another close look. I can't keep a smile off my face, seeing the three of them together. The three people I love the most in the world, all connected to one another through me.
"We have to get going" says Peeta with dismay after fifteen minutes. "I promised your parents you would be back in time for dinner."
He gets up and walks over to me, carefully handing the baby over. I get an awkward little wave from Victor before he heads off with Peeta, the two of them already caught in a conversation about some new instrument Victor wants to try.
I look down at my precious baby daughter and smile again. I can't seem to stop smiling whenever I'm with her. Haymitch just snorts at that and tells me that once she's kept me up all night for a few weeks and she poops and pukes all over the place I will be on his doorstep with the baby in a basket begging him to take over for a while. I tell him I wouldn't allow him to babysit if it was a matter of life or death. He's probably right that the wondrous feeling I'm experiencing probably will go away eventually but for now I intend on enjoying it, and my family, every single waking moment.
Paxton grows and becomes a beautiful little girl with a stubborn streak a mile wide. Her hair is long and dark, her eyes are grey and she looks much more like me than her father except when she grins. The grin of hers is exactly like Peeta's and she quickly learns that she can disarm me completely with that face. From an early age I can tell that she will grow to be more like her Aunt Prim than me or her father, showing great love and fascination for every animal she encounters.
When she is three years old she gets a baby sister whose name ends up being Kitty, completely against my wishes. Kitty was very active in my womb, my stomach literally bellowing towards the end of the pregnancy as she moved around in there. Peeta took to calling her the little wildcat so when she had been born and Paxton was introduced to her new sister she pointed at the baby, took the pacifier from her mouth and exclaimed "Kitty"! After that there was no convincing her that Kitty wasn't her sister's name and eventually I had to give in. Peeta suggested we name her Kathryn and leave Kitty as a nickname she could set aside as she grows older but I have a feeling that nobody will even remember her name is Kathryn when she grows up.
From the age of thirteen Victor begins to spend his summers with us in Twelve. Alexandria and Sulla protest and claim he's too young to leave them for such a long time but Peeta curtly reminds them that he is still the legal parent and that twelve was deemed old enough to be taken from your family and put in the arena.
"I can't help it" he told me later. "It's satisfying to see the look on their faces when I point stuff like that out."
As time goes on I develop a better relationship with my son. He's always most comfortable with Peeta but we begin to understand each other when we spend more time together. He never calls me Mom or any other variation of Mother. I assume he's just too old to start using a name like that on me. I can live with him calling me Katniss but I wonder if there's ever been anything I've liked to hear better than my girls calling me Mother.
My son gets along very well with his sisters. Paxton in particular adores him and likes to brag to her little friends that she has a brother in the Capitol, which was how the secret came out to the public. The media frenzy was insane for a while and I suspect they will always enjoy speculating about what really went on between our Games and the end of Snow's regime but neither Peeta nor I say anything on the subject and Gale is anything but forthcoming when they approach him. He acknowledges that he's not the actual father but that's all he will say.
When Victor is sixteen we finally have the talk I sensed he wanted to have the first time he visited us. Kitty is eight months old and sitting on my lap playing with a rattle. Peeta has taken Paxton to town to buy her new shoes which she has been going on and on about all morning. The house is still and quiet and Victor takes a seat on the couch while Kitty and I sit on the floor together.
"Did you want me?" he asks, so out of the blue that I don't even understand the question at first. "When I was born..." he elaborates. "I mean, you were just seventeen. A year older than I am. From what I understand you didn't even... love Dad then..."
"Who told you that?" I frown and push Paxton's toy car away from Kitty's greedy hands.
"The old alcoholic who lives two houses down."
"Haymitch?" I exclaim.
"At school they teach us about the Hunger Games and the star-crossed lovers from District 12 is one of the major points they bring up. Mother and Father can't shut up about what a great love story the two of you share but I distinctly remember that you weren't together those first few years when Dad started coming around. It didn't make a lot of sense to me and I ran in to Haymitch the other day and thought I would ask him. He just kind of... guffawed."
"The reason I gave you up for adoption had nothing to do with your father" I tell him. "If you've read about the Hunger Games then you've read about the Reapings. They rigged the Reapings to put children of victors in the arena. I knew that they could never resist making mine and Peeta's child a tribute so I made the decision to lie about who your father was and give you away. It was the only way I could think of protecting you."
He ponders it for a long time. It must be a lot to process and I'm betting he has been wondering these things for many years. I give him some time to digest what I just told him. I set Kitty down on the carpet and let her practice crawling. Her high activity level did not stop after birth and she immediately tries to worm her way to the end of the carpet, making me have to lean forward and catch her.
"Did Dad know?" asks Victor.
"No" I say, keeping my eyes on my daughter because it's easier than looking at my son. "I wasn't sure we could pull it off if he knew. Either way, why subject him to it? I never thought I would get to see you again or ever find out how you were growing. I didn't even know if I had given birth to a boy or a girl. Sparing Peeta from that pain seemed like the decent thing to do."
There's another long pause.
"So... Did you want me?"
"I never wanted children at all" I admit frankly. "I couldn't handle the thought of standing there on Reaping Day and possibly hearing their names drawn. I had to hear Effie Trinket read my sister's name and that was horrendous enough. Getting pregnant was never part of my plan."
"Oh" he says. He sounds dejected but not surprised.
"Once you existed I couldn't afford to let myself think about keeping you" I go on. "I knew I didn't want an abortion but I had to protect you somehow and if I got emotionally attached I would never be able to give you up. That's why I never even knew your gender or saw your face when you were born. Still I... I've missed you every day of your life and always wished I could have had different options. I don't regret making the choice that I knew would save your life but I have always loved you."
"So you didn't give me away because you were unmarried at the time? And kept the girls because you had them in wedlock?"
"I would have kept you if I only dared to. Marriage had no role in it."
He smiles faintly. Then he gets up from the couch and walks over and kneels opposite me, about five yards away. He holds his arms out to his sister and encourages her to come to him. Kitty needs not be told twice and she lets out an excited shriek and begins to make her way towards him. It's more worming than crawling but she's surprisingly quick. When she reaches her brother he scoops her up in a hug and gives her a big kiss on the cheek.
"You're a little speedster, aren't you? Go back to Mama."
He turns her around and when she sees me she gurgles happily and her whole face scrunches up in a grin. She worms her way back towards me but encounters a problem when she comes to the edge of the carpet. Frustrated by the hindrance she begins to shriek at the top of her lungs until Victor lifts her up and places her on the carpet.
"Alright, alright, there you go" he says calmly.
She quickly makes her way back to me and I lean down and give her a big kiss. I then turn her back around and we spend the next fifteen minutes with Kitty practicing her crawling, going back and forth between me and her brother. Whenever she reaches Victor and he gives her his full attention I can almost pretend I'm watching a teenaged Peeta playing with our first child. It's the closest I will ever get to seeing that old daydream realized and I think again of how different things could have been, should have been for us. And yet, with all the pain and suffering and loss we have been subjected to it's almost impossible to believe that we can find any happiness at all in life anymore. Our children add to that happiness but I know I will never be without that gnawing sense of worry in the pit of my stomach, the one that beckons me to keep a watchful eye out and make sure that no harm ever comes to these three lives we have brought into the world. None of them asked to be here and it is on our shoulders to shield them from the things that hurt and damage.
As the years go by Kitty continues to be a whirlwind. She looks exactly like a female version of her father except she has my hair. It's almost strange looking at her and seeing Peeta yet not Peeta. She resembles Victor more than Paxton, who takes after me much more than her father. Together the three of them make up an interesting group and it doesn't seem to matter how old they grow, they always seem to be up to mischief whenever they are together.
Music continues to be Victor's great passion and he plays several instruments by the time he's fifteen. Kitty always seems to be on the move and Peeta wants to let her try all kinds of different sports and channel her energy into something. Paxton loves animals and constantly nags her father and me for a pet and while Peeta often wants to relent I am firmly against it. To me you don't keep pets unless they can contribute to your sustenance in some way and after the war I can't think of anything we might need from an animal. Peeta dryly suggests that companionship might be a quality that a dog or a cat could bring but I retort that we don't need an animal for that, we have each other.
One summer's evening Victor offers to read the girls a bedtime story and Peeta and I both gladly accept. Kitty has been all over the house with what feels like every single one of her toys and the place is a complete mess. It takes us forever to clean up downstairs and put all the toys back in their chest in the downstairs guestroom, which functions as a playroom.
"I'm exhausted" groans Peeta and sinks down on the couch. "Is that girl sneaking sugar from the cabinet when we're not looking?"
"Either that or Haymitch lets her drink from his bottles" I say, sitting down next to him and putting my legs on his lap.
"If I wasn't this beat I would suggest that we leave the girls with Victor and go for a nice refreshing calm and quiet walk through the woods... ending with wild sex up against a tree."
"Ha!" I scoff. "You couldn't even manage lazy sex right now."
"Is that a dare?" asks Peeta, one eyebrow suggestively raised.
"You wish" I say and give him a playful smack on the shoulder. With a huff I get up from the couch. "Besides, we can't leave them with Victor and go for a walk. You know how Kitty goes crazy if she wakes up and we're not here."
Peeta nods and gets up as well. Our youngest is going through a phase where she has bad dreams that everyone is gone and then she panics if she can't find us right away when she wakes up. The dreams are very disturbing to me; I deeply hate that my little girl should have to experience worries like that in her dreams and seeing her fear and sadness when she wakes up breaks my heart. There's not much we can do, though, and the doctor we've spoken to says the dreams will go away on their own when she grows older. For now we're just going to have to live with her coming running in to our room several nights a week and jumping up in our bed, sobbing and wailing.
"I'm going to go prepare the dough for tomorrow's breakfast" says Peeta and yawns and stretches his arms.
"Okay" I say and place a kiss on his cheek. "I'm heading upstairs to check if the girls are asleep yet. Maybe Victor would like to take a walk if you want to get out of the house for a while. I could stay and calm Kitty if she wakes."
"Nah" shrugs Peeta and gives me a proper kiss. "I wanted to take a walk with you."
I smile at him and grab the last of the toys from the coffee table. These go up in the girls' rooms. Kitty's toy train which she likes to run through the entire house in the morning, never minding who she wakes up. Paxton's crayons and the colouring book Peeta has made for her. She doesn't show any of her father's talent for painting, at least not yet, but she likes to colour things. There's also a stuffed toy, a monkey given to Paxton from Haymitch on her second birthday. She loves it like crazy, always wrapping the monkey's arms around her neck so she can carry it with her. The only time she doesn't seem to care for it is when she's going to bed. She has never had a binky or a security blanket of any kind and seems to hate having inanimate objects in the bed with her.
I reach the top of the stairs and walk towards the bedroom our daughters share. In a few years when they no longer need their playroom we're planning on turning it back to a guestroom and letting the girls each have their own room. For now they get to share. Neither Peeta nor I see anything negative about it; we both shared a room with our siblings before we became tributes. The only thing that makes it troublesome right now is that Kitty wakes Paxton up when she's had her nightmares. Paxton has learned to just wave her sister off when Kitty shakes her shoulder to check that she's really there and then go back to sleep when her sister trots off to check on Peeta and me. Peeta wants Kitty to go back to her own bed after a nightmare but I'm far more lenient and want to let her sleep with us so she can feel safe and protected. Peeta argues that she'll never learn to sleep on her own that way and I suppose he has a point but I can't fault her for wanting her father and me near after a bad dream. I still cling to Peeta when I have one, which is usually at least once a week. The biggest problem I see with letting our youngest sleep in our bed is that she's just as active in sleep as she is when she's awake and she often ends up kicking one or both of us or sprawling across the bed to the point where we can't all fit comfortably. One of us, usually me, then gets up and goes to sleep in Kitty's bed instead. Peeta is better at comforting someone after a nightmare anyway.
There is a soft light coming from the half open door of the girls' room but I can't hear a sound. Are they both asleep already? If so, where is Victor? Carefully I nudge the door fully open with my foot and then a smile spreads across my face.
All three of my children are on Kitty's bed together, barely fitting in all three of them. Victor is flanked by both his sisters, Paxton with her head resting on his chest and Kitty drooling on his arm. He notices neither because just like the girls he has fallen asleep, the book laying open in front of him. The sight of the three of them together nearly brings tears to my eyes and as quickly and quietly as I can I tiptoe over to the tiny toy chest by the foot of Paxton's bed and place the train inside of it together with the crayons and the colouring book. The monkey is put on his spot on her nightstand. Then I walk back to the door and just stand there for a while, watching the three of them.
A pair of strong arms sneak around my waist and my husband's lips find my cheek.
"Uh-oh, looks like he succumbed to the exhaustion of reading bedtime stories too" murmurs Peeta, and from his voice I can tell he's smiling.
My smile grows even wider and my hands reach down and caress his.
"Just look at them..." My voice barely holds as emotion overcomes me. "I never thought I would get to see something like this. My son... with my other children, who I never had to give away. You know he comes more to see his sisters than to spend time with us, right?" I laugh shortly. "He's seventeen years old now. The age I was when he was born. When I look back we seem like we were so adult at that age but he is still a kid."
"As he ought to be" says Peeta softly. "He is what seventeen year-olds are supposed to be when they haven't been forced into an arena to fight to the death and they don't have to get married."
"You're right" I smile. "Should we wake him up? We need to move Paxxie to her own bed anyway. He's going to get a wry neck if he lays like that for much longer."
"Yeah..." says Peeta unconvincingly. "Shame, though. They look pretty great together."
"We could get the camera."
"I think I actually might."
I giggle and he lets go of me to grab the camera. It's in his painting room since that is the only door of the house we have a lock to aside from the bathrooms. We keep everything in there that we don't want our daughters to break and the camera Effie gave us for our second wedding is definitely one such item. Peeta loves it and used to take all sorts of artistic photographs before the girls began to interfere with his attempts at taking pictures.
He returns with the camera and I step aside to give him room. He snaps a couple of pictures and then goes to put the camera back. I wait for him to come back to the room and then together we walk up to the bed where our three children are sleeping.
As gently as possible Peeta scoops up Paxton in his arms. She comes to a little, mumbles something incoherent in a whiny tone and then falls back asleep before he's even carried her all the way to her own bed. She wakes again when he lays her down but then she's rolled over on her side with her face to the wall and is once again fast asleep. I lean in and give Victor's shoulder a gentle shake. He stirs, blinks and looks around him with a bit of confusion.
"The girls are asleep" I tell him in a whisper. "You should move. That looks uncomfortable."
He groans and carefully sits up, making a disgusted face at the drool on his arm. Kitty doesn't notice at all that her pillow leaves but in her sleep she pulls her teddy bear closer. Carefully Victor gets off the bed and yawns, looking quite groggy.
Peeta switches the nightlight on, a big gaudy thing Effie gave Kitty for her birthday. It's shaped like a butterfly and Paxton is really jealous of it and it doesn't help to point out to her that they share a room so both get to enjoy it equally as much. I turn off the light on Kitty's bedside table and then I follow my husband and son out of the room, switching the light on the ceiling off as I walk out. The door is left ajar and the lights in the hallway are dimmed so that the girls can still find their way if they wake up and go to find us.
"You know what?" mumbles Victor, rubbing his neck. "I think I'll just go to bed now, too. I don't know where Kitty gets her energy from but after chasing her all around the house and the lawn today I could probably sleep for twelve hours."
"Good idea, head to bed" says Peeta and gives him a pat on the shoulder. "In fact, I think we could all use an early night."
"Maybe we should take Haymitch up on that offer to put up an obstacle course for her on his lawn" I say tiredly. "She could run around it for hours and tire herself out."
We say goodnight to Victor and retreat to our bedroom. Our usual bedtime rituals are performed. We wash our faces, brush our teeth, change into bedclothes, open a window, fold the bedspread and finally climb under the sheets and wrap our arms around each other. I feel so much at peace on nights like these that I could almost forget the nightmares that probably await me and the grief I still carry over the people that I've lost and the horrors that I live with, from Hunger Games and the war. On nights like these I feel like a normal wife and mother enjoying a normal, happy life.
Peeta's lips find mine and immediately I feel the familiar hunger. We begin to work at each other's clothes, removing only our underwear in case we're walked in on, and then Peeta's face moves further and further down my body until it's right where I love it the most. We have to be quiet and I could swear Peeta is amusing himself by trying to make me lose control and make noises I oughtn't to. He fails, but only barely. We make love to one another and then settle in for the night.
"I love you" I whisper to him before I close my eyes to sleep.
|
“We can visit Donna tomorrow, my love. I called her, and she said the snow’s all melted now.” Mistress said, gently massaging my shoulders, her skilled hands working to release every ounce of tension the muscles held. I just hummed and leaned into her body.
“I feel so safe when I’m with you.” I unconsciously said, my eyelids heavy and beginning to droop.
“I’m glad.” She whispered, kissing my shoulders gently. “I’m glad you’re my pet. Such a precious little thing, all for me.”
“All for you.” I smiled tiredly. “So we get to see Madame tomorrow?” I tried perking back up, the excitement of being with both of my loves not enough to rouse me from my tired state.
“That’s right, and she apparently has a gift for you.” She slid her cold hand down my body, playing gently with the bud between my thighs, eliciting tiny, tired whimpers. “She thinks you’ll love it.”
“I’m sure I will.” I turned my head trying to kiss her, failing as she continued kissing my neck and shoulder, her fingers working themselves between my legs. “Sleepy, Mistress.”
“I know baby, we’ll get some sleep soon, just let me keep playing with you, you’re so cute when you’re tired.” She nibbled down slightly on the junction between my shoulder and neck, more tiny whines leaving my voice.
“Okay.” I closed my eyes, yawning softly as she continued toying with my body.
I belong to you, Mistress.
I tried saying, her soft voice began drifting away, her touches becoming lighter as everything went dark.
~ ~ ~
I woke to Mistress bustling around the room, packing two bags, one with clothing, the other with ropes, lubricants and various assortments of toys, that same tune she’s always humming reverberating through our room.
“Mistress?” I sat up, the covers falling off my body, revealing every inch of my torso. “What’re you,” I was cut off by my own yawn. “What’re you doing?”
“Packing, my love.” She looked over at me and smiled brightly. “We’re visiting Donna, and I don’t feel like coming back after we play, so we'll probably stay there a few nights.” She came over and scratched my scalp gently, I leaned into the touch. “You don’t mind, do you?”
I shook my head and smiled back.
“I get to stay in a house with my Mistress and my Madame, how could I mind?” I leaned up for a kiss, which she reciprocated before returning to packing a bag for us. “When are we going?” I slid out of the bed and sat at her feet. Even if I was allowed on the furniture now, I still preferred the floor by her feet.
“Soon, I should hope. I scheduled the carriage for noon, it’s almost twelve.” She looked over to the clock mounted on her wall, the hour hand mere millimeters from twelve. “A maid will come get us once it’s here.” She brought her hand down, scratching my head gently once again, every nerve in my body shooting off as she did. I nuzzled into her leg, her skin so soft and smooth.
We sat there, her packing and scratching, me nuzzling and gently kissing, the only sound being the tick of the clock until it rang twelve. A maid knocked on the door moments after the clock chimed, and Mistress invited her in.
“There’s a carriage for you, Lady Bela.” She bowed her head, looking over to me as I continued staring up at her lovingly.
“Thank you. Would you be a dear and take my bags, I need to walk my dog.” She looked down to me, and reached over to her dresser, grabbing my leash. “I think you’ve gotten to act like a real person for long enough,” The leash clicked onto the D-ring. “When we go to Donna’s, you’re my pup, understood?” She smiled wickedly, booping my nose. Every degrading comment made my skin burn, and my cunt throb. I nodded. “Words, dog.”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Good girl.” She ruffled my hair, and walked me out of the room, me crawling beside her in my rightful place. The maid hurriedly grabbed the bag and rushed to the carriage, packing them as fast as she could. I sat at Mistress’ feet the entire ride, kissing her legs and feet as she hummed, occasionally rewarding me with tiny pets.
~ ~ ~
The carriage lurched to a halt outside a large house, nowhere near as grand and large as Mistress’, but still beautiful in its own way. The garden outside was full of yellow flowers, they smelled almost sickeningly sweet as their scent invaded my nostrils, overpowering everything.
The house looked old and grey, the only colors being the yellow garden and green grasses surrounding the building. The soft grass tickled my skin as I crawled beside Mistress, eager to get inside and see Madame. My body was already on fire, yearning for both of them to use me to their heart’s content, making Madame pant as I scream out for her, and Mistress tired as she used me in whatever way she wanted.
Madame swung the door open and ran through the garden throwing herself in Mistress’ arms.
“Well hi there, Donna.” She kissed the woman’s veil, and pulled her close with one arm, reaching her other down to pet me.
“Hello.” I could feel her beaming under the veil, and she pulled herself out of Bela’s embrace, kneeling down in front of me, tapping my nose. “And hello to you, sweet girl.”
“Hello, Madame.” I smiled at her, picturing her bright smile under the veil, and her soft, untouched skin on mine.
“She missed you, wouldn’t stop pestering me about seeing you.” She stopped her scratching, Madame standing up, leading me into the house. “I think she just wants to get fucked again, like the stupid little whore she is.”
Heat spread through my entire body at her degrading comments, the idea of both of them filling me, turning me into a drooling, whimpering mess on the floor, living out my only purpose for my ladies.
“I missed it too, if I’m honest.” Donna joked, looking back down to me, closing the door behind us. The interior of the house differed greatly from exterior, it felt warm, cozy, inviting, save for the dolls on every shelf, staring with their empty, glassy eyes and disgusting porcelain faces. Their faux rosy cheeks and how they stared forever, never blinking. They sent a shiver down my spine as I cowered behind Mistress, clutching her dress and whining. She must’ve noticed as she turned around, crouching down and gently caressing my hair, and gingerly rubbed her thumb across my cheek as she cupped my face.
“What’s the matter, pup?” Her voice was softer than usual, her eyes seemed worried as she examined my frightened expression.
“Dolls.” My heart was racing, my palms were clammy. “I’ve always been terrified of dolls.” My voice was wavering as i looked at a particularly disgusting doll. A tattered wedding dress on its wooden body, large crack going down its face, separating the white and green sections, as if it were molding over. It’s mouth hung open and the wooden eyes stared at me, my brain now alight with anxiety and fear.
“Donna, can we put the dolls away, please?” Mistress looked to her older, dark haired lover, pleading eyes.
“I don’t know.” She looked around the room, her face was still covered but I could feel the upset expression on her face. “They don’t like being put away.”
“Please, Donna.” Mistress looked back to me as I continued cowering. “I think she has pediphobia, look at her, she’s terrified.”
“Take her to my room, there’s no dolls in there. I’ll see if I can put them away without them kicking up too much of a fuss.” Madame removed her veil, and smiled, trying to console me.
“Okay.” Mistress tugged the leash, leading me up the stairs and into a room, a large bed in the center, an old sewing machine in front of it. No dolls. She patted the bed, signaling me to climb up, and I did, resting my head on her lap as she gently raked her fingers through my hair. “They can’t hurt you, sweet pup.” She whispered, trying to get me to stop shaking. “I don’t like them either, but they’re Donna’s. She’s loved dolls since she was a kid.” She finished her raking of my hair and moved to my back, slowly and gingerly scratching up and down, sending sparks through my body, the trembling finally beginning to subside.
“I don’t know why I’m so scared of them.” I whispered, nuzzling deeper into her leg and inhaling her sweet perfume, the scent working to numb the fear, and stop the shaking.
“It’s okay, sweet girl. You don’t need to explain why, let’s just focus on relaxing right now, okay?” She kissed my temple softly, the softest action she’d made since I fell into her arms during that blizzard months ago.
“Okay.”
|
Hi! Some extra stuff was added in the first chapter. Right around the **** marks.
Enjoy! Feedback is welcome!
Ch. 2
Emery's mind seemed to have stopped working. She didn't' register what the man, Owen was telling her before closing the door of the guestroom, leaving her standing in the middle of it. She was numb. Somehow the betrayal of her parents had made her forget the reason why she was being sold in the first place. Hybrid. It had been pushed to the back of her mind by the pain of suddenly losing a family that she thought loved her. But the mention of 'heat' pulled it right back. She knew what it meant, her father had dreamed of being a horse breeder, but never had the funds to do it. Even so, he loved to talk about it during evening dinners, how he would do it and ensure himself the best breeds of horses. The term 'oestrus' was often used, or an easier term 'heat'. As a child Emery had quickly figured out that both words meant the same thing, as he used both words to describe the moment of fertility in mares.
A sob escaped her lips. She was never going to get her monthly bleeding. Emery had long thought she was a late bloomer. But after so many years of it not starting, and at the age she was, considered herself infertile. She had let go of the dream of becoming a mother. But now, in this moment, the thought that she wasn't infertile didn't cross her mind. No. the absence of her monthly bleeding confirmed what her parents were whispering about, combined with Owens earlier words. Suddenly it seemed understandable why her parents would sell her like cattle. She wasn't human. Her whole life was a lie. Everything she knew and believed ripped from her in just under a weeks' time.
Emery let out a cry filled with sorrow. She was alone in this world, forsaken and no one to turn to for help. She let herself sag to the floor and let all the cropped up emotions overtake her. She wailed and sobbed, she didn't stop or budge when she heard the door open and arms hug her to a warm chest. She sucked in the comfort, the warmth and the rumble in the mans chest. She didn't push him away as he rubbed her back and arms, rocking her softly like a babe. Emery cried herself to sleep, feeling safe for the first time since she left her parents behind.
Emery woke up on the bed in the guestroom, tucked into blankets and animal furs. Sitting up slowly she looked around the small room. Her head throbbed with pain and pressure, her sight blurry. Emery did not like being sick. Her body felt heavy and robbed of all its strength. She had to squint her eyes to spot the tray sitting on the table next to a small window. Wrapping the linen blanket around her she got out of bed on wobbly legs to inspect what the tray held. Bread slices with dried meat, three hardboiled eggs and a mug of water and the herbs the man, Owen, tried to give her yesterday. She looked at the tray numbly, last evenings events coming back to her. Emery took the herbs and the mug of water, taking the medicine with no fear and slowly ate the food given to her. With every bite she became more determined to forge her own life. First she needed to gain back her strength and health.
After eating the food Emery had settled back under the furs, falling into a deep sleep until the evening. Feeling much better she made her way down stairs, a linen blanket wrapped around her. Her vision still blurry made the way down a painful one for her toes, and had barley avoided a fall down the stairs by a misstep. But she admired what she could see of the interior of the cottage. The flooring and staircase was made of wood, warm to the sole of her feet.
The walls where made of stone, wood worked into it. But she loved the sitting the room the most, with an open wall towards the kitchen. The fire in the hearth casted a warm orange glow over the two big cushioned chairs standing near and the animal skin laying neatly on the ground in front of it. Plants and art frames were absent from the room but Emery did not seem bothered by it. The space was filled with the smell of stew, giving enough of a 'home' feeling and her stomach growled at the idea of a warm meal.
'Emery, you are up! how are you faring? Food will be ready in a few minutes.' She wasn't prepared for the voice coming from the kitchen and jumped sideways away from the source. As she looked, the man, Owen, was peeking his head from behind the wall towards her, with a soft smile. 'you can Sit down next to the Doctor, Everard. He can examine you and ask some question while you wait.' Emery looked from one giant men to another. She had never felt big as a person, her brother and father weren't of small stature and had all been a head taller than her. But neither had she felt small until this moment. The eating table looked like it would only be able to seat the two men looking at her. 'Are lycans and werewolf all...this big?' The question was out before she could rethink. Her cheeks heated at the bewildered look the men gave each other, before both having a good laugh. Emery wished to be swallowed whole by a big hole in the ground. With the little dignity she had left Emery shuffled herself towards the table. She contemplated on sitting across from the doctor or next to him. He made the decision for her as he patted the seat next to him on the bench.
'generally, lycans and werewolves are one of the bigger races walking on this earth. But compared to humans we are indeed very big.' She wringed her fingers in the blanket around her, "But I'm not human" is what Emery wished to retort back to the Doctor. But she held back. He had giving her an answer to her question. 'What is a hybrid?' Emery had a good idea of what it was, but she wanted confirmation. She wanted something in her life to be real. A truth. 'An offspring born from a coupling between a lycan or werewolf and someone of a different race...' The doctor took her wrist as he explained, placing two fingers with slight pressure and then seemed very concentrated. Owen took over the rest of the explanation like it was practiced beforehand. ' It doesn't matter much if the different race is human or vampire. If it isn't of 'pure' birth it is a hybrid.' Emery noticed he put negative stress on the word pure. The doctor had now moved to poking and turning her face for a throughout inspection.
'Still feverish. Are you taking the medicine?' Emery nodded. 'I took some earlier today. It was foul tasting.' The Doctor was rummaging through his bag and procured a glass vial, handing it to her. 'Medicine exists to heal, its taste is only secondary. Here.' he offered her the mug of water he received from Owen at the right time. Emery took it without complaining and was rewarded with a steaming bowl of stew and bread slices. She dug in. Almost groaning at the joy of eating her first hot meal in days.
The men let her be while she ate giving her sideway glances throughout. When finished Emery rubbed her belly and leaned back, the doctor arms kept her from toppling over. She mumbled a shy thank you and straightened herself. 'no problem. How do your eyes feel Emery, any discomfort?' she shook her head. 'No, but my eyes have been awfully blurry today.' The doctor nodded, his eye wrinkled in thought as he looked at hers. 'This is your first time experiencing this?' this time she gave a nod of confirmation. 'Then there is the possibility that this might just be related to her heat and will pass in time. We will have to see. I will come check up in a weeks' time. For now be cautions of the slightly lost sight and be careful moving around, and Emery, take your medicine, foul tasting or not. Call on me when any changes occur.' With a slight bow of the head the doctor left into the night leaving her alone with Owen. 'Thank you for the meal, it was lovely.' She felt herself smile for a first time in days. 'you are welcome. Go take a rest, the herbs will start working in a little bit.' Emery did. In the guestroom she left the window open on a small gap for a soft breeze before snuggling in the furs on bed. It did not take long for sleep the overtake her.
The sound of chirping of the birds coming through the open window awoke her the next day. Still drowsy she stayed in bed, letting her body wake up. Her thoughts wandered to her parents and what they were doing now. Did her siblings know that she ran away, that she will never be coming back? Or did they already knew of the plan to sell her? Her heart squeezed at the thoughts of her lost family. But she was determined to make something of her life, and one day create her own family. With that she stood up, and walked to the far corner of the room to the retrieved horse satchels. If Emery remembered correctly, she had packed one more travel dress. She also got out the last chunk of her soap bar and a linen cloth with her.
Emery walked ten minutes upstream the river before she found a perfect bathing spot. Owen was nowhere in the house to ask for direction. The water was frigid, but not unbearable, she scrubbed until her skin was pink. Washing away her past, her old self and uncovering the new one. She had a plan, if the pack allowed its females to work and earn coin she wouldn't have to leave far, and be able to settle in this community. If that wasn't this case, she would travel further until she found a place that allowed it. Emery did not want to be depended on someone else anymore. She had no comb to untangle the knots in her hair with, so she made do with her fingers and braided her hair in one big braid.
On her walk back she didn't have any luck on finding out how she could earn coin. What skills did she have that people might have an use for? In thought, arriving back at the cottage she started to clean the house from top to bottom. Beat every dust particle out of every pillow, animal skin and blankets, scrubbed the floors and dusted the walls. When early evening arrived she had figured out what she would do to earn coin, a loaf of bread cooling on the windowsill and a meat pie ready to be stuffed and baked in the stone oven.
'it smells good in here.' Emery had a fright, she hadn't heard Owen approach. She tried to get her bearing back before she turned towards Owen. When she did Emery was confused by his sudden guffaw of mirth. She wasn't trying to be funny in any way. Emery had felt good all day, the fever symptoms very low and bearable. 'You are a bit of a clumsy person no? You have dough and flower all over you.' He rubbed his thumb on her cheeks and Emery heated in single moment. She had never received that sort of close attention from males in her life. Not this familiar. There was always a courting process before a man was even allowed in a two steps distance from the intended person. She unconsciously took a step back, away from him.
'I'm sorry, I try to work clean, but when I concentrated...' she lowered her head away from his intense gave not being able to finish what she intended to say. Not accustomed to it. 'That is okay. I like it. What are you making? Meat pie?' Emery could not understand what there was to 'like' about a person that was a messy worker. Her mother always complained when she would come home covered in whatever work she was doing. But she wasn't going to argue with the man about his preferences regarding it. 'Yes sir, I hope you like meat pie...' Emery gasped at a realisation. She had used the man's kitchen and food without his consent. 'I'm sorry about using your kitchen without permission...' she stammered 'I was just cleaning and from on moment came another...' she had also cleaned the house with not much thought about the possibility that it might offend the person living here. Emery was mortified. She should have asked before jumping to action in someone else's home.
'Emery...Emery! Look at me. Nothing of what you did offended me. I look forward to your Meat pie.' He squeezed her shoulder, and did not let his gaze wander from hers, as if he wanted to make sure he got his point across. 'I will go chop some more wood and go freshen up for the meat pie.' Emery didn't know how to react, so she didn't in fear of saying something wrong. She cleaned the kitchen and herself as the meat pie was baking. With still plenty of time over she seated herself at the table and listed all the things she could do to earn coins in her head that . Her skills of making salted meats and cheese she was sure she could put to use in one of the communal halls, or someone else who made those things. Emery was also proud of her scented soaps and oil she could make. She tried listing what tools and material she would need to start. Sadly she had no idea about the amount of coins she would need to purchase everything. Her meagre ten coins would surely not be enough.
Emery was taking out the meat pie when Owen returned, dressed in new linen trousers and shirt. 'This smells truly heavenly Emery!' He took place at the table and watched her plating the food. An action that unnerved Emery. But she managed without spilling to much of the pie next to its intended plate. Owen did not heed her warning of the pie still being hot, and dug in immediately. A warm feeling of satisfaction glowed in the core of her body as she saw him eat the food she made with lots of groans, even taking seconds and thirds until the pie was gone. At the end Emery could not hide her proud smile. Her first accomplishment in her new life. As Owen was gobbling down his last piece she had found the courage to asked her dreaded question that could make or break her plans. She didn't wish to go out and travel the unknow again.
'D-does this pack allow females to earn coin?' Emery was wringing the linen cloth with her fingers, tied over her to avoid direct dirt on her dress. Emery did not look up from her lap, afraid to see his reaction. 'You wish to stay here? So long you register at one of the pack house of the clan, to show that you are part the community, you are allowed to earn coin in whatever legal service you wish to offer. What do you wish to do?' Emery did not expect the honest intrigue Owen showed her. The simple support she felt by just his words almost brought her to tears, but she held them in, the excitement to tell about her plans bigger. And she did, in as much detail as she could, sometimes stopping to comprehend the level of interest Owen was showing her. The obvious proudness in his eyes as he gazed at her.
They had moved to the sitting room, enjoying the heat of the hearth, while Owen gave her some tips and people she needed to go see to realise her plans. She thanked him profusely over and over. When everything was said from both side, conversation went silent and Emery felt tiredness overcome her, her head hurt from all the squinting she had to do because of her still hazy vision. 'Tomorrow I will bring you to the communal hall of my pack and help you register. Introduce you to the person who will guide and help you settle in.' Emery felt like Owens words were a knife plunged in her heart. Again here also, she was being thrown out.
As if he sensed her pain he knelt before her, stroking her knee with his left thumb and wiping away a stray tear from her cheek. She hadn't realised she was crying. 'I want to make you sure you understand this Emery. So look at me.' She did and a shiver went down her spine at the smouldering look he gave her. 'Me sending you away, does not mean I am abandoning you. You will see me plenty. You are not unworthy to me. But with your heat, I can not have you stay here longer.' Emery could only utter weak why. 'because you currently smell like my favourite dish that I wish to devour. And although acting upon sexual desires in the lycan or werewolf community is a normal thing, you are new to this Emery, and I want you to understand them first before I act upon them. But the longer you stay the harder it becomes to hold the urges, my base instincts to mate you.'
Emery's cheeks stood aflame, and Owen intense gaze on her did not help. He was still stroking her cheeks, but the strokes had become different, something Emery could not explain, but his touch reached al the way to her belly. The hand on her knee had risen to her thigh and was now softly squeezing, slowly. She saw his eyes flick to her lips, time stopped for just a moment, as if a mutual understanding was made. Owen leaned forward and pressed his lips on hers. He didn't linger long. He stood and left. Leaving Emery to wonder how he made her body feel. She hadn't disliked the kiss. Her lips still tingled from his touch.
***
Owen reached the forest line and leaned against a tree. Eyes closed, he savoured the last lingering fragments of scent from Emery as he palmed his hardness. Images of her played behind his closed lids. Her brown eyes, dark with lust, looking up at him as she was down on her knees in front of him. Her mouth wide open, waiting for his manhood to fill her moist hot mouth. The brown lucks swaying against her back side. Her lips stretched around the grid of his shaft. The soft gag sounds she would make as he reach the back of her throat. Submissive yet assertive in her actions. Submissive to his commands, yet assertive in the pleasure she gives him. Tension increased in his groin, his fist stroking faster. Her body would beg, but her eyes would command. The soft curves of her body tempting and seducing him in a frenzy of arousal. He wanted to posses her. Devour her. Make her his. Make her only experience the pleasure he could give her. He wanted to hear her moan out his name. See her come undone on his fingers over and over. Plunge his shaft in her hot sex until she begged for his seed that he would plant deeply into her womb until he was sure she carried his pups. Owen tensed, he shouted his release into the night, letting his seed spray on the ground.
|
“Shit.”
Hoseok was a complete mess. The filthiest, most useless mess, well at least that’s what he thought he was. He had barely climbed down a single step from the library doors and his books were falling on the ground. And while those assholes-of-books were at it, one of them just had to tug at the cord of his earphones, making his phone fall to the ground along with them.
He huffed and muttered frivolous rebukes, surely at the books but much more at himself while he picked his stuff up. He picked his phone and noticed a diagonal crack running along the screen. Hoseok wanted to punch himself. “Why the fuck did I not listen to Yoongi when he told me to get a screen guard.”
In his state of bedlam and disappointment with himself, he showed the sky his middle finger, as if he was taking his revenge from the gods for ruining his life.
When he finally got his shit together and started making his way to the nearest bus stop, he realized that he had forgotten his 20-page handwritten essay, the purpose of his visit to the library in the first place, back on the desk he was working on. He sprinted back in, right where he came from.
“I hate myself,” he mumbled to himself as he finally re-exited the library and walked towards the bus stop. As he reached, he sat down on the bench and sighed in relief. Finally, he could relax while listening to some Tinashe.
He messed with his phone for a while, playing the occasional game, but eventually getting tired of waiting. ‘When is this bus even coming?’ he thought to himself. His shoulders were hurting from all the slumping and picking up things that had slipped out of his hands. He checked the time on his lock screen in impatience only to see that the clock had struck to 1.00 am.
1.00 am. There isn’t a bus after 11.30.
“I HATE MY STUPID, FUCKING LIFE AND I HATE YOU, YOU DICKHEAD!”
The god in the sky pretended like he heard nothing.
-x-
Hoseok felt like an athlete. ‘Damn,’ he thought, ‘I just managed to get through a forty minute walk without coughing up blood.’
Only a few blocks to go to get to the YoonSeok residence. He took out his phone in boredom and started messing around, only to see a notification from
‘ma bitchez’
. Perfect timing.
hoesuccsdicc: yoongi rEPLY
yoongayaf: huh wait what i miss
hoesuccsdicc: tell them how cool i am
yoongayaf: he’s as cool as hell fire
yoongayaf: basically not at all
hoesuccsdicc: HYUNG NOT YOU TOO
junglecock: lolololol poor hobi hyung
pinkbiatch: always so abused
‘Why does everyone hate me jeez,’ he complained in his head at the classic behaviour of his friends.
spreadeaglejinfucker has joined the chatroom
spreadeaglejinfucker: babe pls pass me my towel
pinkbiatch: in a minute sweetheart
paintingswithtaels: CUTIES ^-^
ridejimin: way to show off ur relationship already jeez
hoesuccsdicc: couldn’t you pm him that
Hoseok giggled at the slightest. He was so happy for his two hyungs finally dating. He always acted like he was annoyed but in reality, he was a sucker for the NamJin fluff.
yoongayaf: how can u pm someone? if so, can you am someone too? time is a verb?
hoesuccsdicc: AHAHAHAHA YOONGI HYUNG WHAT A GRANDPA
paintingswithtaels: hyung pm means personal msg hahaha
junglecock: and msg means message jic you didnt know
ridejimin: and jic means just in case
yoongayaf: park jimin ihy
pinkbiatch: wowowoww an abbreviation
spreadeaglejinfucker: This is the modern day evolution
yoongayaf: whatever
yoongayaf: gotta go btw im busy
yoongayaf: homework and shit
yoongayaf: pce
hoesuccsdicc: byeeeeeee
junglecock: pce
yoongayaf has left the chatroom
ridejimin: i have to leave as well
ridejimin: my roomate is taking me somewhere
ridejimin: byeeeeeee
paintingswithtaels: bye jiminie hyung
ridejimin has left the chatroom
pinkbiatch: does anyone else not find it suspicious that they left at the same time?
spreadeaglejinfucker: We’re on the same page
junglecock: yeah me too… idk there has to be something going on
paintingswithtaels: guys lets just trust them aight?
junglecock: i dont think i can
Hoseok had noticed this happening quite often. Yoongi and Jimin leaving the chatroom at the same time, Jimin visiting Yoongi at his cafe, the two having a diddly conversation at Uni, completely out of character. Yoongi had always been vocal about his hatred for Jimin and the same went for Jimin himself. But occasionally, they complimented, maybe even flirted with each other. Could the two possibly be… No. Absolutely not. Impossible. Far-fetched. Just, no. Hoseok shook his head to stop the weird ideas of what the two could be from his head. Yoongi definitely hated Jimin. There was no way they had a thing going on. He hated the idea of it. Despised it, even. Yoongi just wouldn’t do that. He would never do that to Hoseok.
hoesuccsdicc: let em be
hoesuccsdicc: coincidences happen
hoesuccsdicc: btw yoongi hyung im coming home
hoesuccsdicc: o wait he left didnt he
hoesuccsdicc: he cant read this
hoesuccsdicc: o well.
Now he was just two steps away from the elevator to their shared abode. Finally.
-x-
Hoseok reached into his pocket fumbling for the apartment keys. ‘Please be there. Please be there.’ he chanted to himself again and again. Did he leave it at the library?
Bingo! He heard the clinking of the keys and felt the cold metal against his skin. He took them out and inserted the one with the heart sticker in the keyhole but before he could twist the door open, he heard something that made him halt. Certain… noises.
He heard huffing, panting… moaning. No. It couldn’t be. It could never be. Hoseok thought he was dreaming. He couldn’t trust his ears. It was an illusion to him. He had to see it to believe it.
With extreme reluctance and non-acceptance of what he was he about be witness to, he slowly, grimly, unlocked the door and swung it open.
There they were.
Fuck.
Yoongi and Jimin were fitted into each other’s bodies, naked, kissing as if there was no tomorrow. Both their hands were exploring the other’s body with desperation and passion, taking no notice of the opened door and wide eyes. The couch was tainted.
And suddenly it stopped. Yoongi pushed Jimin off of him as his eyes widened in shock. Jimin fell with a thud on his butt and groaned, “What was that for, you bitch?” Jimin’s eyes followed Yoongi’s line of vision and his own eyes replicated Yoongi’s. Both pairs of eyes were now on Hoseok.
Hoseok didn’t know when the tears had started falling. But when he realized they had started to stream down his face, his heart told his feet to get running. So, he did. He ran into his room.
-x-
yoongayaf and ridejimin have entered the chatroom
yoongayaf: guys please try calling hoseok
yoongayaf: hopefully he’ll reply to one of you
ridejimin: he wont listen to us
ridejimin: he’s bawling idek why
junglecock: what happened omg
pinkbiatch: is hoseok okay
paintingswithtaels: im trying
paintingswithtaels: he isnt picking up
spreadeaglejinfucker: Yoongi and Jimin, is Hoseok okay?
yoongayaf: idk he wont tell us
ridejimin: he isnt opening his door. we tried slamming it and begging him for a reply but we keep getting no answer
junglecock: has he locked himself in his room?
yoongayaf: yeah
spreadeaglejinfucker: What exactly happened that made him that way?
yoongayaf: well..
ridejimin: we’ll tell you but just dont… dont freak out okay?
yoongayaf: me and jimin have had this thing going on…
paintingswithtaels: …
paintingswithtaels: thing?
ridejimin: we’ve been… having this.. fwb thing.
pinkbiatch: omg u fUCKERS
spreadeaglejinfucker: YOU NEVER TOLD US?!?!
junglecock: FOR HOW LONG HUH??!1/
ridejimin: YOU PROMISED YOU WOULDNT FREAK OUT
pinkbiatch: WHEN BITCH WHEN
paintingswithtaels: whats an fwb
junglecock: friends with benefits tae. theyve been doing the sinning
paintingswithtaels: ooooohhhhh
paintingswithtaels: wait WHAT
paintingswithtaels: WHAT IN THE ACTUAL FUCK
yoongayaf: GUYS CALM DOWN CHILL
spreadeaglejinfucker: HOW DO YOU EXPECT US TO JUST CHILL
ridejimin: guys please just calm down we have something bigger to deal with
pinkbiatch: so hobi might just be in shock
yoongayaf: guys he was crying
yoongayaf: hoseok only cries in front of other people when he’s extremely hurt
ridejimin: he started crying when he saw us on the couch
spreadeaglejinfucker: On the couch? Seriously?
pinkbiatch: NAMJOON
spreadeaglejinfucker: I’m sorry. Bad timing.
hoesuccsdicc: hey
junglecock: HOSEOK HYUNG ARE YOU OKAY
hoesuccsdicc: yeah dw :)
pinkbiatch: what happned
yoongayaf: HOBI PLEASE FORGIVE ME
hoesuccsdicc: yeah whatever
ridejimin: hyung…
hoesuccsdicc: dw bout it chimin
junglecock: Hobi, why did you tear up?
hoesuccsdicc: its just.. well.. nothing
pinkbiatch: hobs talk to us pls
yoongayaf: if this is my fault im so sorry
junglecock: let him speak hyung.
hoesuccsdicc: its just that i was a bit upset
pinkbiatch: why
hoesuccsdicc: … hyung didnt trust me enough to tell me…
ridejimin: oh thank god
spreadeaglejinfucker: Oh Hobi. Relax. I’m sure he had his reasons.
hoesuccsdicc: yeah…
yoongayaf: that's why you were crying?
hoesuccsdicc: yes.
yoongayaf: forreal?
hoesuccsdicc: yes. forrealzies.
yoongayaf: hobi im so sorry its just that ya know jimin was involved as well. you know i tell you everything right
hoesuccsdicc: right.
hoesuccsdicc: issokay guys dw
hoesuccsdicc: its late
hoesuccsdicc: go to sleep
taetaero to hob
i
❤
taetaero: stop lying
taetaero: ik that isnt true
hob
i
❤: what do you mean
taetaero: u know what i mean
hob
i
❤: literally have no idea
taetaero: ive been thru some similar shit before
taetaero: now tell me
taetaero: what was the real reason behind your tears huh?
hob
i
❤: you wont understand man
hob
i
❤: drop it
taetaero: if i wouldn’t understand no one would
taetaero: speak now
hob
i
❤: im hopelessly in love with my bestfriend
hob
i
❤: i love yoongi
hob
i
❤: is that what you wanted to hear huh?
|
Sam wakes with a startled gasp, moving from zero to sixty in full Winchester mode. He wasn't sure what woke him, because a quick scan of the room showed it was empty. He sneaks over to the door, pulling it open carefully.
The room next door has been propped open. 'A case?' There's no sign of anything supernatural or otherworldly in that room, but there is a gun under the pillow which Sam takes and tucks into the waistband of his pants. He had been unarmed, and that's not safe, especially since he doesn't know where he is.
Which brings about the important question: where is he? He had been so so hot, so...Hell? But then, where's Lucifer? Or Michael? Were they distracted by Adam? Sam doesn't hear his screams but that doesn't necessarily mean anything. Adam could be unconscious.
He checks around the door cautiously and begins to trek down the hall, hand on the gun. The gun is useless- not like shooting the devil or his archangel older brother will actually do anything- but Sam likes the weight of it in his hands. It's comforting in a way few things are.
Sam makes it the entire way down the hallway without meeting either Lucifer or Michael. The hotel floor is empty, which makes Sam smirk to himself. He knows that this is fake now, because in what hotel can you walk an entire floor without seeing anyone? For that matter, when have he and Dean ever stayed in a hotel instead of a motel? When he finally finds Lucifer, he'll have to clue him in. Or maybe not, because it's nice to know that this isn't real. For once, he has the upper hand.
Sam's made it to the lounge before he hears a startled, "Sammy?" He clicks the safety off the gun and points it as his 'brother.' At first glance, he can't tell if it's Michael or Lucifer- Michael used to enjoy torturing Sam in Dean's body as some sort of twisted 'I can have him as my vessel after all' psychology, though that was before he just checked out mentally after about the first ten years when he realized his father wasn't coming to rescue him. Lucifer has certainly proven adept at being Dean as well.
"Sam, what are you doing out of bed?" either Michael or Lucifer demands.
Sam's brow furrows as he tries to figure out the hidden meaning behind that message. Lucifer had never...had he? Sam was almost certain he would remember that. He remembers the other forms of torture, so there's no way he wouldn't remember being raped if it had happened. So it hadn't happened. But then why was he supposed to be in bed?
"Sam, are you okay?"
Sam turns at the voice, and his eyes widen in shock. "Cas?!" he yanks the angel behind a pillar of the hotel, staring at him in amazement. "Is it really you?"
"Yes, it's really me. Sam, are you alright? Dean is worried about you."
"You promised you wouldn't come!" Sam hisses as Cas' words remind him of the problem with him being here. "It was too dangerous! We agreed! I made you promise, I made Dean promise! I don't know how you got here but I need you to leave, now!"
"Sam, I do not know what you are speaking of."
"Before I threw myself into Hell I made you both promise me you would let me in here. You can't be here, Cas! If they find out that they can get out, do you know what they'll do? What they'll do to me?" The question is rhetorical, so Sam barrels on, "and one of them has already seen you! Cas, they won't let you go. You have to leave, and leave now!"
"Leave where, Sam? Where are we?"
"Hell, Cas, where do you think we are? We're in Hell, Lucifer's Cage, ringing any bells? Now how did you get here, and more importantly, how are you going to get yourself back out?"
"We are not in Hell, Sam."
"Don't be ridiculous, Cas." Sam stares at him in horror then. "Wait a second, you're not Cas! How could I be so stupid? So tell me, which of you is playing Cas, and which is playing Dean? I've figured it out, you might as well as just skip to the torture now, because I know that it's not real. None of this is real."
"Sam, are you feeling better?" Sam shoves Cas behind him instantly, because now Dean is Lucifer and Lucifer is standing there looking at him like he's crazy.
"Go!" Sam tells Cas. "You can't have him!" he directs to Lucifer, planting himself in front of his friend. He will be so hurt for this, but he needs to protect Cas.
"Sam," Lucifer begins, holding up his hands to show he means no harm, "it's okay. Are you alright?"
"I'll shoot you," Sam tells him, knowing it's an empty threat as soon as he says it.
"If that's what makes you feel better, I guess," answers Lucifer uncertainly.
Sam clicks the safety off the gun. "Where's Adam?"
"He's in the dining room. Sam, I really think you should go back to bed."
Sam shuts his eyes as pain racks his body. He clenches his teeth as his vision fades to black. Then suddenly he's seeing a vision, terrifyingly similar to the ones he used to get when Azazel was preparing for Lucifer's rising. There's a black cloud with dark red throughout, descending on Sam, Dean, and Cas. When the cloud lifts, Cas is gone. Images begin flashing by, disjointed: Dean standing in the middle of a huge pile of glass, blood dripping from his hands as he ignores it; Michael, looking angry and hard; Zachariah saying, "You can't, Dean, Michael will take it as betrayal"; Dean's whispered promise, "I will come for you, Cas. I swear."
Sam's eyes fly open with a jolt. His throat is sore as though he's been yelling, and Lucifer, Cas, and Dean are surrounding him. Sam latches on to Lucifer's wrist as he throws Cas behind him again. "You can't have him!" he snarls again.
"What was that?" Dean asks. "Sam, what was that?"
Sam doesn't answer. He pulls the gun up and trains it on Lucifer, eyeing him speculatively. Lucifer wisely removes himself from the group, hands up to show he means no harm as he backs off again.
"I won't let you take him. That can't happen!" Sam insists. "Do whatever you need to do to me, but don't touch him."
"I don't want to hurt Castiel," Lucifer reassures him, but Sam is past the point of listening. He swings the gun up, the safety still off as he holds it beneath his chin. "What are you doing?" Lucifer barks, alarm in his voice for the first time in the conversation. Neither man notices Dean run off with purpose in his eyes.
"Letting this end the way you want it to," Sam answers him calmly, "because if I give you what you want you have no reason to come after him." His eyes drift shut as his finger tightens on the trigger.
"Sam!" Adam yells, and Sam's finger stops a twitch away from death. His eyes shoot open and he makes eye contact with his half-brother. "Please don't," Adam begs, "please, Sam, please don't."
"I can't keep doing this: the torture, the hallucinations, I can't keep going. I'm so tired. I just need to rest."
Adam makes a shooing motion behind his back and Lucifer takes the hint, walking away. He tugs Cas with him, though Cas is looking at both men with concern in his eyes. Adam tells him, "It won't help. Sam, you won't get any peace if you pull that trigger now. They'll resurrect you, and they'll only be angry. You won't stop them, you'll make it worse."
"I can't keep going," Sam says brokenly, collapsing to the ground. "I can't. I've given everything there is. I see them, Adam, not the dead, but the living, and it's so much worse than anything I imagined. I keep thinking that maybe they've figured out some way to free me, that maybe Dean figured something out, or that if Cas can get him free from Alistair's rack then he can pull me out of Lucifer's Cage, and every time it's been a let down and a disappointment. It's not real, Adam!" Sam screams the last line.
"I need you to," Adam insists, crossing over to Sam and crouching down with him. He takes the gun from limp fingers, clicking the safety back on and shoving it away. Then he wraps his arms around Sam. "Sam, you can't give up now. Listen to me: Dean and Cas are brilliant, okay? And they do the impossible all the time. People tell them things aren't possible and they say 'eff you' and do it anyway. They're coming. They're going to rescue us. You just have to believe it."
"I'm so tired," echoes Sam. "I can't believe it."
"Then I'll believe it for the both of us. And I'll remind you, as often as you need to hear it. Come on, Sam," Adam says, helping his older brother to stand, "I'll watch over you for now. If they come, they'll have to take me instead."
He guides Sam back into bed easily, because Sam is through with fighting for now. Adam coaxes him to sleep, then goes into the bathroom to wet washclothes and lie them on Sam. He watches him sleep with trepidation, fearful of more hallucinations.
Downstairs, Dean is pacing an agitated circle, new wings fluttering anxiously behind him. He can't control his wings right now, he's too upset, and it's fairly obvious. Cas is standing nearby, frown etched deeply into his mouth. Lucifer enters the room, shutting the door tightly behind him. "What the h*ll was that?" he asks grumpily.
"I don't know what the last part was, but the first was because of you."
"He was hallucinating Hell," Lucifer states, "wasn't he?"
"Yes," Dean says.
"He said that I wanted him to pull that trigger. I never asked him to die! Where did he get that idea?"
Dean slumps to the ground, wings curling tightly around his body. "After Cas and Crowley rescued Sam from Hell, we realized that they had left his soul behind. Soulless Sam was, to put it nicely, a monster. But he didn't have any recollection of his time in Hell, so we thought it was a blessing at first."
"What changed?"
"He tried to kill Bobby. He was already making irrational decisions, and that pushed us over the edge. I had a doctor kill me so I could make a deal with Death to get his soul back. After I played Death for a day, he put Sam's soul back into his body and built a wall in Sam's mind to keep the Hell memories behind so he wouldn't have to remember them. With the time down there, and the power of you and Michael, the memories would have been enough to kill him."
Lucifer huffs, seeing where this was going. "He broke the wall, didn't he?"
Dean says nothing, looking to Cas.
"No," Castiel answers, "Sam wasn't responsible for breaking that wall. I was. I had been trying to instate myself as God, while fighting a war against Raphael. I needed extra power in order to beat Raphael, so I opened Purgatory and swallowed thousands of souls. Since I had that much power, I declared myself God. The Winchesters were not pleased with this development, and they tried to stop me. So I broke Sam's wall, because I knew that they wouldn't be able to stop me. If Sam was near death, Dean wouldn't leave him to hunt me."
"You were right about that part," Dean says, standing up and crossing over to Cas to take his hand. He turns back to Lucifer, sitting on the ground and yanking Cas into his lap. "For days Sam was inside his own mind, locked away. When he woke up, he swore he was fine. We went after Cas. But he lied. Bobby and I didn't realize it at first. We didn't realize anything was wrong until we chained Death and he told us that Sam had been struggling with his Hell memories. He had hallucinations. They got worse. He was unable to differentiate between reality and Hell, and then you came."
"Me?" Lucifer repeats incredulously. He certainly had not been a part of this!
"He started to see you. You spoke to him, helped him on some of our jobs, but in the end you turned against him like you always do. I think, when he said that this was what you wanted, that he forgot that he was actually seeing you and not a hallucination. Your hallucination self, Hallucifer, must have told him at some point that you wanted him to shoot himself. So now he was trying to give you what you wanted."
"I don't want Sam to kill himself! He doesn't do me any good if he's dead!" Lucifer says emphatically. He frowns, and then mutters, "He can't fall in love with me, or see how much I've changed, if he's dead."
Dean stares at him with shock and awe. "You're in love with him."
"I'm not!" Lucifer declares hotly. "Castiel, fix your boyfriend, there's something wrong with his brain."
Castiel does not zap Dean back to normal. Instead, he fixes Lucifer with a pitying look. "Sam will be alright, Lucifer. And I think, with time, he will grow to love you as you love him."
"He thinks I want him dead! That's not love!" Lucifer snarls.
Cas gives him a hard look. "Then I suggest you change his mind. Quickly. Woo him, Lucifer."
Lucifer rolls his eyes and leaves the room with a scoff. He finds his way upstairs, outside the room that he shares with Gabriel and Sam. He leans against the door, pressing an ear curiously against it. There's soft muttering that Lucifer can just barely identify as Adam, so he sits outside the door to wait out the fever.
|
The seemingly innocuous phone call comes while you’re buried in paperwork. It takes you a few seconds to locate the soft wind chime of Shoko’s special ringtone hidden between the stacks of your files on Sugawara no Michizane, but you eventually manage it.
It’s early for her to be calling. You wonder if she’s nursing a hangover. “Shoko—”
“It’s Suguru.”
Your blood runs cold.
Suguru, Suguru, Suguru, your mind chants. Your old friend is alive and well and still a criminal, if Shoko is calling you like this, voice fit for a eulogy. She sounds the same, but the slightest tremor unsteadies her voice, only recognizable to you because of your years of friendship. Something happened, something bad and you weren’t there.
She is worried about you and waiting for you to say something. You pull yourself together, even though your heart is beating erratically.
“Satoru would have…” Called.
Your eyes shut tightly. Of course he didn’t.
There’s a silence on the other end. Satoru’s nasty habit of putting things off still hasn’t changed since your teenage years. He didn’t want to call you, so he shelved that responsibility off to the back of his worries, and trained that fast thinking mind of his onto entirely different matters altogether.
Such as the fact that Suguru was back, and how he was to be dealt with.
“What happened?” You ask. You rush to pack your things, glad that you had packed lightly for the weekend, as Shoko recounts Suguru coming to the college and Satoru and Suguru’s inevitable confrontation in front of the school.
You frown, the details of the story not completely lining up. You feel like a very crucial piece is missing. Fingers dig into your temple as you pace the room. “When did Suguru come to the school?”
She sighs. “Last week.”
A week. A week went by while you had been none the wiser. You thought Satoru had sounded odd yesterday when he inquired about how long you’d be staying in Osaka, but upon being questioned, had told you that he was needed and hung up.
There’s no time to be angry or upset, you know that and yet you squeeze your eyes shut, hovering in front of your open suitcase, and ask tightly, “Why did nobody tell me?”
You should’ve at least gotten a call from Yaga. If Suguru planned to launch an all out attack, then you’re sure every available personnel was to be mobilized, no exceptions.
“Satoru said he was going to take care of it. I’ve been slammed in the morgue so I thought—”
“It’s fine,” you let her know. The weariness in her voice is palpable, and it concerns you. They must be running her ragged, but that only means an influx of bodies. More dead. You want her to take a break, to pace herself, but you’re not sure there’s enough time. You’d bet your katana that she’s itching for a smoke, after all yours and Utahime’s efforts to get her to stop too, and you can’t say you blame her. “It’s not your fault.”
“I gave him too much credit,” she says dryly. “I saw him bullying Ijichi and it clicked.”
Oh Ijichi.
You zip your suitcase shut. “I’m on my way right now. When is this…” your eyebrows furrow. “Parade taking place?”
The Night Parade of 100 Demons, or Hyakki Yagyō. You wrote a paper about it a couple of years ago. A day where yokai, oni, and supernatural creatures of every variety roamed the streets and unleashed complete pandemonium.
There is something oddly poetic about it, in a way that is Suguru’s signature.
“About that.”
You don’t like the sound of that. “Shoko—”
She clears her throat. She at least has the decency to sound somewhat ashamed. “...the 24th.”
You almost drop your phone. One bomb after another. Your heart plummets. “Shoko today’s the 24th,” you say dumbly.
Another silence.
You take a deep, shuddering breath. That meant that Suguru planned to attack Kyoto and Tokyo today. No, that meant that Suguru was currently attacking Kyoto and Tokyo. You leave your suitcase, snatching up the katana wrapped in black cloth on your bed. There’s no time. You could always get the rest later.
“I’m leaving right now,” you say as you fly out of your room to the hotel lobby. Thankfully, your hotel was close to Shin-Osaka station. If you ran and quickly caught a bullet train, you could make it under three hours.
She murmurs your name, and your panic momentarily dials down as you strain your ears to listen to her past the outside chatter and cars rushing past you on the streets as you rush to the station.
“Stay safe.”
You’re waiting for the bullet train when your phone rings once again. You don’t need to look at the caller ID, before you’re lifting it up to your ear.
“Funny story—”
“I’m on my way.” The chill in your voice tells him all he needs to know.
He sounds neither guilty nor surprised. Any other person would scramble for an apology, adopt a remorseful tone and plead for forgiveness, but Satoru only says, “Ah.”
There’s a scuffle in the background, the sound of rushing wind and what sounds like buildings crumbling, accompanied by high pitched wails of dying curses.
There’s no room for anything in your mind but your next course of action. You’ll deal with everything else, including your personal feelings, later. You’re worried about Shoko; the students, especially Yuuta who only enrolled in the college a couple of weeks ago, wide eyed and practically tripping over his own two feet as he greeted you with a bow; the civilians in Tokyo and Kyoto who will take the brunt of Suguru’s Night Parade.
It’s harder to reign in your thoughts while you wait for the train. You’ve never been an impatient person, but the seconds draw themselves out to what seems like hours, and there’s nothing else to do but think about all the possible ways things can go wrong. The students are too young to be fighting in this war waged by the machinations of adults. They have no stake in fighting anything more than curses. Suguru is an entirely different matter. Suguru is punishment for your sins.
Suguru.
You haven’t seen him in ten years, but you still think about him more than you should. There are memories of him embedded in every corner of the College, from the vending machines on the training grounds (oi ocha; sometimes pocari after training), to the classrooms that have seen its own share of students cycling in and out, some permanent. Sometimes when you stride down the halls and hear laughter, it sounds too familiar, and you can only force your feet forward.
You dream about him sometimes, but you don’t want to think about that.
“You’re thinking,” Satoru says, pulling you out of your thoughts. You haven’t said anything in five minutes. You want to tell him he should be focusing on his opponent. On keeping the students safe.
You glance up at the digital clock, willing the train to come faster. “Where is he?”
You don’t need to clarify.
“Probably waiting to make his grand entrance,” he says lightly, treading the waters of your anger. “You’d think the least he could do after starting this mess is be punctual.”
You can hear a man’s faraway muffled voice, and then Satoru's own muted voice, as if the phone’s speaker is swathed in fabric. “I’m on a pretty important phone call, you mind?”
There’s a crash, rubble falling to the ground in a crash that mimics the rhythm of rain. You stay on the call as the bullet train slides into the station, and an automated voice indicates it’s arrival. People leave the train and disappear into the station, and soon enough you’re seated, impatiently waiting for departure.
“Sorry ‘bout that,” he finally says, and you can hear him clearly, “You there?”
“The students?”
If he thinks anything about your sudden professionalism, he doesn’t say anything, but there is a hint of relief in his voice, underneath all the layers of perfected feigned nonchalance. At least you are speaking to him, which is a much better outcome than he expected.
“Maki and Yuuta are at the College. Panda and Toge are with me.” There’s a tentative pause, gauging your silence. “I’m confident in their skills. They’ll be fine.”
Your fingers tighten around your katana, knuckles turning white until you can’t feel your hand. You want to tell him not to say things like that, in that way of his that’s always instilled absolute certainty and confidence in others, but not you. He’s too careless, and you’re sure he knows it, with all the times you’ve repeatedly told him over and over. You can’t do everything by yourself.
Yet, he’ll be okay. He always will.
Others won’t.
You speak everything into one word. “Satoru.”
He’s quiet. Seconds pass, spanning the space of a spoken apology. You know he’s there on the other end, probably in the midst of a fight where he should be doing everything other than calling you. Your hand doesn’t move to end the call, even when you know better. There’s no point in waiting it out like this.
He won’t apologize, because he doesn’t regret it.
“Kyoto’s only thirty min—”
“I’m going to Tokyo. To the college.”
There’s a short, terse silence that tells you he isn’t happy, but you don’t care. “Suguru—”
You allow yourself this one spiteful action, and hang up just as the train begins to glide on the tracks.
Suguru doesn’t have an arm.
It is not the first thing you notice.
You guess it was torn off during his battle with Yuuta. You heard the explosion as you stepped into the curtain, the force of blast making the buildings around you shudder, and the ground underneath you shake.
Following Suguru’s residuals had been the easy part. You recognized it, instantly drawn to it, and let yourself follow the cursed energy that had been a fixture in your life for three years of childhood happiness.
From the alleyway, his eyes flicker up to yours as you approach, and instead of the guarded look or reproach you expected, he smiles. You stop a few feet short of him, not sure if he wants you too close.
Blood pours from his wound, and one hand is leveled firmly against the stump of what remains to staunch it. You repress the swell of concern that rises within you as your chest constricts at the sight.
Suguru looks at you as if your arrival is welcome and you think you might cry. You drop your bloodied blade to the ground with a clatter, and you vaguely wonder if he’ll make a comment about being unarmed in front of the enemy, and you can already hear his voice in startling clarity in your head.
You speak first, desperate to not let him have the first word. It’s been so long. He’s hurt. You don’t know what to do, and you’re not that selfless as to let him bleed out for the greater good but you don’t know what to do—
“You’re always trying to leave without saying goodbye,” the words tear out of your mouth. “You have a lot of nerve, lecturing Satoru on manners.”
….
….
….
That...wasn’t what you meant to say.
You slightly draw back, eyes wide. You hadn’t anticipated how easily you would fall back into the shadow of your old friendship within seconds. “Ah…”
He blinks at your outburst, maybe even more bewildered than you, mouth dropping open in shock. You stare at him despite your embarrassment, face warming.
Then he laughs.
It’s loud and amused and just as familiar as you remember, albeit maybe a little deeper. You resist the urge to close your eyes and forget yourself in the sound. You haven’t heard Suguru laughing in ten years, and it is warmth injected into your veins.
Warm summer days lazing on the engawa, popsicle sticky in your mouth. Suguru’s hands covering yours on a cold day in an effort to warm your freezing fingers up. Fireworks lighting up the night sky, laughter filling your ears as Shoko rolls her eyes and leans her head on your shoulder, your gazes glued to the bright display, content to ignore Satoru’s cries for help amidst the noise.
You are nostalgic and in mourning. You have been mourning for ten years (perhaps even longer), and that acute loss that feels more tangible on some days than others, as visible as the scar that lines your abdomen, that heaviness that should be a burden, will continue long into the future.
The laughter subsides, but now the smile is strained. It’s all so out of place, it’s jarring. Suguru is bleeding out in front of you, long hair framing the smile on his face, and he is missing an arm. Your weapon is not threateningly brandished, but instead willingly forfeited. He is in front of your eyes, but instead of an enemy, he is your friend, and all you can think is I wish you had thought to come to me back then.
It is a nice thought, those days when you were all together, children in nothing but name—
—but the two of you know how this will end.
“I guess some things really don’t change.” The smile eases, but not enough. It looks like a grimace. “I didn’t realize it meant that much to you,” he says, the lie smooth as it exits his lips.
Now you’re offended. “Of course it did,” your eyes bear into him with a severity that conveys what you cannot say. “You were going to leave without saying goodbye.”
“I murdered 112 people.”
“It’s been ten years.”
“I didn’t exactly have the time.”
“But you had enough to see Shoko.”
He’s silent, and you press on. A note of vulnerability enters your voice. “You could’ve left a letter.” You weren’t even planning on saying goodbye.
He closes his mouth, acquiescing with a sigh. You swallow the lump in your throat, mouth feeling like sandpaper, and lower your gaze.
“We had our goodbye,” he says quietly, and your fingers curl into your palm, leaving indents in the shape of crescent moons.
Goodbye.
There had barely been a conversation. No effort to communicate or make you understand, nothing more than Suguru’s efforts to sever your friendship. It hadn’t worked. He was your friend, he would always be your friend.
He never expected you to understand in the first place, and you think that hurt you the most.
Then a kiss disguised as a resolution. A kiss that spent years tucked away in the back of your mind, and kept you awake on sleepless nights your mind inevitably wandered, watching as the shadows on your ceilings faded with the light.
“Besides,” You look up. “This goodbye is going to be a little more permanent,” a huff of laughter leaves him, and his lips quirk upwards, but to you it looks self deprecating. “Maybe I wanted to spare you the pain.”
At your crestfallen expression, something forlorn overcomes his face. Your name leaves his lips, a gentle curl wrapped around every syllable, sounding deeply intimate despite the circumstances, and a shiver rips up your spine.
“After all these years,” he muses. “I still hate seeing you cry.”
Your hand automatically comes up, fingers brushing against the wetness on your cheeks. You pull your hand away and stare.
“I hate the monkeys. Every last one of them. I would have never been content in a world like this.” The statement feels like a knife twisting into your chest. His eyes fall shut, the slant of his lips a sad smile. “But this world can’t have been too bad… not if you were born in it.”
Your heart jolts into your throat as your head snaps up, eyes wide, but Suguru is looking past you.
“You’re late.”
“You have no right to complain,” Satoru grumbles from behind you, his presence engulfing yours like a warm blanket. “Whose idea was it to create a diversion?”
Suguru snickers. “Kept you away long enough, didn’t it?”
You can’t focus on their conversation, a high pitched ringing in your ears overtaking all their words. All you can do is keep your eyes trained on Suguru who does not meet your gaze.
They exchange a single look, a wordless type of understanding even with the bandages wrapped around Satoru’s eyes. That doesn’t escape your notice. You frown. Even now, they effortlessly fall into synch, completing each other’s thoughts as easily as breathing, just as they did back in high school.
Arms wrap around your head, covering your ears and sight. Satoru’s weight keeps you anchored to the ground, the black of Satoru’s sleeves making your vision go dark. You jolt, hands coming up to his sleeves, but Satoru only says your name, close enough to your ear that you hear it. You still.
“This is a conversation between men so keep still, would you?” He asks lightly. Asking you. Not forcing you. Then he murmurs, “Some things aren’t meant for your ears.”
You are still upset at him. Impossibly mad in a way you know is useless. But you will let him have this, with Suguru. Your hands drop uselessly at your side, and you sink into him. And his arms press securely against your ears, effectively muting any outside noise.
They converse for a minute more. You’re not sure how long the conversation is. Satoru’s chest rumbles with every word against your back as he responds.
There’s a pause, and you feel Satoru falter.
“—take care of her.”
You don’t see or hear the rest.
Foreboding seizes you, crashing into you like a tidal wave, and your chest caves in. You can’t breathe. Your fingers convulse, as if to reach out—
Suguru dies.
Yuuta, Maki, Toge, and Panda stand in front of you, understandably disheveled from the battle. Next to them is a small girl who looks deceptively weak, but the strength of her cursed energy ripples across your skin the moment you step in her vicinity. Long dark hair and a collared dress that falls to her knees, she looks picturesque.
So this must be Rika in human form.
You fight the urge to round them up and take them to Shoko for a professional checkup. You can feel the lingering remnants of, presumably, Yuuta’s reversed cursed technique, but there could be smaller wounds that haven’t been checked.
You could also use Shoko’s company right now.
“And we found out…” Satoru trails off, to build up the dramatic suspense and you sigh. A twitch of irritation passes Maki’s face.
“You’re a descendent of Michizane Sugawara,” you interrupt with a small smile to Yuuta’s wide eyes, careful not to look too stiff and give the children an indication of anything being wrong. But Maki has always been especially keen, always able to quickly zero in on weakness as a result of her upbringing. Her eyes narrow at you, and you wonder if you look visibly off.
There must be a much more appropriate response to dealing with death than to pretend everything’s fine. Like crying. Your eyes are dry now.
Satoru gawks at you, indignant at your failure to adhere to his buildup, but you ignore him easily. You recall the family tree you spent nights tracing until it led to a small rectangular box with the name Okkotsu printed in it. “You and Satoru are distant relatives.”
The students’ faces go slack with surprise as they stare at Yuuta with new eyes.
Yuuta blinks owlishly. “....Who?”
As they converse, you glance at Satoru to find him looking at you, luminescent eyes trained on you with the intensity of a thousand suns. Anyone else would be easily cowed, but you return his gaze evenly, tiredly.
You can already hear your name on the tip of his tongue, voice enveloped in that specific cadence he takes whenever he’s trying to persuade you. In this case: to forgive him.
“We’ll talk later,” you say, for his ears only, and then turn away.
You aren’t sure what you want to say to him. You’re worried about him too. He looks relatively fine for someone who killed his best friend ten minutes prior, but this is Satoru.
As difficult as he could be, he was always there, only a phone call away. No matter what.
You know him.
You’re also too tired to deal with him now. Any traces of anger have fizzled out. You can’t summon the anger needed to ignore him, because you are hurting and so is he. Even though he was planning to leave in the dark about The Night Parade of 100 Demons, about Suguru.
Not right now. You can think about all of that later, after the students were safely tucked away and everything died down. You don’t have the energy to expend on your thoughts.
“—Rika isn’t cursing you. You cursed Rika.”
Your attention returns to the conversation. You had thought it to be a possibility, but it was exceedingly rare for a soul to be cursed in that fashion, forever tethered to a person through sheer force of will from the one left behind. And Rika had let him, that day she died. You don’t know what would have happened had she denied him.
It would have been a gross distortion of love, the most twisted kind. But what do you know about that kind of love? It is as foreign to you as much as it terrifies you. You will never leave somebody behind in that kind of capacity. You will never leave behind a lover. You will never leave—
Yuuta’s face crumbles at Satoru’s words. “It’s all my fault,” he warbles out, lips trembling. Tears stream down his face, sobs racking his body. He looks exceedingly frail in this moment and you want to offer him a shoulder, but Rika steps forward.
They exchange words, and Rika turns translucent as round orbs of light bubble in the air. You’ve never seen such a lovely sight, not in the years you’ve been studying curses. Then again, this is no exorcism, but a personal farewell between two people that loved each other, something akin but to lovers but not exactly.
It hurts to watch. Your chest cracks open a little more.
Rika departs with a smile so bright she rivals the setting sun.
You stare at the outline in the shape of a body on the stainless steel table. The lack of cursed energy emanating from the body is something you feel keenly. A large white cloth is draped over the body, over the body’s head, preventing identification, but you know who it is. There’s a place on the torso where the cloth caves in, in the shape of a hole.
You stare at it.
No, you stare at Suguru.
Very slowly you pull the cloth down as gently as you can, stopping short of his neck. There’s a pale, unnatural tint to his skin that has you unreasonably upset, but you can’t drag your gaze away from his face, his closed eyes, serene only in death, bereft of the flaws that marred a sleeping face.
You don’t remember seeing your mother this color.
But then again, there hadn’t been much left of her, had there?
An arm. An eye. Maybe even a foot. Definitely not enough to warrant a body bag. But there had been smaller clear plastic bags, each containing chewed up, jagged pieces, carried away by grim faced police officers while you stood off in the far corner.
The morgue had smelled dusty. Dank. In a way that reminded you of wet mud. Your father crumpled, knees slamming down onto the cement floor, heaving a choked breath. You thought he was choking, and you did not know what to do.
There had been a hum dancing on your skin from the dull, exhausted overhead lights, and they flickered once like a warming, before your father’s sobs filled the air.
He had said something to you then, when his cries died out. Your father was a logical man. He and your mother both. Highly respected scientists. They were the smartest people you knew.
If your father told you the moon was purple, you would have wholeheartedly believed him, contrary to the claims of everyone else telling you differently. He occupied a larger than life figure in your life, someone whose every word you dutifully clung to, with stars in your eyes.
It’s your fault.
You returned to that morgue again a year later, alone. Then a man in a black suit approached you.
Your hand hovers close to Suguru’s face, fingers extended, as if searching for his warmth, but you can’t bring yourself to touch him.
“You’ll torture yourself like that.”
Your hand falls as Shoko walks up to you, shoulder pressing into yours as she gazes down at Suguru for a long moment. What looks incredibly like melancholy passes her face, a passing shadow or a trick of the light. Features rearranging into something hard, her eyes narrow to slits. She looks years older as she returns the cloth over his face once more.
You assume the autopsy has already been done, with Shoko sparing you the details. Now all that was needed was to dispose of the body of the man who had terrified the jujutsu world for the last ten years. Past the cloth, you can make out the shape of Suguru’s face. The slope of his nose, cheeks, mouth, and oh, your breathing is starting to sound a little funny.
You wrench it all back down, feel the smooth balm of apathy wash over you. Your heart takes a steady rhythm in your chest.
“It’s hard isn’t it,” you say quietly. All of it. The bodies. The faces of people she barely knew staring back at her, the distance a conscious effort on her part. The mindless repetition of zipping up body bags and resigning them to the crematorium, over and over. People reduced to bodies. Bodies reduced to numbers.
You knew Shoko as well as the back of your hand, and you didn’t believe for a moment that she had grown indifferent to the deaths piling up. She had only gotten better at hiding it. You add dully: “Now it’s Suguru.”
She exhales, and it sounds like a groan. She sags, melding into you, head on your shoulder. “Fuck,” she mutters raggedly, and closes her eyes, “I need a smoke.”
You manage a smile. You can give her this. She used to smoke together with Suguru. Suguru kept the lighter, Shoko the cigarettes. You’d often find them together in the area’s designated smoking area, cigarettes slotted between their lips or fingers, often mid conversation. Sometimes Suguru clammed up. Shoko would throw out a bark of laughter, decidedly amused at his sudden shifty gaze, distracting you from the red flush painting his face with a lazy wave of her hand to beckon you over.
You’d join them, even if Suguru would voice his concerns about the effects of the second hand smoke on your lungs. You laughed and waved him off. What was the mortality rate for jujutsu sorcerers again? You wouldn’t survive that long, not as long as they would anyway.
Before long Satoru would call out from a couple meters away, noise scrunched at the smell. Hurry up! I’m starving!
Being with them then….was all you cared about.
Your hand finds hers, and you squeeze the top of her hand. Her hand is cold, as cold as Suguru’s body is. It worries you. A faint nudge of your conscience that narrowly squeezes through the numbness.
“I’m fine,” she says airily, squeezing your hand back, and there might be a slight tremor to her hand, or maybe it’s just yours. With much effort, she reluctantly pulls herself away from you and strides towards the end of the room to the filing cabinets.
“When’s the cremation?” You ask, turning to her after giving Suguru’s covered body one last look, and ignoring the sinking feeling in your gut.
Shoko snorts. “Never, by the looks of it.” She shifts through the files in an opened cabinet.
You blink. “Huh?”
“Satoru told me not to get rid of the body,” she replies, giving you a look that expresses her exasperation. “Well. Texted.”
“Oh.”
Typical Satoru.
The only thing that runs through your head is, not even a phone call? You should be surprised, but you aren’t. It sounds just like something he’d pull. You haven’t seen Satoru in days. He had been suspiciously absent after you dropped the students off at Shoko’s office and sought him out. The next day Ijichi told you that he had been called out for a mission.
The higher ups giving Satoru a mission a day after he killed Suguru was nothing out of the ordinary, and you hated (hate) them for it.
You think you might laugh, but Shoko pins you frozen to the floor with a blank, measured stare, waiting for your reaction.
Meeting her eyes is harder than it seems. You keep your voice light. “What are the higher ups going to say?” You don’t want Shoko to receive any of the inevitable backlash.
“The higher ups are going to give me shit,” she sighs, file in her hand. She closes the cabinet. The file is tucked under her arm as she folds her arms. “I’ll just direct them that idiot’s way.”
Good plan. But you’re still bothered. “They won’t be happy.”
“It’s nothing I don’t mind.” She shoots you a small quirk of her lips. “I know," she starts, voice carrying over to you. Her eyes soften knowingly. “You’d like that too, wouldn’t you?”
You stare at her, confused at first, and then surprised.
Your eyes sting, and you drop your gaze to the floor. Your throat grows thick, because she’s right. Because you don’t want Suguru’s body cremated. You don’t want him scattered away to the wind. You don’t want all traces of him….gone. Permanently.
Your stomach churns just thinking about it. You would take the agony of not knowing where Suguru was or how he was doing over...this. At least then you knew he was still alive.
It’s a childish desire. You are a child, desperate, stubbornly clinging to those warm, hazy summer days filled with shouts and laughter, where the cloudless sky stretched blue above you for miles, and the ocean waves lapped against your legs, cool unlike the burning heat of the sun, your toes curling into sand.
And you are aware of it.
(Love has always defied all logic and reason, hasn’t it?)
“Shoko, I…” The words don’t come out right. She waits. “I can…” You clear your throat. “Let me freeze him.”
She isn’t surprised. She calmly asks, “Are you sure?”
“Just for now,” you say quickly. “Just until…” We figure out what to do. Until Satoru decides on what he wants. Until you can muster up enough courage to say goodbye once and for all.
Your movements feel odd as you return to the side of the table, like a third party is controlling your body. It’s instinctual, the way your senses flare out, searching for Suguru’s distinct cursed energy.
But you feel nothing.
As your knuckles brush Suguru’s cheek (the cold is biting) you remember that it is not the first time you have done this. It seems that you are always being left behind.
Suddenly, your cursed technique is nothing more than a mockery.
Somewhere, there is a god laughing at you.
You cannot rewind time. You cannot fully stop it. Instead you are allocated a small amount of this precious resource, and limited to a state of constancy, afforded no other privileges than this unchanging, unyielding state for those touched by your hand. In the end, your ability can do nothing for you. Time trudges on into a future unknown, and you will live and die with your regrets.
Cursed energy gathers in your hand, warming up Suguru’s skin, and it is a pale imitation of life at best.
Back then, his lips had been warm.
You activate your cursed technique.
“You’re a dumbass. A certified idiot through and through. An absolute cl—”
“Easy there. You done?”
“You’re pathetic.”
“Unwarranted!”
“Well deserved.”
“Even after I bought you with all those bottles of premium grade sake,” Satoru mutters. “You still went and told her.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t.” Shoko is remorseless, and Satoru wants to wince at her pitiless tone. He’s glad he’s not physically there. Shoko with a scalpel was no adversary he wanted to fight. If he was being truthful, on occasion she terrified him, especially when it came to matters pertaining towards you. “And here I thought you couldn’t get any stupider.”
“Can’t we move past the insul—”
“Clean up your own mess, I already do enough for you.”
A long silence.
“....Is she a—”
“You’re useless now too?” Shoko asks dryly. “Find out yourself.”
“Is this really any way to speak to a mourning man?” Even Satoru’s usual indignant tone sounds off-kilter. “Have some respect!”
“Are you?” Shoko asks suddenly, thinking of the corpse in her morgue that she hadn’t touched since the autopsy, and your grief stricken face. “Mourning?”
Tomorrow she will visit you with an expensive bottle of Junmai Daiginjo (courtesy of Satoru), and even though she knows you don’t drink, she’s sure she can coax you into a cup or two. But tonight, she will smoke a cigarette (or two) in Suguru’s name.
She doesn’t expect Satoru to answer, so she is not surprised when he doesn’t.
“Satoru?”
“Yes Shoko?” He says pleasantly. “Any more insults you'd like to get out of the way?”
“It’s about Suguru’s body.”
He sucks in a breath. “I’ll think of something.”
Satoru does not deserve your kindness, the time your ability has afforded him. He has to know it, because as stupid and thick headed as he can be, even Satoru has to know that you are too good for him.
“Take your time.”
Satoru is in your apartment.
You know it the second you step inside. Peeling off your shoes, you drop your keys on the hallway stand and walk into your kitchen, flicking the light on.
“Satoru?” You call. He’s not sprawled out on your couch in your living room as usual, flipping through the channels and making comments on your shitty television channel package.
“Not even baseball! Nothing but news channels. Is this really how you wanna live!?”
“You have a house, Satoru…and I have netflix. I’m sure you can find something...”
“Lucky for you, I’ve got a solution—”
“...I have papers to grade...”
“—move in with me! That way you’d never have to hear me complain about your horrible taste in entertainment ever again!
“….”
Placing the plastic bag holding your takeout on the table, your eyes fall onto the files Ijichi had graciously given you about the incident ten years ago, or more specifically, all the information the College had collected about the two survivors that walked away with Geto Suguru on that fateful day. Twins that you were told had arrived at the College with Suguru the day he declared war.
Unfortunately, after Suguru’s death the remaining members of his family had fled into hiding after the fight, twins included. Your search efforts were for naught. You found a deleted twitter handle that seemed as if it belonged to Mimiko, but nothing else. The girls were long gone, and in mourning for the first person to extend a hand to them. Two more people whose pain you understood.
You squeeze your eyes shut, dragging a tired hand over your face. Life returned to normal in a span of three days. The relief at Suguru’s death is palpable, and it feels like a slap in the face.
You suffer silently, and wait for the day for the end. There is nothing else you can do.
Tomorrow, you and Megumi will get lunch together and then visit Tsumiki. And the thought of Tsumiki, immobile, stark against the whites of the hospital sheets, makes the taste in your mouth go bitter. You aren’t even hungry anymore. Instead, collapsing on your bed seems to be a much more tantalizing option.
You strain your ears for any sign of life, but your apartment is eerily quiet. You make your way to your room and quietly open the door. You don’t want to disturb him if he’s sleeping.
You can’t tell if he’s asleep because his body is facing the window, but he’s there. As usual, making himself at home, and laying on your bed as if a large estate bearing his name doesn’t await him thirty minutes away.
Only Satoru would mysteriously disappear for a couple of days after the death of the man who had been his best friend, who he had killed, only to appear without even a text or a heads up in your apartment, conveniently forgetting the part that you are mad at him.
You don’t feel angry. When you close your eyes, you see Suguru’s face.
He doesn’t stir as you walk over to your closet and open it to change. As you pull a sweatshirt over your head, you can see his shoulders raising and lowering.
You pad over and climb onto the bed, facing his broad back, at eye level with the tousle of white hair in front of you. For a few minutes, you watch him breathe in silence. You want to ask him if he visited Suguru in the morgue, or if he was avoiding him too. You don’t know if he knows that you froze Suguru for the time being. Maybe he expected it. Maybe he didn’t want to ask.
You think you’d like a proper grave for Suguru, even if a funeral seems out of the question.
“I didn’t want to,” Satoru speaks up suddenly, and you’re not surprised he’s awake. “Kill him, I mean.”
You stare at the back of his head. You know. You know killing Suguru had been the hardest thing he’s ever done, and had there been any other option available, it would have been taken.
Satoru wasn’t the only stubborn one. Suguru had decided to eradicate non jujutsu sorcerers to cease the suffering of jujutsu sorcerers, and he would have never been satisfied with anything less. There was never going to be a peaceful resolution. There couldn’t be. You thought you had come to terms with it.
“I know,” you say slowly, and your words come out a whisper. I don’t blame you. I know you’re hurting too. You’re about to repeat yourself, in case he didn’t hear you, but then he sags, almost imperceptibly.
You’ve never been an excessive talker, but for him, today, you can try to fill the silence with anything but the dead body in pristine condition (barring the hole in the torso) locked away in steel. Or how Satoru killed him.
“I’ve been looking for the twins. The ones Suguru rescued from the village. I want to find them. They can’t be much older than Megumi and Tsumiki,” your heart gives another pang. “I want them to know they aren’t alone. It might be a little naive of me to think that we could get along though,” you stop, eyes tracing Satoru’s shoulders up to the curve of his neck.
You want to know what face he’s making.
Your lips curve into a wry smile. “They probably hate us. But they were important to Suguru so I want to…” you trail off, mouth running out of words. There is no point to saying this. You already know Satoru would support you, he always would. Your throat grows thick. “They’re just children,” you force out.
Your eyes fall shut, and you take a deep, shuddering breath.
When you open them, Satoru is staring at you, close enough that your noses are almost brushing. You can make out every pale eyelash that frames his eyes.
Satoru’s eyes used to unnerve you. You remember the first time you had ever caught the full force of Satoru’s gaze connected to yours, those brilliant blues unrelenting in their dominance, capturing you in a way that left no room for anything else, not even air. He’s always been greedy like that.
Before then, you had only seen glimpses of blue peering at you from above those circular sunglasses he used to wear, so the bare sight had you staring back at him in mild discomfort, waiting for the odd staring contest to end.
He had been waiting too, you remember, for you to compliment him. So vain. When you failed to say anything, he frowned, and waited longer.
“...Did you and Suguru get into another fight? Did he break your sunglasses again?”
In the end Satoru stiffly walked away in silence, face brighter than a tomato while you watched him go in confusion.
The memory is a splash of warmth entering your veins, fondness, and you find yourself smiling despite yourself.
Satoru blinks, white eyelashes fluttering.
Your fingers brush against his. We’ll be alright.
Then he’s rising, a looming shadow in the shape of his body falling over your face as two hands plant themselves on either side of your head. The moonlight hits him directly, highlighting the sharpness of his jaw, every contour of his face, his glittering eyes as vast as the morning sky, looking every bit a God.
Your heart startles in your chest. His expression has eased into something softer, vivid eyes latched to yours, and it feels like a gentle caress on your face. In his face is a glimmer of the boy he had been ten years ago, flayed open and terribly vulnerable at the news that Suguru had left, and you think—
(Maybe, just maybe, things will be okay. One day. Time goes on.)
“You have pretty eyes.”
He is no god, but more human than anyone knows, and he is warm underneath your touch, from where your hand is pressed to his face.
Satoru goes red. Then laughs.
“...I’m still mad at you.”
He hums into your neck in response, nose nuzzling into your warmth, the solid weight of his body nearly smothering you into your bed as his arms tighten around you to bring you closer.
You try again. “You didn’t tell me anything.”
His words are uttered against your skin, “I know.”
You swallow, and feel your grief sink into the depths of your stomach, feel it join the mound of regrets and tainted memories that resurface in your nightmares.
You think Suguru’s loss hasn’t truly settled in yet. It’ll come sooner than later. One day when you peruse a bookshop and your gaze lands on a particular book. One day as you walk past an arcade in Shibuya and think you overhear two boys ribbing each other in front of a pinball machine in good humor. One day when you are finally able to let yourself stop and catch your breath.
It will hit you. And it will hurt.
But Satoru will be there.
|
“This is Agent Shadow reporting in,” a black hedgehog muttered into a wrist communicator. “I’ve traced the source of the energy disturbance. Local reports are talking about monsters possessing people in a city five miles northwest of my location. I’m in the process of gathering more information about these creatures.”
“Sounds an awful lot like the Gaia Incident that happened a few months back,” the voice over the link revealing that Rouge was on the other end. “Be careful, hun.”
“Of course, Rouge. I’m always careful. Shadow out.”
The Ultimate Life Form leapt from his position, landing easily on the streets. By now, the sun was almost disappearing at the horizon, casting hues of red, purple, and orange over the sky. A tiny smile formed on his tan muzzle at the sight.
‘Maria… This planet is truly more beautiful on the surface…’ He felt refreshed and eased by the calmness around him. ‘Whatever is causing harm to it will be stopped.’
He skated over to a small field, intending fully to simply use the tree as a good vantage point. Yet, he was effectively distracted when he noticed a familiar figure standing underneath it. A smaller dog-like creature was flying above his shoulders.
“Shadow?” the male turned to him, his body slightly shadowed by the dimming light. “Hey man! It’s been a while!”
Naturally, Sonic ran up until they were only a few feet apart, a grin on his face just as always.
“Sonic,” Shadow nodded cordially. “Who is this?” he looked dubiously at the strange creature, who was munching on a piece of chocolate.
“Hi! I’m Light Gaia, but I also go by Chip. Want some chocolate?” He couldn’t help but blink when the bar was shoved into his face.
“Erm… I suppose…” He did have a bit of a craving for something sweet… He hesitantly broke a piece off the bar and popped it into his mouth. “Wait…” he paused in the middle of chewing. “Light Gaia? Is this related to the incident I heard of?”
“I was wondering how come I hadn’t seen ya during that whole thing!” Sonic exclaimed. “Dude, you missed a lot.”
“Well, any information you could give me would be useful,” Shadow stated with his arms crossed. “GUN has been on my back about this for the past week.”
“Uh… yeah, sure,” Sonic replied after taking a moment to let it sink in. “Basically, Eggman used the emeralds to break the planet apart. He wanted to use this Dark Gaia thing to power an amusement park, even though that’s not gonna get him any tickets…” Seeing Shadow’s eyes narrow, he decided it was better to get to the point. “Anyways, uh, Chip and I beat him up and put it all back together. But now, apparently some cultists tried to steal Chip’s power. They… uh… said something about light being bad or whatever… But when you try and get one, you get the other, too…”
“So the creatures that were causing problems back then have reappeared…” Shadow finished. “That’s what GUN was picking up. Good. That’ll be all I need.”
He made to move, but was stopped by a hand on his shoulder.
“Hang on a sec. Chip and I are headin’ to the same place you are. Just give me a minute.”
Shadow crossed his arms but decided that if there were monsters out there, teamwork would be better. The air grew eerily still as the sun sank beneath the horizon, the sky starting to darken. The moment the purples started to transition to dark blue, Sonic’s body was suddenly struck with a purple glow emanating briefly from his chest. Flames of dark energy engulfed the hero, but neither hedgehog nor deity was worried, so he waited patiently.
Garnet eyes shot wide as the flames and glow died down, the sight making him feel butterflies in his stomach. The hero was standing taller, though his somewhat thicker legs were hunched to hold his bulkier frame. The fur had deepened into a navy-blue shade, his quills tipped in white. His hands were even larger, tipped with dangerous claws. His shoes had transformed as well, becoming wicked cleats that could be used as weapons themselves.
“So… what exactly is this form, blue hedgehog?” Shadow asked, trying to not display too much of his shock.
“It first happened when Eggman broke the planet apart a few months ago. Guess Dark Gaia’s power does it.” Sonic gave a shrug, his massive shoulders rolling with the motion. “But it’s not too bad. ‘Cept for the teeth.”
Sonic got the distinct feeling that Shadow was examining him, and he drew his arms slightly in. The black hedgehog then stepped closer, lifting up one of his arms to examine it.
“Interesting…” the GUN agent stated. “It seems odd that your body responds to energy so dynamically. If I’m not mistaken, everyone else just experienced some degree of manic behavior. But you… even your fur is coarser…”
“Uh, yeah…” Sonic felt a strange warmth in his cheeks at the feeling of Shadow’s hands running through his fur. It was… rare to see the hedgehog being so thoughtful and gentle. Skilled fingers trailed up until they reached his large palms, the short and almost invisible fur being tickled by the glove. He couldn’t fight a shiver when his fingers and claws were examined.
“That’s unusual…”
“Hu-what? What’s unusual?”
“Your claws… have you ever felt them?”
“N-No…” Sonic couldn’t help but want more of the touch. He never said it, but he loved being petted. Shadow was starting to really push his buttons.
“Their structure is unlike anything I’ve seen on a mobian… while their appearance is normal, they’re incredibly dense. It’s less like a claw and more like the blade of a spear.” Thankfully, Shadow let go, but he took a step back when he noticed Shadow was eyeing his legs.
“I don’t think my feet are any different, Shads. My shoes took that for some reason,” he managed to chirp. But inwardly, he could tell Shadow knew something was up.
“Is there something wrong with your legs, Sonic?”
“No! No, nothing like that. It just feels a bit weird with you… doing all that. I ain’t used to people running their hands over me. I thought you woulda wanted to spar or something.”
“Hedgehog, sparring with you in this state would be pointless.” A scoff accompanied the statement. “Your power has increased, but your speed has dramatically lowered. Just as you wouldn’t be able to catch up with me, I wouldn’t be able to land an attack. The energy inside of you acts as a buffer of Chaos Energy.”
“Oh…” Well, Shadow didn’t have to put that in so many words…
“Regardless of that, I apologize,” Shadow consoled. “It wasn’t my intention to cause you discomfort. …Wait, are you blushing?”
“Uh… yeah, a little,” Sonic conceded, feeling a bit more at ease with Shadow’s intrigue rather than fear. “That’s what I meant when I said it felt a bit weird…” To his shock, Shadow suddenly stepped closer, boldly pushing on his chest. “Whoa! Shadow, what the heck!?”
“I want to see something,” was all Shadow explained, running his hand up and down Sonic’s torso. “Your form… intrigues me.” He splayed his fingers apart, letting the fur flow between them. His palm was pressing against Sonic’s skin, leaving what he could only describe as a trail of fire that excited his nerves. Against his will, he felt his body growing more sensitive, and he pushed into the touch.
“G-Gods, Shadow, that feels… ah…” his eyes began to grow heavy. “Dude, you’re gonna get me horny like that…”
“I can smell it already,” Shadow remarked. “Is this a side effect of the transformation?”
Sonic chuckled amidst a rumbling noise building in his throat. “Heh… Nah… I just… really like it…” Shadow’s gloved hand moved up to his neck, and Sonic leaned his head towards the opposite shoulder. Shadow smirked softly at the gesture and ran it over the exposed space, and he boldly reached around to stroke over Sonic’s tail.
A low, guttural moan escaped Sonic’s muzzle at the feeling of his tail being petted.
“Good boy~” Shadow lightly teased. As if in response, Sonic’s short tail started to wag, his cheeks burning deeply in arousal. Shadow found himself pleased with Sonic’s reactions, unused to being able to touch another in such a way.
“Ok, ok, Shads,” Sonic huffed, his strong arms grasping at the black hedgehog. He hoisted him up and set him back several feet. “You’ve had your fun. But right now, we got bigger fish to fry, remember?”
Shadow rolled his eyes, but nodded. “Very well…”
Sonic grinned and released him, giving him a gentle tap on his ass as a teasing payback. Shadow let out a slight yelp, his cheeks gaining a pink tinge.
“C’mon, buddy. We can pick up where we left off later,” Sonic offered, much to Shadow’s surprise and amusement. With a smirk, he skated ahead of Sonic, making sure to keep his pace slower so Sonic could keep up, turning his head back every so often to make sure he was in range. Watching Sonic running behind him like a wolf was both amusing and considerably arousing. His muscles flexed with each forward lunge, his eyes narrow and focused, showing off power and strength that even he was somewhat lacking in. “I gotta say, Shads, I like the view from back here!”
Shadow rolled his eyes, but he could tell that there was some earnest meaning in Sonic’s joke. He doubted Sonic would have remotely touched his rear if he didn’t have at least some level of attraction to him.
The two breezed across the plains, Chip keeping pace beside Sonic, looking between them curiously.
“Hey, Sonic?” Chip asked, his voice keeping a normal tone, unaware that Shadow was listening. “Are you guys… dating or something?”
Shadow resisted the urge to sputter, his cheeks taking on a cherry red. Him? Sonic? Dating? Was that deity insane? Despite his attractiveness, Sonic was far too childish and reckless. He’d have a lot of—
“I’ve… thought about it. From time t’ time,” Sonic replied back. Now this was curious. “I mean, Shads is kinda grumpy and way too serious. He doesn’t really know how to have fun and just enjoy life. But, he’s still a good guy. He’s caring, he does whatever it takes to defend people, and he’s got a lot of determination. So, yeah. Add that in with his good looks and that he gets what it’s like to run and have a little space to yourself… he’d be great boyfriend material if he loosened up a little.”
“Huh. I thought you liked Amy, though,” Chip said while tilting his body.
“Well, yeah, I think she’s a great person… but not really someone I could be in a relationship with. Not like that,” Sonic’s voice turned somber, causing Chip to frown. “For someone who thinks she’s in love with me, she doesn’t really seem like it. She didn’t recognize me even after I spoke to her, but Tails did without me saying anything. And… when I missed our date because of Merlina, she didn’t believe me about it. Even after everything we’ve been through… And lately, she’s way too focused on her own feelings to worry about anyone else’s… So… yeah, it’s kinda not a good time…”
Shadow nearly fell over at Sonic’s statements. Was he really painting the hero all wrong?
‘Perhaps we both need to… find ourselves a little more…’
He shook his head and focused ahead. They were getting close to the city. No doubt Dark Gaia spawn would be littering the area.
“Ohh… So you really wanna wait before dating?”
“Yeah. But I don’t mind fooling around a little with people I care about,” Sonic replied, his voice lightening a bit. “So if Shads wants to have a little romp later, then I’m up for it.” Shadow skidded to a stop, nearly causing Sonic to ram into him. “Whoa!! Uh, you okay, man?”
“I’m fine, hedgehog.” Shadow hoped his voice wasn’t wavering too badly. The fact that Sonic was so open to that type of shared intimacy… it was something he never considered. “The city isn’t too far off. Do you have any plan?”
“Yeah. If there are any big guys, attack and move. Stick around in one place too long and they can slam ya,” Sonic explained, rubbing the back of his head. “Those clubs can really leave ya seeing stars.”
“…Noted. Let’s get moving then.”
--
"Rrrah!!” A final, mighty swing caused the last Nightmare to fade into a burst of purple gas. Shadow leaned over slightly, hands on his knees, dropping the stop sign to the ground. “These damn mutants are everywhere… Electricity, super strength, elemental attacks… Dark Gaia is proving to be a challenging beast.”
“No kidding,” Sonic replied, sighing as red and blue orbs from the monster flowed into him, refueling his strength. “One thing I like about it, though, is if I do it quick, I get even stronger!” He flexed his arms akin to a bodybuilder, making Chip laugh and Shadow roll his eyes.
“Well then… the monsters have been defeated, and we retrieved the fragment…” Shadow said with a grin. “Chip, unless you’re a voyeur, I suggest you find somewhere to wait. We have unfinished business.”
Sonic yelped as Shadow suddenly pushed his chest, making him stumble and trip to land firmly on his ass.
“Geez, Shads, you coulda just told me t—ooohh…” One of Shadow’s hands was once again petting his body, the other holding an impressive arousal. Shadow was stroking himself to fullness right in front of his face, making his cheeks heat up. The soft hand moved from his belly up to his cheek, and Sonic moaned as a thumb brushed over his sharp teeth.
“You think your teeth are frightening, but I can’t wait to see them while you’re panting in pleasure…” Shadow purred. Sonic allowed his mouth to open wider in a dazed grin.
“Aw… I’m touched, Faker,” he chuckled. “But you really think you’re gonna get me panting?”
Shadow’s hand moved down to his ankle, making him gasp.
“Take your shoes off or spread your legs,” the black hedgehog stated simply, the challenge in his voice igniting Sonic’s insatiable drive. Frankly, Sonic was intrigued to see what Shadow had to offer. With his sleek form and graceful moves, he could prove to be a real experience in bed.
“Heh~ Well, when you put it… that way…” the excited werehog panted slightly. He slowly spread his legs apart and leaned back, exposing his entrance, which caused a flush on Shadow’s cheeks. “Have to warn ya… I dunno how aggressive my libido is in this form…”
To his surprise, Shadow didn’t even hesitate, removing a glove to place two fingers against Sonic’s tongue. Sonic grinned and suckled softly on Shadow’s digits, his overactive glands allowing him to give them a thick coating of saliva.
“I suppose that means we’ll find out soon enough,” Shadow reasoned as he pulled them out. He easily pushed the slick fingers into Sonic’s ass, his larger body causing him to be a bit looser. Sonic’s breathing began to pick up, and he was already feeling dizzy from pleasure.
“Ah… yes…” Sonic groaned, his right hand curling into a fist. “A-a-ah…” He could feel Shadow’s fingers twisting, poking, and sliding through his insides, stimulating him with each movement.
“You feel so soft and warm…” Shadow breathed, his own body starting to shiver with want. “It’s like rubbing against silk…” Sonic blushed at the unusual compliment, but grinned all the same. Compliments from his rival were rare and treasured.
“Thanks, Shadow. Mind if I…?”
“Right… of course…” he managed, shaking himself out of his stupor. He pulled his fingers out and placed his hands on Sonic’s knees, allowing Sonic to reach forward and grasp his throbbing, leaking cock. The large hand encompassed it with ease, and he moaned loudly at the feeling.
“Wow, you’re… you’re really hard… feels like a rock,” he chuckled. “This is gonna be fun~”
Shadow nodded and Sonic released his erection so that Shadow could enter him. He eased into the tight hole, and Sonic shivered and moaned at being penetrated by Shadow’s girth. Just as Shadow said, he started to let out weak pants and moans that showed off his rows of razor sharp teeth.
“Ah… hah…” Shadow gasped as he was squeezed by the silken vice of Sonic’s insides. “Fuck, so hot…!” Sonic groaned long and low, his own arousal slipping out of his sheath. Shadow eyed the massive dick and nearly drooled. He wondered; if they decided to do this again soon, how would it feel having that inside of him…? “Don’t touch your cock, Faker,” Shadow rasped as he started to thrust. “I’m going to make you cum… purely from slamming into you…”
Sonic gasped thickly as Shadow’s dick pegged his insides, the burn unlike anything he’d experienced before. Each thrust was slow and deliberate, Shadow shaking just as much as he was, both of them trying to settle into the moment.
“Sh… Shadow… easy… just hold it for a sec…” Sonic managed. He could feel his eyes starting to tear up, but a hand on his prevented him from wiping them away.
“Don’t feel so embarrassed, Faker…” Shadow murmured with a soft smirk, his cheeks a ruby red. “I want to see every reaction you have…”
“I-I ain’t embarrassed!” Sonic managed. “Just… hah… feels weird… ah…”
Shadow nodded and started to pick up his pace, his thick cock pushing deep into the hero’s body. Each thrust caused their hips to smack together, and Sonic was left breathless and shaking. His nerves were abuzz with electric sensation, each smack sending a wave of heat through him. His cock was spitting out pre-cum onto his chest.
“Oh, yes…” Shadow grunted. “You like that, Faker…?”
Sonic could only give a shaky nod, his lungs too focused on trying to get air for him to articulate anything but sharp gasps and loud moans. He felt like his face and ears were going to melt off if his ass didn’t first! Every inch of his body was singing from Shadow’s rapid thrusts. Then, Shadow finally found that sweet spot in his body.
The sound Sonic let out could only be described as a howl. It pulled from every synapse of his body like a giant wave of wordless rapture that came from his quills to his toes. His body felt cold and hot and numb and hyper-sensitive all at once. His vision went white, echoing with stars that lingered around for several moments. His toes curled in his shoes and his legs went boneless while his ass clenched around Shadow’s girth.
Sonic’s scream took Shadow by complete surprise, the sound going straight to his cock despite his ringing ears. Was he really making him feel that good? That… that was hot… He wanted to hear more.
Swift, repetitive thrusts overtook Sonic, leaving him wailing and gasping in absolute bliss. Despite the chilliness of the night, he felt nothing but warmth. Sweat was soaking his skin underneath the thick coat but he didn’t even care. All he wanted was to keep feeling that amazing length inside of him.
Shadow tightened his grip on Sonic’s knees and focused on slamming into Sonic. Seeing him the way he was… his muzzle and ears glowing bright red, his eyes rimmed with tears born of pleasure, his cock leaking and ready to burst… His body was a perfect example of forbidden delight.
“You know…” Shadow found himself saying despite everything, “I don’t see why people could be frightened by you… ah… you look like a giant stuffed animal to me…” What the hell was he kidding; Sonic probably couldn’t even understand anything at this point.
“C…Cuddle?” Sonic squeaked, his mouth trying to curl into a smirk.
“After I’m done with you… ngh… you’ll be more like a wet dog…” Shadow teased. “But we’ll see…” He could feel his orgasm approaching fast. His balls were tightening and curling into his body. “Nngh… S-Sonic… Anh… Augh!!”
“Ah!” A burst of warmth flooded his body, causing Sonic to cum as well. “Nnnf!” His cock twitched without anything to hold it and it flung ropes all over his face and quills. Shadow’s eyes glittered at the sight.
“Th-that’s it…” Shadow moaned in bliss. “Cum all over yourself, big boy…” Seeing his rival’s attractive, rugged form decorated with cum was turning him on more than anything he’d seen before. Despite cumming, his erection was still pumped and ready for more. He continued to drill into Sonic’s sweet spot and relished in the sharp yelp that Sonic made.
“Sh-Shadow!!” Chaos, this was intense! He could already feel his cock regaining its hardness amidst the white-hot pleasure Shadow was inflicting on him. “Ah… hah~”
“Yes... yes, yes…!” He couldn’t let this opportunity go to waste. “I’m gonna… nngh… I’m gonna fuck you until you’re dripping!!”
“Nnyah!! Y… Y…”
“Trying to say… something… Sonic?” he lightly taunted. By now, his own ears were tinged red, his body soaked with sweat. Cum was leaking around his member and adding a whole new dimension of pleasure.
“Y… You owe me a blowjob after this…!!” Sonic howled, his body vibrating with need. Shadow was so going to get his just desserts for driving him crazy! He’d fuck that throat raw!
“No… unf… p-problem…!” Shadow grunted out. He rammed Sonic without mercy, determined this time to make him cum first. Sonic whined loudly, feeling like a dog in heat. He just wanted to cum so much! He didn’t want to stop!
“Mmnnn… nnnn-cumming!!”
Thick cum burst from his tip and coated his chest, causing him to tighten around Shadow again. Shadow groaned loudly at the sudden grip on his cock, bringing him over the edge. He came hard, but most of it sprayed back out around the quivering hole. A small puddle formed underneath the space where they were connected, and cum soaked Sonic’s groin and inner thighs.
“Ahn… Ah, damn…” Shadow gasped. “Sonic… so good…”
“Yeah… c’cmon… keep going…” Sonic returned, feeling Shadow was still hard and aching. “I… I got a few more…”
“Good…” Shadow murmured breathlessly. He was exhausted, but he couldn’t stop. Not when their cocks were practically burning for more. He rutted against Sonic like a feral animal until they were both quaking, and he drove Sonic to madness with drawing out rope after rope of warm, creamy cum. Fluid covered Sonic’s upper body and spilled out from his ass, wetting his backside.
Both of them lost track of how many times they’d gone over the edge by the time they were shooting blanks. Sonic was on his back, his arms having given out on him in the whirlwind of pleasure. As Shadow pulled out, thick spunk poured out of Sonic’s well abused hole. Sonic couldn’t help but chuckle at the feeling, wrapping his arms around his rival.
“Thanks, buddy,” Sonic wheezed, his body completely satiated. Shadow shook his head, welcoming the feel of the soft, wet fur against his body.
“You’re welcome, hedgehog. But I’m the one… who’s thankful. Once the cultists are defeated, you’ll… lose this form again… If we hadn’t… encountered each other, I’d have missed the opportunity…”
“That’s what I mean… thanks for… wanting to screw me… instead of running away… it means a lot, dude,” Sonic explained. “Mind if we just… hang out for a bit?”
Shadow smirked, but forced himself to pull back and stand.
“I’m afraid I’m still under orders from GUN,” he explained, wiping himself off. He fought back a wince at the look Sonic gave him, almost like a kicked puppy, giving him a reassuring smirk. “But I’ll make sure to keep in touch.”
“You sure?” Sonic asked, hoping Shadow wasn’t teasing him.
“Hmph,” Shadow crossed his arms and raised an eye-ridge. “I did agree to your demand for a blowjob, didn’t I? I don’t go back on my word, hedgehog.”
Sonic flashed a thumb’s up and got up himself. “Well, I can’t argue with that! Thanks, Shads! See ya around!”
“See you around, Sonic…” With that, Shadow skated off into the night, leaving Sonic and Chip behind to continue his mission.
“Well… Guess we should stop by at a shower, huh?” Chip giggled. “You look like you fell in a bowl of cereal!”
“Why you…!” Sonic growled. Chip squeaked and flew off, Sonic chasing after him with a furious blush on his cheeks. “Get back here!"
|
Okay.
Wait.
Let’s think this through first.
A part of Nayeon feels like she’s mistaken, like she’s only getting all these crazy thoughts and thinking that she likes Mina just because Mina is technically the only girl in her life right now that’s something a lot more than friends, but definitely a little less than lovers. It makes sense, honestly, because Nayeon’s prone to having false crushes. She might’ve crushed on Momo for maybe two weeks in freshman year of college, just because she happened to see Momo’s abs in passing and was given the honor to take a body shot off of them at some fraternity party not even hours later. Hell, she even thought she liked Jeongyeon in junior high once just because the girl had cut her hair to a length that was totally seventh-grade Nayeon’s type and let her keep her pink pen.
Mina just happens to be just like the Jeongyeon in junior high, but with her cute ass smile, attractive personality, and insanely pretty everything instead of a goddamn pink pen. It’s pretty easy to get it mixed up.
Pfft.
Fuck feelings! They do nothing but be gross and confuse everyone. She’d have absolutely no reservations about catapulting them off of the nearest cliff. Nayeon does not need this right now.
Well, unless…?
-
“Dahyun?”
“Your house better be on fire or something right now for you to be calling me at three in the morning, Nayeon. What—“
“Can you come over?”
“Excuse me?”
A beat of silence. Dahyun yawns into the speaker. “Well? Can you?”
There’s a sigh, and then a sleepy chuckle. “… Give me ten minutes."
Kim Dahyun is Momo’s friend whom Nayeon first met at an organizational event for some campus church society. Nayeon had no idea what she was doing there other than the fact she was given a free pocket bible (that she has no idea what she’s even done with), and she had soon come to realize that she had no idea what Dahyun was doing there either. Not even three days later, at whatever house party that a child of the high heavens definitely shouldn’t have been at, they both had a little too much to drink and ended up knocking over someone’s mom’s fancy vase and making out. More than once. And then a lot of times after that, completely sober and not. Definitely not a good church girl move, but hey, Nayeon digs it.
Dahyun is pretty cute, definitely the type that Nayeon likes pressing up against bathroom doors and the dark corners of the library, and Nayeon thinks she wouldn’t mind being in love with her. Life, of course, says fuck you and never works out like that. Dahyun is way too in love with Momo and Momo is way too not in love with her and Nayeon only works herself into this equation by being the crush’s best friend that Dahyun kind of fucked once… twice… or maybe three times? Though that part was kind of uncalled for, honestly, because Dahyun was just trying to see if Momo happened to be seeing anyone at the moment by buddying it up with Nayeon, and Nayeon just happened to be feeling some type of way after seeing her ex’s snap story with a new girl. Needless to say, it all checked out in the end: Dahyun gets the single thing closest to Momo, and Nayeon got to, quite literally, fuck away her feelings.
(Of course, this was all before Mina.)
Other than that, Nayeon guesses they’re friends or something like that. Something definitely more than acquaintances at least. They don’t really hang unless it’s with Momo and even with the sparing amount of times that they have, it’s always been more making out than actual hanging out. Sometimes, however, Dahyun does call her whenever she’s really really bored and more times than often sends her game requests through text message. A cup pong pro she deems herself, even though Nayeon’s got a four-win streak on her.
True to her words, there are a few knocks at her door roughly ten minutes later. Dahyun barrels in almost immediately after she opens the door, clad in nothing but her pajamas and a pair of crocs. Her hair is messy and she looks like she’d rather be anywhere but here, but still, she’s quick to regard Nayeon with a scowl before kicking her shoes off and then making a beeline for the couch.
“Hello to you too,” Nayeon says, far too amused as she closes the door.
“I hate you,” is all Dahyun yells back from her sprawled position.
Nayeon only rolls her eyes before settling next to Dahyun on the couch. The girl is quick to get up despite looking perfectly comfortable laid out across the couch, easily planting herself right onto Nayeon’s lap. There’s nothing ideal about this: it’s three in the morning, Nayeon’s going through a whole ass crisis pertaining to Myoui Mina and doesn’t exactly know how to handle it, and Dahyun’s still hopelessly in love with a girl (who is totally denying her feelings for Dahyun, but Nayeon will let her figure that one out on her own) and using terrible coping mechanisms that include fucking the best friend of the girl she actually wants to fuck.
“Yeah?” Nayeon’s grin is wide and stupid.
Dahyun only makes a sound of annoyance and kisses it right off.
It’s all tongue and teeth and everything Nayeon wished it wasn’t. She wishes she didn’t feel that offbeat somewhere deep down in her chest that tells her everything about this is wrong: that this isn’t the girl she wants to be kissing right now, that it just doesn’t feel right to even be kissing Dahyun in the first place. She wishes she felt something, anything , be it fireworks or jelly or electricity in her veins or the briefest spark ever, but there’s just nothing .
“Alright,” Dahyun murmurs against her mouth, giving her lower lip one last suck before pulling away, “what are you thinking about?”
“What?” Nayeon blinks, nearly chasing after Dahyun’s lips, but the girl’s quick to press her shoulders back against the couch.
“Well, for starters,” Dahyun laughs a little. “I think we’ve kissed enough for me to know you don’t kiss like that.”
“What do you mean? Like what?”
“It was kinda a mix of ‘I don’t know how to kiss’ and ‘I don’t know if I should kiss you or not,’” Dahyun says. “I’m betting on the latter.”
Nayeon’s a little bit offended at Dahyun’s words and she's about to defend her more-than-spectacular kissing skills (which are very much so approved by Mina), but then again that’s not really the point. Rather, she's silent as she lets out a sigh of defeat, leaning back against the couch pathetically. Dahyun only laughs again and gives her cheek a light pat.
“Is it that one girl? Minyoung?”
“It’s Mina,” Nayeon corrects her, and her brows furrow not even a second later. “Wait, how do you know about her?”
Dahyun gives her a look and then all gears in Nayeon’s head click. She shakes her head and sighs again. “Momo,” she breathes out. She should’ve known better. For one, Momo should be worrying about her own love life and definitely not Nayeon’s. Secondly, who the hell is Momo telling about Mina? There shouldn’t even be anything spreading because they are precisely not the one thing everyone thinks they are.
Dahyun rolls off of her without another word, settling back into her position across the couch, but this time with her legs all over Nayeon. “Mina, huh? What’s the deal with her? Love at first sight? We-made-out-once-and-now-I-think-we-should-get-married? Or let me guess, she’s got a boyfriend and you totally did that thing where you’re gay as hell but you still fell for a straight girl because whew! We’ve all been there, done that. You know, I’m starting to think that you’re not really gay unless you fall for a straight girl, you feel?"
“… What are you even talking about?”
“Did I hit one? Or all of them?” Dahyun says, annoyingly wide grin spread across her face.
“None of them,” Nayeon scowls, giving Dahyun’s thigh a brief swat before she sighs and sinks herself deeper into the couch.
“Give me a little bit more to work with, Im.”
“I know, it’s just—“ Nayeon racks her brain, trying to find the right words to describes whatever it is that Myoui Mina and her are. “Mina and I… I don’t know, we just mess around and have fun. Friends with benefits if you want to call it something but then—“
Dahyun cuts her off. “But then one day you woke up and realized everything was just different with her and now you’re like 'holy shit, I think I’m in love with her?’”
Nayeon sends Dahyun a glare, which has the girl bursting out into laughter. “Did I hit the bullseye?”
“What the hell,” Nayeon says under her breath. Dahyun’s looking at her so earnestly and Nayeon just hates how right she is. She shakes her head and grumbles nonetheless. “Spot on. How did you even guess that?"
“That, my friend,” Dahyun says, proud puff in her chest, “is because it’s basically the plot for every stinkin’ shoujo manga there is out there. It just so happens that I’m kind of an expert. No need to thank me, of course.”
Nayeon rolls her eyes. Is being a manga expert even something to be proud of?
“But…” Dahyun yawns. “Even if your life is the biggest cliché in the world, it’d make a really good bedtime story. I’m going to sleep.” Dahyun gets up without another word, heading straight toward her room. Nayeon only sighs, following after her not even a second later.
Dahyun’s already made herself comfortable, bundled up underneath her covers and Nayeon flicks the lights off and slips in next to her. Immediately, Dahyun’s foot kicks her in the ass, and there’s a quiet “sorry” and then Dahyun’s leg is slung over her waist.
“Really?”
“Listen, you made me come over at three in the morning. The least you can do is be my body pillow for a night.”
Nayeon rolls flat onto her back and lets out a sigh. Dahyun has no problem scooting closer and snuggling up against her side.
“So, this Mina girl…” Dahyun already sounds like she’s two seconds from falling asleep. “Tell me about her."
“She’s… how do I describe it, she’s… she’s just…” Nayeon lets out a small laugh. “She’s just Mina. The cheekiest bitch I’ve ever met in my life. She’s really cute too, and she’s kind of got this smile that makes your insides feel all funny and your heart kind of melts. A little, or a lot. It kinda depends.” That was all probably unnecessary information Dahyun didn’t need to know, but hey! It’s important. "There’s just something about her… I don’t know what it is, but it’s just… comfortable, you know? Like I can do and say all this dumb shit and she’d be cool with it. It’s weird.”
Dahyun hums, nodding slowly. Nayeon’s not sure if she gets it or not, but she rolls with it anyway. “What do you like about her?”
Nayeon blinks, eyes trained on the ceiling above them. What does she like about Mina?
It’s a loaded question, honestly, because the first thing Nayeon thinks about is everything. She’s not even sure what to say or where to even start. She thinks of her smile, the gummy one and wide enough to see her single silver tooth. She thinks of the big things, the little things, and the tiny things. She thinks of just her , how she’s memorized the moles that dot Mina’s face, how her fingertips tingle with muscle memory, mornings upon mornings spent tracing something that rivals even the likes of Orion. How her stomach feels like caving in and how easily she’s reduced to jelly. How she wants to say everything that is Mina, how she feels the words get caught in her throat when she tries.
“Everything,” Nayeon breathes out, finally, almost inaudible, but Dahyun hears it regardless.
Dahyun can only snort. “Are you sure you’re not in love with her or something?”
“That’s kind of the thing,” Nayeon whispers, as if she’s scared that if she’s any louder, then the words will be out there, will start sinking deep into her skin and become real . “I think I am."
“Wow,” Dahyun laughs, soft and tapered. “You sound whipped as hell.”
Nayeon forgoes replying, deciding to remain silent and merely listen to the rise and fall of Dahyun’s breathing, each breath getting slower and slower until Nayeon’s certain she’s asleep. Her gaze remains stuck on the ceiling and it’s not long before her thoughts start running amok, louder than her heartbeat in her ears.
She thinks of Dahyun’s words, of her own. She thinks of how many things she had on the tip of the tongue, every single thing she had wanted to say at that very moment. How she could go on for hours, perhaps, but settled for something that was everything , but also not nearly so. She’s starting to think she can’t talk about Mina, not when she thinks she could ramble about her for hours and hours and bore the next person to hell and back, when she knows Mina is just everything, and how she’s starting to feel like her everything. Is this what it’s like to be in love?
Tell me about her. Where do I even start? Her smile? Her personality? Her quirks? Her favorite food? How she likes her eggs? The things she likes doing on the weekends?
What do you like about her? Everything. I like everything. Every single thing there is.
Are you in love with her? Yeah, I think I am.
-
When morning — or so she thinks — comes, Nayeon’s woken up almost immediately by the blare of her phone. It’s a whole ten seconds of her waiting for whoever calling to hang up, but then another second passes and she contemplates chucking her phone at the wall instead. She barely makes out Dahyun, still being dead to the world beside her, drooling all over her pillow and everything. With a groan, she’s rubbing the sleep out of her eyes when she huffs and puffs and gives up, picking up the phone without even looking at who it is.
“Hello?” she murmurs into the speaker. Hopefully, it’s Jeongyeon so she can hang up immediately without feeling bad. Or even Momo, who she will definitely feel a little bad about hanging up on, but still , the both of them know that Nayeon’s anything but the epitome of nice when she’s woken up by anything that isn’t her faulty body clock.
“Hi,” the voice on the other end speaks. It’s definitely not Jeongyeon, and Nayeon’s brain feels like it’s reduced to mush already from the simplest “hi” ever, lips unknowingly curling into a dopey smile. It’s Mina! Soft and cute-voiced Mina. Possibly the only person ever who will never be on the receiving end of Nayeon’s morning wrath. “Did you just wake up?”
Although barely conscious and definitely still on the verge of falling back asleep, Nayeon feels the warmth start to grow in her chest. “Yeah,” and she even works up a sleepy laugh. “Morning!”
“It’s noon,” Mina’s laugh in return doesn’t fail to make her heart bubble up in her chest, “but good morning, sleepyhead. Sleep well?”
“Yeah, well, until someone woke me up,” Nayeon yawns, loud. “What’s up? Did you need something?”
“Nah, just giving you a heads up that I’ll be over in twenty. Sana brought over homemade strawberry milk and some sandwiches earlier and she wanted you to try them.”
“Door’s always open for you, Mina. Literally. You have a key.”
“I was just letting you know in case I walk in on you getting yourself off or something like that.” There’s a brief pause. “Not that I would mind, but still."
“Don’t need to,” Nayeon muses. Dahyun shifts a little next to her, but still otherwise remains asleep. “I can wait twenty for you.”
“Aw,” Mina’s laugh is soft. “That’s cute. Last week you couldn’t even last five. Don’t you remember you were crying on the phone about how bad you wanted to com—”
“Twenty,” Nayeon cuts her off immediately, clearing her throat. She clearly doesn’t need to be reminded. “You have twenty minutes to get here before I lock the doors and take a shower."
“Be nice and save some room for one more,” Mina says and Nayeon just knows there’s a smug smile all over her face right now. “See you in twenty. Don’t have too much fun without me.”
Mina hangs up not even a beat later and Nayeon glances over at Dahyun’s still slumbering body. It sucks that Nayeon will have to kick her out, Dahyun's all cute and cuddly with all her blankets and pillows on top of her, but she kind of wants to get fucked in the shower and she’s sure Dahyun doesn’t want to be privy to that. Unless she’s into that, Nayeon guesses, but that’s another story for another day.
“Dahyun,” she murmurs. “Dahyun, wake up.”
No response.
“Dahyun,” she tries again, voice a little louder. She nudges the girl. “Wake up.”
Dahyun makes a sound, but doesn’t even move. Nayeon rolls her eyes.
“Dahyun, get up.” Nayeon gives up far too quickly, settling for kicking the girl lightly. “You gotta get up.”
“Twenty more minutes,” Dahyun mumbles, wiggling her head underneath a pillow.
“Hell no!” Nayeon kicks her again, this time square in the ass. “Get up!”
“What?!” Dahyun finally forces herself up with a groan, regarding her more or less with an angry look that looks more sleepy and cute than anything. Nayeon almost wants to pat her on the head. “What the hell, Nayeon?"
“Listen,” Nayeon says. “Mina is coming over and we’ve fucked a bajillion of times on this bed and it’ll be a bajillion and one in twenty minutes, so I kind of need you to go. Like right now.”
“You are so fucking gross,” Dahyun scowls, throwing the nearest pillow at her. Her hair’s all over the place and she’s blinking the sleep out of her eyes. “Please tell me you washed your sheets.”
“I haven't,” Nayeon lies, wide grin unbelievable in Dahyun’s eyes, “and Mina gets real messy.”
“Oh my god,” Dahyun gags before she shoots out of the bed faster than Nayeon’s ever seen. “You… You’re telling me I slept all over your girl’s… oh my god, I’m burning my clothes when I get home.”
Nayeon’s laugh is loud and dumb, and she hops out of bed and follows after Dahyun to the door. “I’m just kidding! Not about the messy part, but the sheets. Definitely washed. Who do you think I am? I sleep there too!”
“Gross,” is all Dahyun says before she slips on her crocs and huffs. Her arms are crossed and Nayeon can only laugh again, reaching over to smooth out the girl’s hair, blonde strands coming up in cowlicks and everything. Even slips in a head pat. She knows Dahyun well enough to know that she’s not really mad, well, maybe just a smidge, it’s fine. Lunch and maybe a smoothie afterwards will easily have her in the girl’s good graces again.
“Sorry kiddo,” Nayeon supplies, grin sheepish. “I’ll buy you lunch later.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Dahyun rolls her eyes, hand already on the doorknob. “Just figure out what you want to do with this Mina girl now. Woman up and come to terms with your feelings. It’s the twenty-first century for god’s sake, grow a pair and ask her out or something. Any half-conscious idiot can see how much you like her.”
“Easier said than done,” Nayeon’s smile falters just a little bit, “but I’ll keep it in mind. Thanks for coming over though. I think I needed that talk. You know, to figure things out.”
“I was sleeping for the most part, but you’re welcome,” Dahyun grins and opens the door. Throws up a peace sign as she’s about to leave. “Next time though, please don’t call me again at three in the morning. We can discuss your crises over coffee like normal people during normal people hours."
Nayeon rolls her eyes, but then she’s laughing regardless, waving as Dahyun leaves. “No promises! See you!”
The door closes with a click and the first thing Nayeon does is look at the time on her phone.
12:24 PM. That’s about fifteen minutes until Mina gets here and about five or so until Dahyun texts her saying she got home safely and how much she hates her, once again, for having her coming over at three in the morning and how stupid it was of her to even do it. She’s going to go brush her teeth for two minutes and then be left with thirteen minutes, which means a really great thirteen-minute nap.
She forgoes the shower, though it didn’t take much convincing on her end, her legs seemingly having a mind of their own as they walk her straight back and into her bed. Last time she did, Mina had, unsurprisingly, came in to join her but in the end, Nayeon didn’t get fucked the way she wanted to because Mina accidentally had gotten shampoo in her eyes and was the same dramatic bitch that she usually is, getting water everywhere and causing a ruckus before Nayeon could even come properly. In the end, Nayeon did end up get off one way or another, red-eyed and nearly blind Mina be damned, but it still kind of sucked. Not really the blind(folded) fantasy she’s always wanted, but whatever.
It doesn’t take long for her to fall back asleep, even as Mina texts her not even moments later:
Ten mins. Hope ur wet :p
-
“Did you sleep super late or something? At this rate, you’re going to sleep the entire day away.”
Nayeon stirs, barely making out the voice currently talking to her right now. Or at least she thinks it's talking to her. It sounds like it is. It’s a pretty voice.
“Sleepyhead,” she feels a poke at her cheek. “Are you going to get up?”
Nayeon merely puffs her cheeks out and swats the hand away.
“Come on, it’s almost one.” The hand comes to tug at her cheek this time. “It’s not healthy to sleep so much, you know?”
Nayeon groans, cracking an eye open. There, Mina’s hovering above her and pulling at her cheek with an amused grin. If it was any other person, Nayeon would’ve sent a kick flying to their face. But since it’s Mina, all Nayeon can muster is a sleepy, goofy smile as she feels that familiar heat rear up in her chest once again.
“Morning,” she manages, yawns right afterwards, and tries to blink away the sleep that’s still persistent in clinging onto her eyelids.
“Morning again,” Mina leans down close enough to nudge her nose lightly with her own and it does its job in making Nayeon’s heart beat a little faster. “Done sleeping?”
“Depends,” Nayeon says, stretching, and watches the way Mina makes quick work to climb onto the bed with her, or well, on top of her. Her hands are already moving on their own, pushing the blanket out of the way to run down the back of Mina’s thighs. Nayeon, still sleepy-eyed, merely licks her lips as Mina leans in even closer to knock their foreheads together and tells her to keep her hands to herself with a cheeky smile that tells her to do anything but. “Do you have something in mind that’s better than sleeping?”
“I can name a couple things. That’s why I’m here, right?”
Nayeon can almost feel all her words, can feel Mina’s breath, her mouth dangerously close to hers. Can almost taste it — like vanilla, as usual — and suddenly, all she can think about is kissing everything out of her.
“Is it? I remember something about strawberry milk and sandwiches,” Nayeon can only murmur out, a little bit too lost in the way Mina’s just right there, right here for her to just take and take, but she’s here doing anything but that.
“We can save those for later,” Mina speaks, hot and airy, and it drives Nayeon insane.
“Okay,” Nayeon says, is all she can say, almost breathlessly, before giving in to the thundering beat beneath her ribs. It’s far too easy, she thinks, when she closes the barely-there distance between them. Nayeon’s not sure if that’s a good or bad thing.
Then, there it is:
It’s vanilla, it’s electricity, it’s fireworks, it’s the rush that bolts through every single one of her veins, it’s the spark Nayeon’s been searching for, it’s the butterflies and the jelly, it’s the single heartbeat that falls in tandem with the way everything starts shifting into all the right places, it’s the moment where everything inside Nayeon just… clicks.
Just like that.
It feels like melting, feels like ice that crackles down her spine, when the gears in her head start spinning and whirring and clicking so much on their own that she thinks she might start steaming from the ears, when everything and anything just starts making sense. When all the dots connect even though she didn’t connect shit!
A little part wonders if Mina can feel it too, can feel the rapid speed up of her heart underneath her skin, can feel the blood rush or all the sparks and the static and the electricity. Maybe she can, Nayeon thinks when Mina gets a little more insistent, licks tender and hot into her mouth like she needs her, like she wants her as much as Nayeon just might want her, just maybe she can too.
Are you in love with her? Yes. I think I am.
Scratch that.
Yes. I totally am.
-
“Jeongyeon?” The phone feels heavy in her hand.
“Dude, I’m playing Smash right now. What the hell do you want? ”
“Uh...“
“What? Are you okay? ”
“Jeongyeon, oh my god—“
“Nayeon? You good? ”
“I— Jeongyeon, listen to me. Are you listening to me? Pause that game or something. You better be listening to me because I’m only going to say this once.”
A beat of silence follows. She hears shuffling and the noisy clatter of joysticks being put down. “ Okay… I’m listening. ”
She swallows, feels that lump stay lodged deep in her throat and refuse to go down. “Uh.. dude, so I was just doing a lot of thinking about life and shit recently and… Jesus, man, I just— I—“
She hears Jeongyeon hum.
“I… I think I like Mina, man. No, wait, not think, I mean— I like her. No, love her? Like holy shit, Jeongyeon. Mina! Can you believe it? I love her. I’m in love with Myoui Mina!"
Nayeon’s not sure what happens next, but there’s a sudden scream from Jeongyeon's end that is unmistakably Momo and then the line cuts off. Her phone pings immediately afterwards, an onslaught of messages suddenly flooding her screen.
Momoring (2:04 PM): im confused i thought u were dating but just trying to b lowkey abt it ofc u wud love ur own gf lol
Momoring (2:10 PM): wAIT JEONG JUST TOLD ME
Momoring (2:10 PM): NAYEON !!!!!!!!!! JSKDJSKF
Momoring (2:10 PM): HDHHDHSDSD OMG WAIT
Momoring (2:11 PM): YOU???? MINARI????????
Buttface (2:23 PM): This is still momo but jeongs playing her gmae again and she said to say this
Buttface (2:23 PM): I told you so
-
It isn’t easy when one’s support system is less than helpful, when friends know more about drinking games than how to deal with actual responsibilities.
Don’t get her wrong. She loves Jeongyeon and Momo. They’re her best friends, but they just suck at giving decent advice. It also doesn’t help that neither of them have experienced the tribulations of falling for a girl they explicitly weren't supposed to!
Jeongyeon only tells her to tell Mina. As if it’s that easy. Nope, that’s crossed out of her book already. Momo’s a little bit more dramatic, giving her an entire kdrama-esque scenario for her to profess her affections, five-foot teddy bear, flowers, and fireworks included. Also a big, fat no .
It’s just hard, really, hiding her heart from a girl that might know her better than she knows herself. She doesn’t know if it’s something that comes with the realization of her very real and very actual feelings for a girl that probably doesn’t return them or just God screwing her over, but it fucking sucks. It sucks how she has to try her hardest not to send herself into cardiac arrest because her heart has suddenly learned how to shoot off a fuck ton of fireworks at the mere presence of the other girl. It sucks that Nayeon is a perfectly functioning human being that’s capable of having actual feelings for another person that isn’t herself.
It sucks that the single girl she’s actually managed to admit her feelings for is exactly the one person she shouldn’t be falling for in the first place!
And the suckiest part of it all is that no matter what happens, no matter how many times her stomach gets the jiggles, no matter how many times her heart swells and threatens to burst in her chest — the only remedy for this whole thing is to suck it up and deal with it. Anything that has to do with confronting Mina about these feelings is already knocked out of the ballpark. That’s the thing: feelings are not a part of this. This , the entire thing that they are.
You see, Nayeon’s not interested in telling Mina. Not at all. There’s no point in telling Mina because she doesn’t want to ruin whatever’s going on between them. Hello , they’re friends with benefits! They’re not supposed to get attached in the first place. Like yeah, maybe they hang out a lot more than other friends with benefits do and do things that other friends with benefits don't, but that’s just the friend and benefits part at work respectively. They can fuck and take naps together. Go out for sushi and make out with each other. That’s still being friends with benefits. Naps and eating as friends, sex and make out sessions as benefits.
In short, Nayeon’s fine where she is. Really. Whatever her relationship with Mina may be, it’s fine. It’s cool. It’s all good.
No way in hell stupid feelings are going to get in between that.
-
Besides, everything’s always been unspoken between them anyway.
Nayeon supposes another thing won’t hurt.
-
Haha. Idiot.
As if.
-
Everything changes.
For better or for worse, Nayeon’s not even sure herself.
She starts seeing Mina differently. She starts noticing things that she hasn’t before. She starts feeling a hell lot different. Her stomach twists a lot more these days, reduced to nothing but jelly, and her heart has somehow picked up a habit to hammer uncontrollably against her ribs when Mina’s nearby, or even at the thought of her. She even starts wanting things she knows she can’t have.
Mina’s always been pretty. Everyone knows this. But this pretty? There’s no way. It’s like the minute Nayeon finally acknowledged her messy ass feelings for Mina, the girl suddenly becomes a hundred times more attractive, even though she was very, very attractive to begin with! It makes no sense, and her mind seems to short circuit a lot these days whenever she sees Mina. The worst part of this whole thing too is that the only thing she ever thinks about lately is: holy hell, she is pretty.
Honestly, it's nothing really new, but this ? This is:
She thinks of honey and chocolate, of coffee and cinnamon and caramel and canelés — the prettiest shades of brown. Of strawberries and vanilla, notes of lavender in between. The flowery perfume, the candy sweet of porcelain skin.
She thinks of rose-flushed skin underneath her fingertips, the softest heartbeat that pulses in tandem to her own, the murmur of her name pressed hot upon her skin, the face and the name that makes her stomach feel like jelly and knees all wobbly.
She thinks of the way her heart beats extra hard against her ribcage when Mina slots their hands together, no reason why, just because she wants to hold hands, or when all the blood in her body rushes straight to her head and she feels like she’s floating. On the clouds and everything!
And the smile. Oh god. The smile.
It’s like snapshots in time, the moments she keeps on repeat on purpose, like a broken record that won’t stop playing in her head no matter how much she wills for it to stop, and it goes a little something like this:
It’s, quite literally, like the sun at the back of her mind. It makes Nayeon’s heart ache with how much it makes her want to burn the sight into her brain. She thinks it might be her new favorite thing. It’s wide, completely teethy, and definitely knows how to reduce Nayeon to a bumbling, red-faced mess. Her nose crinkles in a way that Nayeon never fails to catch, and her eyes curve in the prettiest way ever and all her teeth show, gleaming white against all that pink. Nayeon thinks that God definitely played favorites. It’s not fair.
When she thinks of Mina, she thinks of this. Then everything follows in place. Her heart’s fuzzy and her chest rivets with a warmth like no other. Her blood’s hot beneath her skin and her tummy is all wiggly and wobbly, just like jelly.
This is what it must feel like to be in love.
Yes. Ascertained. It must be.
-
The sex is different.
The first time Nayeon notices it is the night of Mina’s showcase. The girl had slapped a free ticket in her face a week prior, and what’s Nayeon gonna do? Say no? It's not like she has anything better to do on a Saturday evening besides binge Netflix or bother Momo and Jeongyeon. Curse Mina for knowing this very well and taking advantage of it!
The Nayeon a year ago would’ve rather died than be caught at a classical dance showcase, let alone some boring ass ballet one. This Nayeon? Literally has no qualms about going in some stuffy dress (that Mina had handpicked for her, of course, because she totally would’ve gone in a dirty hoodie and sweats if she didn’t) and sitting there for two hours, bored out of her fucking mind. Just because Mina asked .
(Fucking whipped.)
Unsurprisingly, the showcase is as boring as Nayeon thought it’d be. How a bunch of people prancing across the stage in skin-tight outfits can be considered art is beyond her, by gods. She’s sure the poor boy next to her hates her for almost falling asleep on his shoulder at least five times and counting now, and she's halfway to actually falling into deep sleep, that is, until she catches the sight of Mina back on stage again, this time accompanied by the partner Mina had done nothing but rant about after every practice.
(Which, mind you, Nayeon never ever complains about, since she’s always given the pleasure of a Myoui Mina who’s so deep in the throes of her anger that whew , the relief sex gets ten times better.)
BangBang, or something like that. BamBam? Nayeon didn't care enough to remember then nor does she remember now. Mina had told her he was a foreign exchange student and his name was something everyone couldn’t pronounce even though they all tried, so he made up something he thought was cool even though it was anything but. Mina’s not very fond of him, and Nayeon can kind of see why. The kid even looks like an asshole! With his pompous ass hairdo and annoyingly attractive face to boot! Men , she snorts to herself.
So Nayeon shouldn’t care about him, not at all, not when she knows Mina hates his guts from hell and back.
Their dance starts, and the first thing Nayeon sees is his hands all over Mina. So maybe she does have to care. All traces of sleep leave her immediately, and she almost shoots up from her seat. The boy next to her even gives her a look. When the hell did ballet become so touchy? Something incomprehensible bubbles up inside of Nayeon, and suddenly she regrets trying to even fall asleep throughout this whole showcase. Is this the first time this has happened?
She tries to convince herself that this is what a duet is , especially when the whole thing is implicitly about forbidden lovers, but honestly, it’s easier said than done. Mina hates him — that fact reassures her just a little bit for the quickest minute — but still, the whole thing makes her feel like someone’s just doused her with a bucket of ice cold water and sucker-punched her in the stomach for no reason whatsoever.
It’s not like she’s jealous. Really, she’s not . Pfft, who’s jealous? Not her. Definitely not her. She’s like, uh, probably the last person on earth that’d be jealous. That’s seven billion people before her. See? No way she’s jealous! Not even close.
She isn’t jealous, not at all, but still, she wants to do nothing but run on stage and yank that asshole away from Mina.
Nayeon just thinks Mina deserves better than that. She doesn’t need BamBam's hands all over her. For one, Nayeon’s hands are a hell lot better. She can even bet that she’d be better at prancing pretentiously across the stage in a leotard better than BamBam himself.
(Probably not. But she’d definitely look better in the leotard.)
Still, it does anything but quell the sudden burn in her chest.
It’s just a dance. They’re partners. Just a dance. Partners. Mina’s probably puking internally—
Jesus Christ, does his hand have to be there?!
This night? Just got a thousand times harder.
The boy next to her? He might think she needs to get some help.
Mina? Unbothered and having the absolute time of her life on the stage doing the one thing she loves the most.
BamBam? Still an asshole.
Nayeon? Still definitely not jealous.
-
Nayeon’s leaning against some uncomfortable ass marble pillar off to the side afterwards, when the main reception area is filled with masses and masses of people and Nayeon doesn’t particularly do well with stuffy crowds. Especially not crowds that scream pretentious and filthy rich, the lot of them dancers, really. Her heels are killing her and she feels like she might have to chop both her feet off when she gets back home, and she feels like nothing but a sack of potatoes in this dress. She wants to chuck this purse in the nearest trash can as well. The shit she does for Mina, honestly.
It’s all a bunch of hustle and bustle around her and Nayeon only catches sight of BamBam and almost all the other dancers all over the place, barely recognizable if it weren’t for all of them still in their performance outfits, but still absolutely no sight of Mina. Half of Nayeon wonders if Mina’s ditched the entire place immediately after everything ended and honestly, she can’t say that she blames her. The other part merely thinks Mina’s just been held back; she's well-known in the dance department anyway, and this was the biggest showcase of the year. It’s not surprising if she's currently being mobbed by her fanclub or something of that caliber.
Then, as if on cue, there’s a sudden flood of people that file out of one of the doors, with Mina just barely squeezing through the crowd. She looks a little rushed, maybe a little worried too, as her head whips back and forth to scan the entire lobby, like she's trying to find someone, and before she knows it, their gazes eventually lock.
Mina is the first to react when they see each other. Her smile is wide and happy when she meets her gaze, eyes curved, and it’s quick to make Nayeon’s heart jump, thumping loudly in her ears. Her smile is big in return — might be too wide, maybe a little too bunny-toothed — and her wave is tiny, fingers shaky. Geez, get it together, Nayeon!
Mina’s still in her outfit from her last performance, though with her ballet shoes traded for beat up sneakers instead, and there’s a multitude of bouquets in her arms. A teddy bear stuffed in there, too! They’re huge and beautiful and probably cost a fortune each and suddenly Nayeon feels super self-conscious. The flowers she’s reminded herself at least fifty times to buy before coming can’t even compare, really, and somehow even an obviously wilting tulip in one of Mina’s many bouquets does its job in making her flowers seem extra shitty in its proximity. Jesus, what was she thinking? Of course Mina would get flowers that cost more than Nayeon’s entire existence, and of course they’re all so stinking spectacular and prettier than anything Nayeon’s ever seen because Mina doesn’t deserve any less. Of course.
She clutches the flowers in her hand a little tighter and tucks them behind her back as Mina ignores a call for her from behind and makes her way toward her, even thinking of throwing them off to some dark, nondescript corner before Mina can even see them. It’s not like she’d want them anyway, not when she currently has an entire two million dollar flower shop in her arms.
“Hey you,” Mina says, stopping directly in front of her. Still, her smile is bright. Still, Nayeon’s heart is on fire.
“Hey you back.” she works a grin in return. "Finally got away from your rabid fangirls?"
"Be nice," Mina casts a glance back toward the gathering of people now crowding around the other dancers, “they’re just very, very… very excited."
“So basically rabid—"
Mina shoots her a glare and Nayeon shuts up immediately, opting for a cheeky smile instead.
“I’m surprised,” Mina says, “I thought you’d either be a no show or still be asleep in the auditorium.”
“Wow, Mina. Is that really what you think of me?”
“Coming from someone who thinks ballerinas are just really kind people whose sole purpose of dancing is to send other people to sleep, yes," Mina grins, all teeth, "and don't think I didn't see you dozing off the entire time."
"I wasn't dozing off! You just have bad timing and only saw me when I was resting my eyelids for the longest second ever."
Mina rolls her eyes, but she’s laughing nonetheless. There’s a thrum deep in her heart at the sight, and Nayeon thinks her heart wants to shoot out of her chest, straight into the arms of the girl that’s got her name written all over it. How awfully cliché.
“Yeah?” Mina’s looking at her in a way that definitely isn’t healthy for her. Nayeon doesn’t even know how she’s still managing to stand upright when everything’s starting to feel like jelly.
“Yeah.”
A stretch of silence follows and Nayeon can only stare, albeit shyly. It’s kind of awkward in ways that it shouldn’t be, but still nothing uncomfortable. They’re way past that point already.
“Oh!” She suddenly exclaims. She’s reminded of the flowers in her hands when she realizes her palms are insanely sweaty for absolutely no other reason than one thing: Myoui goddamn Mina.
You know what, fuck it.
What’s she got to lose anyway? Nothing, really. It’s not like Mina was expecting her to get her flowers or something. It’s not like Mina will think any differently of her just because she did. If anything, Mina will probably just think she actually has manners and is being a decent friend.
“Um, these… these are for you,” she sticks her arm straight out in front of Mina’s face, even feels a little embarrassed as she once again catches sight of the multitude of bouquets already in Mina’s arms. Screw it, it’s not like she wants to take the flowers home with her when they’d die the minute they get past her front door and their sole purpose of being here today were for Mina in the first place, “but… like, you don’t have to take them since you have so many already and they honestly look like shi—“
Mina cuts off her words by doing exactly opposite of what she was thinking, immediately taking the bouquet from her hands, doing so faster than Nayeon can even comprehend and with all the flowers already on her. “Thank you, Nayeon,” she says, shyly almost, and her smile is so goddamn beautiful and so genuine and so Mina that it easily dupes Nayeon into thinking that she might actually mean it. “I love them. Really.”
Nayeon’s "you’re welcome” and quiet and maybe a little shy its own way. Mina doesn’t say anything about it. She feels the tips of her ears starting to burn hot.
“Thank you for coming, too,” Mina hugs the flowers a little closer to her. "You— Nayeon, you have no idea how much it means to me.”
“I skipped binge-watching the newest season of Stranger Things for this, so thank you , Mina, for not letting me waste my Saturday evening being a five-star bum,” Her smile is toothy and Mina makes a face of disapproval. “I’m kidding. I wouldn’t have missed it for the world. Really.”
There’s a burn that settles in the back of her chest at her words, when they’re the reason that makes Mina’s nose scrunch up in that one way it does, and then there’s that one smile all over her face, the one that’s all sorts of gummy and never fails to make Nayeon’s heart run. Nayeon feels a goofy smile on her face in return, so wide and so dumb that she thinks she might wake up with a sore face tomorrow.
Nayeon clears her throat, shaking both of them out of… whatever that was. Mina’s gaze shifts and Nayeon suddenly can’t focus on anything that isn’t the floor. “Uh… wanna get out of here? I’m starving and Jeongyeon and Momo just bought a hundred piece box of chicken strips that they definitely can’t finish and I don’t think I can stand another minute in this dress.”
Mina looks apologetic almost immediately. “I really want to but...” she sends a glance back behind her. There, Sana’s waiting along with a couple of people Nayeon vaguely remembers as Mina's fellow dance friends from a different university. Hell, they all have their own flowers to give as well! Nonetheless, Nayeon sees Sana practically bouncing in her spot out of pure excitement and she even sends her a small wave, which the other girl has no problem returning. Mina always says Sana acts more puppy than human, and Nayeon, who was nothing but doubt in the very beginning, is starting to see it now. “Plus, I have to help clean up later so I’ll be here late and I don’t want to make you wait up for me. Sorry, Nayeon.”
“Oh, well, uh— don’t worry about it, really, it’s no problem,” Nayeon manages. Of course Mina’s got loads and loads of people to talk to and thank afterwards. Of course Mina’s not going to drop everything on possibly the most important night to her in this entire year to go out with her, Im Nayeon out of all people, for some goddamn chicken strips. She feels like her head isn't screwed on properly these days — what is she even thinking? "I should... uh, go... I don’t want to hold you any longer, and Sana looks like she’s ready to explode if she doesn’t talk to you right this instant.”
Mina works a small smile, but it still has sorry written all over it. “Ice cream tomorrow? My treat.”
“Deal.” She shuffles in her spot. "I’ll see you.”
Mina gives her one last smile before she turns on her heels, already making a beeline toward her friends. Nayeon’s mouth chooses the wrong moment to work faster than her brain. “Wait, Mina!”
Mina’s head whips back behind as she immediately stops in her tracks, brows furrowed and gaze confused. “Yes?”
“I forgot to say thank you."
“What? For what?"
"Thank you for wearing that tutu. It does wonders for your ass.”
Mina looks like she wants to kill her on the spot, red spilling across her cheeks and head frantically whipping left and right to make sure no one was close enough to hear her. Nayeon nearly doubles over out of pure laughter.
“I’m kidding,” she manages between laughs. “Not really actually, but you know what I mean. I just wanted to say… I don’t know, I thought you looked beautiful tonight.”
Beautiful is possibly the biggest understatement on Earth for the likes of Mina. Mina, with her sparkly makeup, pink lipgloss, bow-tied hair, and even that pompous ass tutu. Mina, who wears her sweats on the weekends and has cheesy Doritos dust all over her shirt enough times to consider it normal, but it’s all still enough for Nayeon to think she’s the prettiest girl on Earth, glitter or cheese dust be damned!
The look Mina gives her is indescribable. The feeling she gives her is even worse. Her heart grows impossibly bigger in her chest in tandem to the feeling that settles itself in her stomach, like butterflies and jelly all rolled into one. It’s a terrible combination, really, and it does nothing but make the fireworks go off in the back of her head and her knees weak and every single neuron in her brain short-circuits in that very moment and the only thing she can even think of is oh my god, I’m really, really, really in love with her .
-
It’s a little past one in the morning when Nayeon hears the door unlock, along with the sound of a duffel bag being dropped to the ground. Her eyelids beg to stay shut, but she shakes herself awake anyway, convincing herself that she slept on a kitchen island once in her life already, and that a second time is definitely not a good idea. She picks up the faint mutter of “oh man, did I leave the lights on all day?” as the sound of footsteps get closer and closer and Mina finally comes into view.
Mina’s wide-eyed and she jumps when she sees her, falling back and onto the floor with a yelp and a resounding thud!
Nayeon bursts into laughter almost immediately. Nayeon comes over all the time, especially at ungodly hours of the day and definitely way past eleven. Most of the time because she’s horny and can’t sleep, but it’s all the same thing. Mina shouldn’t even be scared at this point.
“Nayeon! What the hell!”
“Oh my god,” Nayeon can’t stop laughing, even as she immediately shoots out of her seat to help Mina up. “Are you okay?”
Mina doesn’t answer her, settling for smacking her repeatedly on the arm instead. “Ow! Ow! Ow! Okay, Mina— Ow!”
After Mina's done beating her up and rendering her arm useless for the rest of the night, Nayeon’s sulky as she slinks back into her seat and Mina merely sends her a hmph and a “serves you right” glare.
“Are you going to tell me what you’re doing here?” Mina asks a beat later, like she didn’t just want to box Nayeon into the next day, leaning against the kitchen island. Nayeon knows Mina isn’t mad, far from, but she can’t help but feel sheepish at her words anyway. “It’s late and I told you I didn’t want you waiting for me.”
Nayeon forgoes an answer, rubbing her arm with a pout and eyes settling on a plastic bag in front of her. Mina follows her gaze, suddenly curious. Her mouth opens to ask what it is, but Nayeon beats her to it.
“Did you eat?” Nayeon asks.
Mina’s quick to change demeanor, going from wanting to jump Nayeon on the spot to wanting to run away from Nayeon right this instant. The look Mina has on her face only confirms her suspicions. She just knew Mina would do anything and everything for everyone else and barely have the time to think of herself until the literal end of the day.
“Well, I was going to make a peanut butter sandwich…” Mina pipes up quietly as she settles in the seat next to Nayeon. She looks like a child who just got caught doing something she wasn’t supposed to, wide eyes and twiddling thumbs and all. It makes Nayeon’s heart twist. Goddammit, Mina! There’s no way it’s possible for you to be this cute! This shit has to be illegal!
“You were out the entire day for your showcase and you even stayed behind to help clean up,” Nayeon says, brow raised, “and you were just going to eat a peanut butter sandwich after all that?”
“Uh,” Mina’s smile is sheepish and tired, “yeah?”
Nayeon can only shake her head and reach over to open the plastic bag. She makes quick work to plate the food and chuck it in the microwave. Mina only watches silently. She looks pouty whenever Nayeon glances over every now and then and she has to remind herself not to stare too long because then she might want to kiss her and then Mina would never get to eat.
Seconds later, a plate is set down in front of Mina, along with a ketchup bottle and a generous stack of napkins. A glass of cola follows right after.
It’s a burger that kind of looks like it’s been hit with a baseball bat at least ten times and a side of beyond soggy fries. Well, at least it’s hot.
“A burger?” Mina asks, giving Nayeon a look. “Nayeon, it’s one in the morning. It’s too late to be eating something so heavy.”
“And?” Nayeon looks like she wouldn’t take no for an answer or let Mina go anywhere if she doesn’t eat. “Your stomach can’t tell time and I know you barely ate all day.”
Mina gives in without a fight at all. She only sighs as she picks up a fry that doesn’t look as soggy as the others, gives it a generous dip of ketchup, and pops it right in her mouth. Nayeon takes this time to watch her carefully, her cheek propped up against her palm.
There’s still glitter here and there on Mina's face, and her hair’s tied up into a messy ponytail. Her shoulders droop and she looks beyond tired and suddenly a part of Nayeon wants to do nothing but tuck her into bed and let her sleep for days. She’s switched her puffy pink tutu and skintight leotard for a pair of sweats and a hoodie that’s unsurprisingly and unmistakably Nayeon’s as well.
“I’ve been craving for so long actually,” Mina says after one big bite. Her shoulders relax in content.
Nayeon knows. Mina bitched about it all last week and even part of this week, how she swears she can down four cheeseburgers in one sitting but can’t because she has to make sure her tutu still fits for the showcase. Nayeon, again as usual, only tells her she’s being way too dramatic, that four cheeseburgers wouldn’t do a thing to Mina and that she can eat whatever the hell she wants and whenever she wants, but still commits the little mention to memory. Nonetheless, Mina looks satisfied, despite her earlier protests, and Nayeon feels warm inside.
“Wasn’t this kind of far though?”
“Nah, I was just in the area, so I thought why not,” Nayeon says, not: "it was a twenty minute walk because it’s on the other side of town and I was definitely not even close to being in the area but I remembered you saying you wanted a burger for the longest time so I, being as whipped as I am, went to get you a damn burger.”
Nayeon swears she could just sit here and watch Mina eat for days on end like a total idiot, but it’s only then that she realizes something. She perks up in her seat. “Mina, where’d all your flowers go? Did you throw them all away?”
Knowing how many she got to begin with, she probably did. Nayeon can’t blame her. She probably would’ve done the same thing.
“No,” Mina wipes her mouth. “I dropped all of them off at Sana’s. I wanted to bring them all back, but I just didn’t have enough space. Besides, I’m no good at taking care of flowers either. I think I’d kill them all in a day.”
“Oh,” Nayeon nods. “That makes sense. You did up killing Chonny anyw—"
Mina shoots her a glare, which shuts Nayeon up immediately. Chonny, dutifully named by Mina and also the cutest little potted cacti ever, had unfortunately succumbed to his injuries shortly after Mina decided to get piss ass drunk one night and puke all over the poor guy. Nayeon ended up buying Mina a new one anyway, after countless nights of her bitching and crying about how she should’ve just vomited on Nayeon instead of Chonny, but it just isn’t the same, really. The new one, named Francesca, is real cute in her own way, with a little flower on top of her and everything, but she’ll never be able to replace Chonny in Nayeon’s heart.
“But,” Mina says anyway, picking something up from the seat next to her, “I brought these bad boys home with me.”
There, in Mina’s hand, the lackluster bouquet she had gotten for her stands tall and proud, even though half of the flowers look kind of beat up and definitely missing a lot of petals.
Oh.
Nayeon’s cheeks feel hot, yet the feeling that blooms in her chest is unmistakable.
“You only kept my flowers because you wanted to kill them right in front of my face, didn’t you? Ouch, my heart hurts,” Nayeon says, words betraying her feelings easily. Her heart is nothing but happy. Practically somersaulting and destroying everything else in her chest.
She tries to tell herself that it doesn’t mean anything, that just because Mina chose to bring home her flowers out of all the other bouquets she received means nothing, that she probably only picked her bouquet because it was the smallest and the one that’ll take up the least space, that Mina probably just wanted to bring something back from the recital and Nayeon’s shitty flowers just happen to be that. But even then, there’s the tiniest sliver of hope and sprouts deep within her heart that tells her it might mean something . Even if that something is just wanting to kill the flowers because they’re Nayeon’s.
“So out of all the fancy bouquets you’ve received, my beat up one managed to win your heart, huh?”
Mina’s laugh is soft. She’s staring directly at Nayeon, smashed burger in her hands and tired eyes and all, and it makes Nayeon warm all over. Her heart is this close to floating away. “Yeah, something like that, I guess.”
-
There must’ve been something in that burger, really.
After Mina had washed up, all semblances of being tired had apparently left her immediately. She had promptly laid down next to Nayeon in bed and announced very loudly to her (and Jeongyeon, who was unfortunately on the phone at the time) that she was horny and either Nayeon fucks her right now or she’s going to get kicked out. Doesn’t even give a shit that it’s currently two in the morning and the only thing Nayeon’s been ready for was an upcoming twelve hours of sleep.
It’s all a bunch of unintelligible yelling from Jeongyeon on the other end, a “do you guys really just talk like that regularly?!” slipped in there as well, before Nayeon hangs up abruptly, connects her phone to Mina’s bluetooth speaker and opens Spotify as fast as she can. Then tosses her phone off to only god knows where.
Nayeon knows showcase week was utter hell for Mina, having been the butt end of all of Mina’s endless ranting for twenty-four hours, seven days straight. Ideally, Nayeon would’ve rather screwed Mina’s brains out than let her drone on and on about how this whole thing’s got her stressed from hell and back and if she fucks up, then her dancing career might be potentially over forever. Nayeon hadn’t been much of a help, if she’s being honest herself, having done nothing but offer terrible words of advice (because “if you don’t know what you’re doing, just wing it!” is anything but good advice to say to Mina in the midst of her annual showcase crisis) and let Mina beat her around as much as she needed. It’s the least she could do when she’s not doing the one thing she’s good at: fucking the brains out of Mina.
It’s a good thing Mina trusts her enough to tell her everything on her mind and she appreciates it, however, but she didn’t know it would’ve cost her an entire week of abstinence. If she had known, then maybe she would’ve pushed her “screw the brains out of Mina” agenda a little more, just to get Mina to stop being such a dramatic bitch, but never mind that. Stress sex isn’t ever the best sex, and Mina’s basically begging for her to fuck her right here and right now anyway and Nayeon? Nayeon’s never one to say no. Especially to Myoui Mina.
Nayeon’s quick to make work. Her jacket’s shrugged off and she even kicks her socks off as fast as she can before Mina grabs her by her shirt collar and pulls her in for a kiss she’d be sure to feel well into tomorrow. Horny Mina is hardly a rarity, but her patience is reduced to nearly nothing compared to Normal Mina. One instance with a terribly timed Mobile Legends match was the first and last time Nayeon would ever dare test that.
It’s far from ideal — Nayeon had nearly kneed Mina in the stomach when she clamored on top of her as quick as she could — and all of the blankets and pillows Mina swears she needs to sleep with or else are getting in the way and the music Nayeon’s put on as background noise isn’t even from the right sex playlist. The sheets prove themselves to be a hassle as well, and it sticks to her skin when Nayeon pins her down, fingers easily sliding underneath her shirt and lips already against hers once again.
“I don’t even know why you bothered putting on clothes,” Nayeon pulls away for the fastest second, pulling her shirt over her head in one go and immediately dropping back low to pepper kisses down the stretch of her neck and leaving a bite or two here and there. At least Mina was smart enough to save her the trouble of a bra.
“And let you have everything without working for it?” Mina laughs, but it’s breathy as Nayeon drags her mouth further down, planting kisses all over her breasts. “You wish.”
“I knew it,” Nayeon’s busy working her fingers underneath the waistband of Mina’s shorts as her lips close around a nipple, “that fucking tutu changed you.”
Mina seems like she’s done talking to her. Instead, there’s a pretty gasp from her throat and then she’s pulling at a fistful of Nayeon’s hair. Nayeon’s always been a biter, and her teeth catch in all the ways that make Mina whimper. The marks she leaves on her skin are red and hot and definitely the kind that’ll purple and mottle by tomorrow morning, but Mina has bigger worries in life.
Which, in the simplest terms, is: get Nayeon to fuck her now or she’s getting her ass kicked. Literally and out of the door.
Nayeon’s all teeth and tit sucking and absolutely no fingering or fucking or anything of the sort and it makes Mina mad. Nayeon isn’t normally one to beat around the bush, definitely not when she’s got a girl like Mina writhing so, so prettily underneath her and basically begging to be fucked, but something in her just clicks . Like she should take her time or something stupid like that, rile Mina up and everything. You know, something Mina doesn’t want her doing. The handful of hair Mina yanks harder the next second is enough of an indication.
“Chill out,” Nayeon murmurs against her tit, easing in a tiny nibble that makes Mina whimper. “I’m getting there. Don’t worry.”
“Getting there now or in the next fifty years?” Mina manages, even as Nayeon’s fingers move to the place that has her breath catching in her throat. There’s a press that makes her hips buck. “I’m not kidding about kicking your ass out. I don’t care what time it is.”
“Quit being so feisty, Mina,” Nayeon laughs against her skin. “It’s not as sexy as you think.”
Nayeon just knows Mina has some snark on the tip of her tongue ready for her, and frankly, she doesn’t want to hear it. She moves quickly to slot her lips against Mina’s before she can even try to get words out at her, deciding that fuck it , Mina’s good at getting what she wants from her without doing anything, really, and slips her hand into her panties easily.
Nayeon’s quick to fumble with her clit, fingers moving in neat circles. The sounds Mina makes are too good, so good, and it makes Nayeon preen. Her lips are hot against Mina’s jawline, sloppy open-mouthed kisses pressed to any expanse of skin she can touch, before she’s back to kissing Mina square on the mouth.
“Please, just— fuck, Nayeon, fuck,” Mina whines against her mouth, cheeks flooding with color and hips incessant against her hand. She even looks a little teary-eyed. “Please. Need you .”
This, however? This is the exact moment that Nayeon falls apart.
Nayeon blames it on the heat of the moment: the way Mina’s chest heaves as she tries to clear the oxygen debt Nayeon’s given her, eyes lidded and clouded with nothing but need, face ruddy and lips swollen in the way she likes the most. That, and the fact that they haven’t had sex in a little more than a week, perhaps. But details, details.
She tries her hardest to not let it get to her head, the fact that before, this was all about getting Mina off as fast and as good as she can. But now? It’s a little something different. To Mina, this might be just sex, but to Nayeon? Holy fuck, it’s all about Mina. She thinks it might’ve always been Mina. Now, Nayeon can’t help but feel her heart puff up tenfold, like a balloon pressing up against all the nooks and crannies of her ribcage, when she watches Mina, watches how her body presses so intimately against hers, how so fucking beautiful she is.
“Okay,” is all she says, all she can manage to say, settling for kissing a blaze down Mina’s torso. Mina whimpers when she eases her fingers away but she’s quick to shush her, kiss harsh against her navel as her fingers hook themselves at the waistband of Mina’s sweatpants and panties, working them down with practiced ease.
She’s taking her time on purpose, and relishes in the way Mina’s desperately trying to keep her impatience at bay, ankles digging into her sides. There’s a bruising kiss pressed to Mina’s inner thigh and her mouth waters positively at the sight, Mina spread out so obscenely in front of her, all for her and only for her. Mina’s lack of patience aside, she can’t help but take a second to admire the mess she’s made between Mina’s legs.
“Look at you,” Nayeon nearly purrs against her. Mina’s hips jerk. “Look how wet you are, dripping all over your bed. You’re making a mess, Mina.”
“Nayeon,” Mina grits out. Her fingers scratch at Nayeon’s scalp as she resists the urge to jam her knee into Nayeon’s face. “Please."
There’s another bite at her inner thigh, hard and wet, which only spurs a more resounding ache deep in her core. Nayeon’s so insistent on marking her up that Mina nearly lets her have at it, letting the girl press as many kisses and bites where ever she wants.
“Nayeon,” Mina manages, once more, a lot more whiny than before and Nayeon only hums.
“I got you,” Nayeon murmurs, breath dangerously hot against her core. Mina’s thighs tremble as Nayeon hooks her arms around them, and the first contact she makes with Mina nearly has the poor girl crying.
It’s nothing pretty — all gasps and whimpers, all wet and messy — as Mina rocks against her mouth and pulls at her hair a little harder to get her impossibly closer. In turn, Nayeon only licks a little harder, a little hotter, and has to move her hands to keep Mina’s hips steady before they break something in her face.
The sounds Mina makes, whiny and desperate, only drives Nayeon further as she lets herself fall into everything that is Mina. Mina’s hand relinquishes its death grip at her hair and snakes down to grasp at hers, and she lets her fingers fit into the gaps between Mina’s, perfectly and with ease, even as she’s currently eating her out like absolutely nobody’s business.
“Do you want to come?” Nayeon whispers against her skin, makes Mina feel all of her words. Mina doesn’t — can’t — say anything so she only nods, frantically, thighs threatening to close around Nayeon’s head as she tries to work herself harder against her mouth.
Nayeon, under normal circumstances, would’ve laughed in Mina’s face and never let her have it unless she begged. Needy and teary Mina is easily one of Nayeon’s top 10 favorite Minas after all, but nonetheless, Nayeon feels her heart grow within her chest, filling up all the empty space within the cavity of her chest, when she allows herself a single moment to see Mina. See her.
Mina’s face is a brilliant shade of red all the way through, ruddy down to her neck, and she’s squeezing Nayeon’s hand so hard that her knuckles turn white. Her eyes are lidded, and her chest rises and falls with an intensity that only increases the more Mina tries to press herself harder and harder, only to have Nayeon patting at her hipbone to let up a little bit. Her skin’s littered with bites and marks in a way Nayeon likes the best, and her back is arched with the flexibility that only a ballerina is capable of.
It’s not much, really, but it’s Nayeon’s everything.
Mina’s so goddamn lucky Nayeon’s so hopelessly in love with her that she’ll give her at least this.
It doesn’t take long, especially since Mina’s been wound up so tight for the entirety of this past week of all-dance-and-no-sex-whatsoever, so when she comes, it’s so wet and so beautiful, how all the tiny sounds come from Mina’s throat only during these times, how her hips manage work in that tiny grind afterwards to chase after the fleeting seconds of pleasure that she can milk from the moment.
“There you go,” Nayeon presses on, even manages another lick to make sure everything’s pooled on her tongue, and Mina’s hips get jumpy. Mina makes a noise that sounds like she’s crying. “That’s it, baby. You’re doing so good.”
Mina’s hand scratches at her scalp lightly and Nayeon moves to press her cheek against her inner thigh, catching Mina’s tired gaze on her. She licks her lips, watches the way Mina swallows thickly at the sight, and decides all too quickly in one go that she isn’t done with Mina. Not yet. Not like Mina is either, but still.
She’s quick to move, pushing herself up to brush noses for the briefest second before she’s dead-set on the idea of kissing all the air out of Mina’s lungs. She had planned on taking at least a little bit of time to work up Mina once again, maybe tweak her tits a bit until she’s leaking all over her sheets again, but Mina seems to have other plans already. Her hand grasps her wrist almost harshly, and she’s already pushing her fingers down to the place where she needs her the most and oh boy, she’s so wet already again.
Nayeon doesn’t even get her mouth down to Mina’s neck before she slips one, then two fingers into Mina and she caves almost immediately, mouth dropping open. Nayeon swallows that moan right up.
“Fuck,” Nayeon says against her pulse point, sloppy, and her fingers press a little deeper. “Fuck, Mina.”
Mina gasps, red-faced, as she claws her fingers down Nayeon’s back. Nayeon works her hand a little more earnestly and takes this chance to really look at Mina, gaze fluttering all over her figure once again.
Sex is filthy, but Myoui Mina manages to turn it into a goddamn art form. Fucking hell, Michelangelo would’ve never been able to replicate this. The Pietà can eat my ass.
It’s all patchy and mismatched at most, really, but Nayeon kind of needs Mina to come as much as Mina needs herself to come right now. Doesn’t matter if Nayeon’s fucking her optimally or not. Her wrist might cramp any second from now and she might even get herself carpal tunnel, but all of that doesn’t fucking matter — Mina’s the prettiest when she’s falling apart so, so desperately around her fingers. Nayeon’s mouth is already watering.
Mina’s making a lot more sounds at this point, still sensitive as ever and mewling and all squirmy underneath her and Nayeon just knows, knows she’s almost there, just a little bit more and—
Mina comes, easily, and Nayeon takes it all in, fucks her right through it and lets her ride it out for as long as she can.
This time, Mina even cries. She’s all red faced and teary eyed, breathing shallow and legs shaky. The tears are hot down her cheeks as Nayeon’s thumb works the bundle of nerves a little harder, squeezing in that last bit of overstimulation that Mina likes the best, and the desperate sob Mina lets out is nothing but delicious. Nayeon almost comes at the fucking sound of it.
“You’re okay,” Nayeon says, kissing away all of Mina’s tears. The girl underneath her is all sniffles and tiny sounds as Nayeon pulls her fingers out slowly, hesitates for a few seconds, eyes flickering back and forth between a tear-laden Mina and her slick fingers, before she cleans off her fingers by herself and takes in the way Mina watches her and how obscene all of it is. Then, she’s back to rubbing the remainder of Mina’s tears away.
“You’re okay,” Nayeon repeats verbatim, chest heaving and skin hot as she presses her forehead against Mina’s. “You’re okay. I’m here."
Mina’s heart twists in a way she can’t describe, but the thought of it goes as fast as it comes. Nayeon grins — all teeth — and kisses her and she forgets.
-
Impulse, for a lack of a better word, is perilous.
Everything comes after a night of grilled meat and one too many shots of soju. She smells like grease, reeks of the alcohol that she spilled all over her shirt earlier and downed enough for it to seep from her skin. She’s drunk enough to lose her footing every now and then, but not drunk enough to say she ended up at Mina’s door without a purpose, or so that’s what she tells herself.
She forgoes knocking politely, settling for basically slamming her fists incessantly against the wood. A sleepy Mina opens the door almost minutes later, brows knitted down in absolute irritation and a flurry of profanities ready at the tip of her tongue, that is, until she realizes it’s none other than Im Nayeon with perhaps the dopiest smile she’s ever seen on her face.
“Nayeon? What are you doing here?”
“Hi!” she perks up immediately, though her words are slurred, “Mina? Is that you? When’d you get so pretty?”
“... And you’re drunk,” Mina sighs, reaches out to take a hold of Nayeon’s forearms the second she starts to wobble. “God, how much did you drink?”
Nayeon grins, wide and toothy. “Not a lot, just a few bottles!”
Mina rolls her eyes, tugging the girl inside. “Come on, it’s late and you’re drunk. You need to go to bed.”
“Already?” Nayeon questions. “Aren’t we going too fast?”
Mina shoots a glare back at the girl who only laughs loudly, cheeks flushed red. She leads them back to her room, where she grabs Nayeon by the shoulders and makes her sit down on the edge of the bed. “Stay,” she says, warily.
“Where else can I go? In the closet?” Nayeon sways in her spot, maybe a little far too drunk to be making sense at this point. “I’ve been out for years already, Mina!”
Mina rolls her eyes yet again, gives her another pointed “stay,” before she’s out the room. Nayeon’s sober enough to do so, though she does have a drunken fit of laughter when she manages to kick her sneakers off on her own, one of them flying across Mina’s room and hitting the wall with a pronounced thump ! (“Mina, my shoe! It can bounce!”)
Mina doesn’t take long, returning back with a glass full of water and a bottle of painkillers. “Here, drink this,” she says, foregoing handing it to Nayeon, and bringing the edge of the glass up to her lips for her instead.
Nayeon, thankfully, obeys without much of a word. She manages to even finish all of it, which satisfies Mina in the least, but there are still more pressing issues at hand: getting the girl into bed. Mina’s dealt with a drunk Nayeon before, perhaps more than once, if the number of calls she gets in a single night when Nayeon decides it’s a great idea to go drinking on a school night, always saying it’s thirsty Thursdays or something of that sort. Drunk Nayeon, for one, does not like sleeping.
She sets the empty glass and painkillers on the nightstand before going off to fetch a change of clothes for Nayeon. “Can you change by yourself?”
Nayeon’s response is merely a noncommittal hum, and she’s already fallen back toward the bed without much more of a sound nor word. Mina thinks she didn’t even hear her. Mina sighs for the nth time tonight and Nayeon rolls onto her stomach, limbs flailing.
“Come on, you big baby,” she swats at her ass, “get up. Let’s get you changed.”
Drunk Nayeon, Mina learns this time, doesn’t like to listen either.
It takes at least ten minutes for Mina to even manage to get Nayeon’s shirt off of her, and even then, Nayeon’s still drunk enough to act scandalized about it. As if the first time Mina had really met her, unsurprisingly so, didn’t entail having her shirt off. Her pants are a little easier, with Nayeon actually very eager to get them off, though she vehemently refuses to put on a pair of pajama pants, nearly kicking Mina in the face when she tries. Mina decides she’s too tired to even attempt a second time, so she leaves her be, oversized shirt and panties and all. It’s not like it matters, Nayeon’s definitely slept with a lot less before anyway.
Nayeon immediately sticks to her side when she makes her way into bed, arms tucked around her body and face already pressed into the crook of her neck. She still smells like a generous helping of alcohol, followed by hints of her mint shampoo, and Mina can’t help but to press a tiny kiss against Nayeon’s forehead, purely out of impulse, an arm wrapping around the girl and pulling her closer.
She feels that subtle speed up of her heart, when Nayeon starts pressing tiny kisses against her skin in return, along with some tiny, drunken blown raspberries thrown in here and there. Her cheeks fill with heat, and she almost wants to get up and slap herself back to reality. Myoui Mina? Acting all juvenile over a couple of kisses? From Im Nayeon out of all people? The Im Nayeon that doubles up as the only girl she’s acquainted with for the mere purpose of sex? A couple kisses, with clearly no carnal intention, shouldn’t reduce her into bumbling school girl. Jesus, Mina, what’s with you? You’ve seen this girl naked more times than you can count, for god’s sake. And you’re blushing because she’s drunk and kissing you? Bonkers, it’s absolutely raving bonkers!
“Mina?”
She clears her throat, her thoughts dispersing immediately when Nayeon breaks the silence. “Yes?”
“You’re warm,” Nayeon murmurs, and then laughs merely a second later. Presses another kiss to Mina’s neck. Still drunk. “I like it. I like you.”
“Yeah?” Nayeon’s kisses tickle and Mina laughs a little too, the ends of her laughter soft from the sleep starting to tug at her edges. “You’re warm, too. I think you had a little too much to drink, but that’s okay. I like it too. I like you too.”
Nayeon doesn’t say anything else afterwards. Mina likes to think it’s because the alcohol’s finally making her sleepy. Finally.
“Mina,” Nayeon says not even a beat later. Right, Nayeon never falls asleep that fast. “Are you still awake?"
Mina shifts a little. “Yes.”
“Can I tell you something? It’s a secret.”
Mina deliberates for a few seconds. “Are you sure, Nayeon? You’re drunk.”
“I don’t know,” Nayeon says, soft. “I just really want to tell you. Can I?”
Mina supposes it won’t hurt. It can’t be anything bad. The last time Nayeon told her a secret, it was the fact that she still sleeps with a pink teddy bear she’s had since she was five. It technically wasn’t even a secret, really, because it’s the only stuffed animal she keeps on her bed and once, Nayeon had promptly pressed Mina down onto her bed, ready to take her then and there, but had stopped abruptly because she had to put her teddy bear someplace else that wasn’t going to be defiled right in front of its innocent eyes.
“Sure, why not,” Mina replies, eyes on the verge of drooping close. Nayeon’s just so, so warm and it’s lulling her to sleep so, so easily.
A beat of silence. Nayeon scoots herself impossibly closer, body warm and pressing so intimately against hers.
“Mina?"
Mina forgoes a verbal answer, merely humming. It’s something along the lines of “yes, I’m here, I’m still awake and listening, but I’m about to pass out and I’m too tired to say anything else.”
“I think I’m in love with you.”
Mina feels her heart stop. It’s merely a whisper, perhaps even something less than that, and Mina thinks she would’ve completely missed it if her heart had beat a little louder in that very second. Silence follows yet again, and Nayeon lets out a tiny snore minutes later.
Something in Mina’s stomach flips. She has no idea what it is.
-
When Nayeon wakes up in the morning, her head is on fire, her mouth is dry, and her entire body is warm. The first thing she does is try to get up, but even that is proven impossible, with the arms locked around her body and nearly another body on top of her.
She knows well enough that this is not her room, bleary-eyed and all, and a part of her is thankful that she didn’t end up crashing on someone’s floor, or even worse, somewhere on the ground outside. The bed is really comfortable and so is the person with her right now, and it really doesn’t seem like a bad idea to go back to sleep. Her eyelids droop close once again when she feels the other body press a little closer to her and it feels nothing but comfortable, almost like she belongs here.
Wait.
Her eyes fly back open and her heart rams itself against her ribcage. Did she— did she sleep with someone?!
She knows that she’s got a shirt on, and it reassures her the tiniest amount that her drunken self had some form of decency, but the very obvious lack of pants can only mean one thing. Oh god, just kill her now. The prospect of Nayeon getting completely shit-faced and proceeding to bed someone is more likely than one would think. 100% likely, actually. Myoui Mina is the clear result of that. But that’s the thing, however. Nayeon hasn’t gotten drunk enough to sleep with someone since Mina, and even then, she’s not particularly keen on the idea of sleeping with anyone else that wasn’t Mina. As far as she knows, a couple bottles of soju should not be capable of sending her to bed with someone.
Honestly, it feels like she’s just committed a crime. It shouldn’t, really, since Mina and her aren’t dating, but the dread that settles in the pit of her stomach is enough to convince her of so either way. She feels like crying for three days straight now.
Suddenly, the body on top of her stirs, and before she knows it, a pair of thighs bracket her hips as the other person pushes themselves on top of her fully to sit up. She squeezes her eyes shut and tries to shove her face into the pillow, begging herself to wake up from this terrible, terrible dream. Christ, her pillow even smells like Mina. She’s about to scream, really, because she shouldn’t be here and she shouldn’t have slept with anyone no matter how drunk she was, and Mina—
Mina! What would she even think of her? Probably as some stupid, cheating—
Or nothing. Because Mina and her? Not a thing. Mina probably wouldn’t even care. Right? She can’t help it, however, worrying about what Mina would think even though she tells herself for the millionth time: they’re not together. They’re not anything. It might feel like cheating (in some sense of the word) to Nayeon, but to Mina, it’s probably nothing. If anything, it serves as a wake up call, really: she’s out here sleeping with other people, and all she can think about, still , is Mina. She might need to rethink this whole one-sided love thing.
“What are you doing?” the girl on top of her asks quietly all of a sudden, sleep still heavy amongst her words.
Her thoughts scatter. Jesus, Nayeon! You’re out here sleeping with people that sound like Mina too! Talk about having a type!
“I’m,” she says, muffled, “trying to wake up from this dream.”
“Uh,” the girl says after a prolonged beat of silence, “okay?”
“Don’t get me wrong,” she continues talking into the pillow, “but whatever happened last night was a mistake. I was drunk and I didn’t know what I was doing and I’m sorry that you had to be apart of—“
“Nayeon,” the girl, still strangely sounding a lot like Mina, cuts her off. Oh man, she even knows her name. Just how drunk was she last night? “What the hell are you talking about?”
It takes a full twenty seconds for Nayeon to register the other girl’s words. Then, another ten seconds for her move her face away from the pillow and open one eye to take a good look at who was currently straddled on top of her.
Oh.
Mina.
It smells and sounds like Mina because it is Mina.
Nayeon can’t even explain the wave of relief that crashes through her right that instant. She even thanks her drunken self from the moon and back for knowing better. Her smile is quick to turn sheepish as Mina stares down at her, lips pressed down into a line, seemingly unamused. “Oh, Mina, oh boy, am I glad to see you! Good morning!”
“… Right, morning,” Mina says, a brow raising at her sudden change in behavior. "You wanna talk about what that was?”
Of course not. Nayeon’s not even sure how to word what exactly that was, anyway. It’s not like she can possibly say “so I woke up with this crazy ass headache and thought I slept with someone that wasn’t you and I panicked and was going to cry because it felt like I did the unspeakable but if I tell you, you wouldn’t understand because I’m in love with you when I’m not supposed to be and you’re not” without saying exactly that . Definitely not.
“Not really,” she says instead. "What I wanna do, actually,” Nayeon slides her palms up Mina’s exposed thighs, stopping when her fingers start toying with the ends of Mina’s awfully short sleep shorts, “is go back to sleep.”
“You know,” Mina smiles, just a bit, hands moving to press her palms flat against Nayeon’s tummy, “this feels a lot like déjà vu.”
“Really?”
“The morning after we first met,” Mina’s fingers fumble with the hem of Nayeon’s shirt, threatening to push it up just barely, “with the roles reversed and a lot more clothes on.”
Nayeon’s grin is cheeky. “Please tell me you’re not feeling waffles. I kept finding flour on my clothes for days, Mina. Days .”
Mina merely rolls her eyes as a response and Nayeon takes it as a chance to tug her down next to her, which Mina obliges without much of a fight. Easily, Mina tucks her face into the crook of her neck and there’s a hand that slides up her shirt, palm hot against her stomach.
“Hey,” Nayeon says softly. Mina merely hums against her skin, tucks her fingers just barely underneath the waistband of her panties.
“Did I... do anything weird last night?” Nayeon asks out of the blue. Better safe than sorry. Nayeon’s drunken antics are rather infamous, ranging from trying to jump off bar counters to letting one Myoui Mina unceremoniously squeeze herself into her life like it was absolutely nothing. “Throw up in your flowers or something?”
Mina immediately goes quiet. Nayeon glances over, watches the way Mina seems lost in her thoughts for a couple seconds too long. Huh, she thought Mina would’ve understood her jab at her drunken habits. “Mina?"
Mina blinks, once then twice, before she burrows herself deeper into Nayeon’s side. Her hand moves to give the girl's side a squeeze, forcing a jerk and a bout of laughter from Nayeon. It’s quick to turn into a one-sided tickle fight all of a sudden, with Nayeon laughing and thrashing and snorting underneath her, and before they both know it, Mina’s right back on top of her stomach, hands pinning down her arms.
“No,” is all she says, finally. She’s grinning down at her, but Nayeon can’t help that feeling that sprouts deep down in her heart. Like a wrong beat in the rhythm of things. It doesn’t feel right.
“Mi—"
“You were just talking about your stuffed animals, again ,” she cuts her off, bopping her on the nose lightly with her own. She’s still smiling, very much so gummy and everything so characteristic of Mina at ten in the morning. But here’s the thing:
Nayeon doesn’t miss the way it doesn’t reach her eyes. She doesn’t question it, however, and can only blame it on the fact that they’re up early in the morning instead of the afternoon for the first time in ages. That, or how Nayeon is possibly the dumbest person on Earth. Seriously. Like 60% idiocy and 40% water.
Instead, she nods dumbly and Mina promptly leans down to press a kiss square against her mouth.
It’s sweet, really, because morning kisses are definitely a thing and it serves its purpose in making Nayeon’s heart puff up tenfold, but it’s also absolute hell because Mina has no idea what on earth she’s doing to her, has not a single clue of all the fires she’s setting alight in her heart, of all the mini Nayeons in her head, running rampant and wreaking havoc left and right.
Honestly, Nayeon feels like an idiot. She’s an idiot for always thinking of how fucking in love she is with Mina and Mina? Mina isn’t, there’s no freaking way because Nayeon is Nayeon and a person like Mina isn’t the type to do charity shit like that, isn’t some copy-and-paste love interest out of every single cliche out there, where the classic “we sleep together and somewhere along the way I remembered that I have actual feelings and now they’re fucking everything up and oh wait, you’re in love with me too?” applies to everyone it sees fit. Her life is anything but a movie.
So, to wade off the thoughts, just in case her mouth works faster than her brain and she says something she knows she’d regret:
“Ew, your breath stinks!”
-
Nayeon thinks. For a long time.
(Her? Thinking? She can’t believe it herself either, really.)
She thinks of how she even got herself in this mess in the first place, and how she’s always been so fucking weak against the prettiest girls. She might have to look into that. Anyways, here’s what’s going on:
Nayeon, who finally has come to terms with her feelings, is in love with a whole ass Myoui Mina. The same Myoui Mina that she had first met at least four cups of jungle juice in at one of Kim Jisoo’s infamous house parties, asked in the dumbest and drunkest way if she wanted to get out of here, and then well, the rest— you get it.
“I told you before,” Jeongyeon says, rubbing her temples. She feels like she’s said this a thousand times already. “Just tell her. In this day and age, people actually talk about this stuff, you know? How do you even think people get together these days?”
“It’s not that easy, Jeong!” Nayeon groans, flopping back onto her bed with the bravado of a fourteen-year-old. “This is Mina we’re talking about! I can’t just tell her that and then ruin everything between us. I don’t want that!”
“So you’re just going to pine after her for god knows how long?”
“Uh, yeah?"
“Look at it this way,,” Jeongyeon tries. Nayeon already knows she’s going to be anything but helpful. “The worst she could do is say ‘oh, sorry, I don’t feel the same.' Then you two can have like… a last hurrah and fuck it out or whatever you guys do.”
“And then what? ”
Jeongyeon rubs the side of her head. “Uh, continue to do the things you’ve been doing like normal? I don’t know, I didn’t think this far.”
“So…” Nayeon deadpans. “You’re telling me that I should confess to her, like literally tell her I’m in love with her, get rejected, but hey, that’s okay? We can just ignore the part where I’m so stupidly and irrationally in love with her and still just fuck around and act like nothing happened?”
“Yeah, that sounds about right,” Jeongyeon’s smile is sheepish when she shrugs. “To be fair, your… relationship, or whatever it is, with Mina is anything but normal. I’m sure it’d all work out in the end."
This is exactly why we’re best friends , Nayeon thinks. We’re both idiots. Dear God, nothing can save us.
“Jeongyeon,” Nayeon breathes through her nose. “Please never speak again. Get out.”
Jeongyeon only laughs, chucking the plushie in her hands at Nayeon’s head, and then moving to squeeze into the bed next to her. Nayeon complains, but nonetheless makes space. “It wouldn’t be surprising if that actually happened, you know?”
“I said get out.”
“Hey,” Jeongyeon ignores her. “What’s so hard about telling her anyway? I mean, you somehow worked up the balls to confess to Jennie and that bitch is icy, dude. I still get shivers when I see her. Mina’s like… a marshmallow. A penguin-shaped marshmallow.”
“Mina’s just… different?” Nayeon tries. It’s not what she wants to say, really, but this will suffice for now. She doubts Jeongyeon will want to hear her drone for hours and hours about Mina.
“The only difference is that you guys just skipped the whole swipe right shebang and the coffee date part.”
“Nuh uh, swiping right is mutual."
“And sleeping with each other first thing isn’t?”
Nayeon pouts. Jeongyeon pulls at her cheek harshly.
“Do you seriously think she slept with you… without liking you? She had to have liked something, you idiot. Probably your face, but hey, at least it’s something.”
Nayeon only ignores her and sighs, trying to dig herself deeper into her bed and throwing her plushie over her face and screaming unintelligibly into it. Jeongyeon thinks she hears a “fuck feelings!” thrown in there somewhere.
It’s so obvious Mina likes you too, dimwit , Jeongyeon wants to say, wants to smack it square across Nayeon’s face, but the girl's not five years old even though she acts like it for christ’s sake! She can figure it out herself. She settles for ignoring Nayeon’s random screaming, already opening up her mobile farm game on her phone as she settles back against the headboard.
“Jeong,” Nayeon whines moments later, having enough of being ignored. “Do you really think so? That she likes me?”
“Stupid questions do exist after all,” Jeongyeon merely says. “But yes, I do think she likes you back. Actually, I know so. It’s kinda super obvious."
Nayeon can only hug her plushie tight as she squirms around in bed. Jeongyeon can only sigh and once again ignore her.
“I think I’m scared,” Nayeon finally says after the longest while. “I don’t know of what though.”
Jeongyeon hums. Nayeon only continues.
“It just— It took me forever to get over Jennie. You know that, Jeong. I couldn’t… I couldn't even say her name for the longest time.” Nayeon groans, squeezes her plushie a little tighter. “And honestly? Some days, it feels like I’m not. I mean, I know I’m over Jennie. It might’ve took months, but I made sure of it. It just… it feels like I’m not sometimes. Like I never will be.”
A beat.
“But then I think of Mina,” Nayeon scrubs at her face, even laughs a little, “and then it’s kind of like everything’s okay.”
The thing about Mina is that she’s… just there . Kind of like she’s meant to be. She’s the constant in Nayeon’s life that she didn’t know she needed, the one thing that fills in all the empty spaces of her life, and the different kind of warmth that sprouts within her heart.
It’s like free-falling without the guarantee of being caught in the end, but even then, that’s okay, that’s okay because that’ll always be the risk when it comes to Mina. It’s the rush, the adrenaline that spikes in her blood, the way it feels like gravity’s tethered the two of them together no matter what, and Nayeon can’t get enough of it. Had Nayeon believed in otherworldly phenomena, she’d coin this fate. (One-sided) soulmates or whatever you want to call it. If it had existed, then maybe this would’ve been it — how it just feels like Nayeon’s meant to be with her, or how the only thing she wants to do around Mina is just fall and here she is: falling! For her!
Jeongyeon watches her, cheek rested up against the flat of her fingers. “Are you going to tell her?”
“… I’ll consider it.”
You see, no one knows Nayeon better than Jeongyeon. And Momo, but Momo’s not here right now, so she doesn’t get to be included. Nayeon likes to be vague at the wrong moments, but luckily, Jeongyeon knows this idiot like the back of her hand. She did the same shit with Jennie. Mulled over her feelings for forever even though it was literally obvious Jennie had the hots, if not more, for her as well. Though the situation is entirely different — Jennie was never a fuck buddy, but rather the object of Nayeon’s freshman year affections that continued for a good two years — Jeongyeon knows Nayeon can’t cope with her feelings well and always ends up doing the one thing she swears she won’t just to get rid of them.
So basically:
Nayeon's going to confess to Mina some way or another and it’ll be so cute and all that bullshit. Jeongyeon gets to win another bet, will be fifty bucks richer in maybe a week or two, and she actually likes Mina. (Don’t get her wrong: she likes Jennie … but come on, that girl could turn anything into ice just by looking at it.) Momo gets to lose another bet, will be fifty bucks poorer, but hey, at least she’s got a permanent dance buddy now.
And Nayeon will, quite literally, get the girl. She wins the most out of all of them, honestly.
It all works out! There is no way Mina would reject Nayeon when Jeongyeon’s literally seen the way she looks at her (and wished she was blind afterwards) and all the couple-y shit they do but claim they’re not the one thing they actually should be and there is just absolutely no way Nayeon can fuck this up.
Easy!
|
“Diluc! It’s going to be your birthday tomorrow! Are you excited?” Kaeya questioned, following after his best friend as they made their way to their shared bedroom. “I heard that people get these things called ‘bittys’ that look like their soulmates when they’re 13!”
Diluc swung open the door and let the other in, smiling and nodding all the while. “Mhm! I can’t wait to get mine!”
The blue-haired boy hummed, clambering onto his bed and sliding under the blanket. He waited for his friend to get in his before asking, “Who do you think it’ll be?”
The redhead turned to face the younger. “Jean? She’s really pretty!” He hummed, trying to think of more people. “Oh! Maybe Lisa. She seems nice. No, wait. They’re both really pretty. Hm… maybe—” He continued to blabber on, not seeming to notice the look of hurt on Kaeya’s face.
“What if it’s me? What will you do, then?” The blue-eyed boy asked out loud.
There was a pause. Diluc started laughing. “Silly Kae! There’s no such thing! There hasn’t been anything about two men or women being soulmates. The worst thing that could happen would be if I didn’t have a soulmate! Haha!”
It was then he realised the expression of his best friend. “Kaeya? Are you okay?”
“Ah? Yeah, I’m fine.” Kaeya let out a weak chuckle. “That was a stupid question.”
“Kaeya—”
The azure-haired male turned to face the wall, cutting the other off. “I’m tired.” He pulled the blanket up to his shoulders and snuggled into its warmth, closing his eyes. “Goodnight, Luc.”
There was a pregnant pause. The fiery red-haired male opened his mouth. “Goodnight, Kae.”
Kaeya awoke to his nightmares later in the night at two in the morning, sweaty with wide teary eyes. He placed a hand over his mouth to muffle his cries and squeezed his eyes shut.
“Kaeya…?” He heard Diluc call from the bed beside him.
He focused on controlling his breathing and getting it to a stable pace before clearing his throat and responding with a confident and slightly shaky “yeah?”
That was a sign for the older to bombard him with questions. “Are you okay? Are your nightmares back again? Do you want to cuddle?”
The blue-eyed boy chuckled. “Calm down, Luc. I’m fine.”
No, I’m not.
“Yeah. But it rarely happens nowadays, though, so it’s alright.”
They happen daily and I don’t get enough sleep because of it.
“And aren’t you a big boy now, Luc? You still want cuddles?”
Please, just embrace me.
Volcanic red eyes stared directly at him through the dark. “Are you sure?”
“Yep!”
No.
Kaeya chirped. “Now, go back to sleep. I’ll wake you up if I find your bitty next morning.”
Diluc scanned him, as if looking for tales of lies before sighing and falling back. “If you say so. Night.”
“Sweet dreams.”
When Kaeya woke up first later in the morning, he immediately went to check Diluc’s bed for the small creature. It was somewhat rude to look at someone’s soulmate before they do but Luc was going to show it to him, anyways.
He peeked over his best friend’s body and sucked in a breath as his gaze zeroed on the chibi. It had azure blue hair that reached to the middle of its back, skin tanner than what one would normally find in Monstadt.
It looked like him.
It
was
him.
Kaeya could not let Diluc see this—he would be absolutely heartbroken if he saw that his soulmate
was
actually his best friend.
“Shit,”
he swore quietly, assessing the situation.
He could either
a. Reach over and just grab it. Pros: gets the job done faster. Cons: definitely wake Diluc up.
b. Use some kind of tool to grab it with. Pros: faster maneuvering. Cons: might take up too much time to find the right mechanic.
c. Get into bed with him and give an excuse. Pros: cuddles, sleep, quick. Cons: Diluc might see through it.
Kaeya sighed.
Diluc would want to help me, right?
He went to grab his bolster pillow from his bed and hugged it to his chest before gently shaking the other awake. “Luc?”
His friend stirred from his rest and turned to face him, eyes groggily focusing on his figure.
Kaeya looked down, feigning shyness. “C–Can I sleep in your bed? I couldn’t sleep and thought that maybe cuddles would help.” He fiddled with his fingers.
It took a while before Diluc processed it. When he did, he lifted up his blanket and rolled to the end of the bed for Kaeya to sleep between him and the wall comfortably. The azure-haired male beamed and carefully made his way into his designated sleeping spot. He gently picked up the bitty and placed it beside the pillow on his side before laying down.
The redhead covered them with the blanket and wrapped an arm around his companion’s waist, pulling him to be flushed close against his chest. He nuzzled his neck and his eyes fluttered close. “Goodnight.”
“Night.”
He waited a few minutes before shifting to sit up. He moved the hand from around his waist and paused when the other groaned and hugged him closer. Kaeya wrapped his slender fingers around Diluc’s wrist and placed it around his bolster instead, watching as his friend cuddled the pillow close, face buried in the softness.
Alberich scooped up the bitty in his palms and placed it in his shirt pocket before climbing out of bed to grab pillows, comforters and big blankets—two of each—from the cabinet and carrying it all to the guest bathroom.
He made sure to lock the door behind him before placing all the materials on the ground and setting the bathtub up. He grabbed the two comforters and one blanket to fold them to fit the tub’s ratio before placing a pillow inside for his head and sitting down in the tub.
He reached over the bathtub to pick up the blanket and the pillow to place on his stomach before taking the bitty out from his pocket to place it on the soft cushioning. Wide and aware, blue eyes stared back at him.
“Um… hello,” Kaeya greeted. “I’m just gonna call you Kae so that we don’t get mixed up, okay?”
The bitty didn’t reply verbally—of course it didn’t—but nodded in understanding.
“Great. So, um, I’m pretty sure you’re wondering why I took you away from your… uh… master? Is that what you call them?”
Once again, Kae nodded.
“Well, I’m not sure whether you know what happened last night, but to sum it up, Luc doesn’t want us as his soulmate.”
Kae tilted its head at the statement and let out a meep.
“Look, he’s straight or whatever. Do you even know what that is?” Kaeya scrunched his face. “He’s interested in women. Women like Jean and Lisa. Not men.”
Kae shook its head.
“No? What do you
mean
‘no’? Just because you showed up, doesn’t mean he’s going to suddenly go ‘Oh! My bitty is Kaeya, my best friend, I’m so gay right now!’, okay? Life doesn’t work like that.”
The bitty sent him a sharp deadpan stare.
“Okay, maybe
my
life works like that but not Diluc’s! He’s the ‘I’m going to put my family’s reputation before my own decisions!’ type of guy. So, he’s going to marry a girl to continue on the bloodline and yadda yadda. Get it?” Kaeya explained.
Kae did not look amused.
“
Jeez, am I normally like this?
So, basically, I need you to hide from Luc or whatever—pretend he was never your master and we can all live happily ever after, okay?” he chirped.
The tiny creature seemed to think about it for a moment before nodding.
Kaeya heaved a sigh of relief. “Great, thanks.” He picked up the bitty. “Do you have anywhere here that you want to sleep? Anywhere specific?”
Kae pointed to the small gap between Kaeya’s pillow and the tub.
“You sure?”
It nodded.
“Alright, then.”
Alberich placed the bitty in the spot and laid down, shifting about to make himself comfortable, before pulling the blanket up to his chest. “Goodnight, Kae.”
The tiny creature meeped in return.
Kaeya once again awoke to an unruly manner—screaming. But it wasn’t his. It was from outside. Shouts for “Kaeya!” was everywhere and it forced him out of the comfortable confines of the bathtub. He grumbled as he dragged himself out of the tub and to the door, unlocking it. “What?!” he exclaimed in reply.
The sound of hurried footsteps was the next thing to be heard before Diluc appeared in front of him with Adeline trailing after him. “Kaeya!” Diluc greeted, panting heavily. “I’m so glad you’re okay!”
“Of course I am,” the blue-haired pre-teen replied, confused and groggy from just waking up. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Adeline cut in before Diluc could give them both a five minute rant. “Master Diluc was worried when he woke up with you nowhere in sight. He ran to my bedroom and knocked on the door so I’d wake up just to look for you.”
Kaeya couldn’t help a smile from breaking and a few chuckles from escaping. “That’s hilarious! Where else could I have gone? Just imagine if I had simply wanted to take a peaceful morning stroll. Would you have sent guards looking for me?”
“Yes.”
Kaeya’s heart skipped a beat.
Strong arms wrapped around him as he was pulled into a hug. “Don’t make me worry like that next time, okay?”
The azure-haired male laughed and patted his friend’s back. “Yes, yes, of course. I’ll tell Master Diluc wherever I want to go just so daddy doesn’t get worried.”
“What did you call me?”
“Master Diluc?”
“No, after that.”
Puzzled, Kaeya replied innocently, “Daddy?”
Diluc choked on his saliva.
“Y’know, because you act like one. Always worrying and wanting to know where I am—just like how my dad used to be.”
The redhead seemed like he was struggling to grasp the fact that Kaeya just called him ‘Daddy’.
The blue-eyed boy was just confused. “What?”
“Repeat it to yourself and think about it.”
“Diluc, Daddy, Diluc, Daddy, Diluc, Daddy, Diluc Daddy— oh.” His face flushed. “I don’t mean it like that, Luc! I already told you!” He hid his face in his hands and whined softly. “You’re straight, why are you thinking about these stuff?!”
“I don’t know!”
Amidst in all the gay panic, Adeline sighed and left the scene. “It’s too early to deal with this.”
“So, who’s your bitty? Recognise it from anywhere?” Kaeya questioned. He had little Kae kept away safely in the bathroom, telling the others not to enter unless absolutely necessary. They listened, of course, not wanting to anger their master.
“I… didn’t get mine,” Diluc replied honestly. He was never one to lie to his best friend about things that the other would sooner or later realise. Kaeya
was
the smarter one between them, after all. “I was hoping you knew where it was.”
“Ah, I see,” he commented. “Sorry but I have no idea where it is.” Lying about something else to his friend?
Fun.
Note the sarcasm. “Well, at least you get to choose your partner now, huh?”
The redhead hummed. “I guess so.”
They arrived at the knights’ headquarters when the blue-haired asked, “How much of a chance do you think you have with Jean?”
“Not much.”
“Humble as always, Luc.”
“No, seriously. Jean is so… perfect. She’s strong, multi-talented—and yet great at all of them, always tries to help out, pretty, and I’m not even listing down all of her greatest traits yet!” Diluc ranted.
Kaeya signed in at his post. “Uh-huh. Well, I’m gonna go on ahead, you can continue telling me about Jean later!”
The redhead picked up the pen. “I can just join you—”
The azure-haired boy snatched the pen away from his best friend’s grasp. “No, no, I think I’ll be fine for today. You can report to your own stand.” He smiled. “But thank you for wanting to help out.”
The older frowned.
Kae has never rejected an offer before.
“But I—”
A boy appeared out of nowhere and latched onto Kaeya’s arm. “Kae! You coming?”
“Ah, yeah!”
Diluc frowned.
I’ve never seen him before.
“Kaeya—”
“Bye, Luc!” Kaeya sent a wave over his shoulder just as the blond boy began pulling him away. He chattered to the younger, hands waving about to further exaggerate his story.
Diluc’s lips curled into a frown as he watched the both of them walk further away. The blond side-glanced at him and made eye-contact before purposefully curling more into Kaeya and linking their fingers together, smiling innocently and assuring the blue-haired boy he was fine when he asked what was wrong.
Nodding, Kaeya continued his story, either oblivious or ignorant to the way Diluc and his new…
friend
were glaring at one another.
“So, uh,” Diluc started. “Who was that?”
Kaeya bit into his sandwich, locking eyes with the redhead as he chewed and swallowed. “Who was who?” He took another bite.
“That boy from earlier.”
The younger between them giggled. “You gotta be more specific, Luc. There’re so many boys here—”
“The boy who was clinging onto you earlier,” he spat, hands curling into fists from out of eye-range. “The blond one.”
Kaeya beamed. “Oh! That’s Albedo! He’s trying out cavalry right now, but he’s really, really,
really
smart! He likes mystery so I suggested he try out our investigation team. He’s eight!”
Diluc gritted his teeth. “Yeah? You guys seem close.”
His friend only laughed. “Your food’s getting cold, Luc. C’mon, I’ll feed you.” He reached over the circle table to pick up the fork and twirl the spaghetti around it before raising it to the redhead’s lips. “Ahh.”
Diluc opened his mouth and gratefully took the bite.
For some reason, food always tastes better when Kae is feeding me.
Kaeya laughed, using his other hand to grab a napkin and wipe at the corner of his lips. “You’re so messy.”
“Kae?”
“Hm?” he hummed, turning to look at the newcomer. A smile instantly blossomed on his lips and he moved to sit down properly. “Oh! Bedo!”
Albedo smiled sheepishly whilst he carried his tray of food. “Sorry for interrupting. You wouldn’t mind if I sat here, would you?” He motioned to the empty seat between Kaeya and Diluc. “I kind of… don’t have anywhere else to sit right now…”
“No—”
“Sure, of course!” Kaeya pulled out the seat and patted it, smiling friendly all the while. “Feel free.”
The blond heaved a sigh of relief. “Thank you.” He walked forward and placed the tray on the table, sending a discreet victory grin to Diluc before turning to their mutual friend. “When do you think I’ll be able to ride the horses?”
“The horses? Already?” Kaeya laughed, placing a hand on his heart. “My, my, Albedo, you just joined the knights!” He smiled. “But I suppose sometime soon, considering how fast you’re learning.”
“I really hope it's soon. I want to ride a horse.”
“It’s not that easy, Bedo. Even if I do make it look simple,” the blue-haired boy teased. “Y’know, with my devastatingly good looks and quick movements.”
Albedo hummed. “You
do
look amazing.”
A light flush formed on Kaeya’s cheeks. “A–Are you flirting with me?”
“Maybe.”
There was a cough and a clear of the throat, causing the both of them to turn to the source. “Kae, can you please feed me? My arms are sore from having to carry a claymore just now.”
“Really? But you’ve never had any soreness from your previous trainings before,” the azure-haired teen commented. “Do you need to see a doctor? We might need to check you up.”
Diluc shrugged. “I think I just overworked my body a bit. Not much of an issue. Happened before.”
Kaeya seemed confused but decided not to question anymore. “Uh… sure? I’m just gonna throw away my wrapper and wash my hands first.” He got out of his seat and walked away. “Be right back!”
“Albedo, right?” Diluc asked once his friend was out of hearing range. “Kaeya has never mentioned about you before.”
“Hm? Ah, yes, well, I’m very sure he just doesn’t want to hurt your feelings.” Albedo wiped his mouth with his napkin. “But he has mentioned you once or twice in our conversations before.”
“Once or twice?”
“Yes,” he replied sharply. “Also, the reason why he didn’t mention me to you at all was because he did not want you to get jealous or possessive like how you are now, now that you aren’t his only best friend. I am in no form or manner disappointed that Kae has decided not to mention me to you until this moment. Do not attempt to poke fun at me.”
The redhead’s eyes narrowed. “I wasn’t going to.”
“You quite certainly were.”
“Hey, guys!” Kaeya chirped, sliding into his seat and noticing the tension. “Whoa, testosterone. What’s going on? I literally only left for a minute or two.”
Volcanic red and angelic teal eyes bore into his soul.
The blue-haired boy sweatdropped. “Seriously, what’s going on?”
Diluc pointed at Albedo. “Kaeya, please tell Albedo that I’m your only best friend.”
The periwinkle eyes blinked in surprise and turned to look at the blond, who shrugged and said “I tried to let him down gently”. He turned to his redhead friend. “Luc, you’ve got to be joking. I
am
allowed to have more than one best friend.”
The oldest pouted. “But I’m still your number one, right?”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Kaeya replied effortlessly. “Now, hurry up and eat. Otherwise, I’ll hang out with Albedo instead.”
Diluc gobbled his lunch down.
In the end, Albedo had to go home immediately after they finished their lunch and Kaeya made sure he was safe by walking him home with a slightly fussy Diluc trailing behind them. He pouted and whined, demanding attention from the younger every few seconds, both looking and sounding like a lost puppy.
Once again, the redhead whined, “Kae.”
The blue-haired boy sighed, growing tired of this nonsense. “Yes, Luc?”
“Can I hold your other hand?”
Well, that was unexpected.
“Uh… sure?” He held out his right hand, only for it to be enveloped in warmth not a second later. His best friend’s hand clenched his tightly. “This is really sudden. Are you cold or something?”
“Not really.”
“
I’m
cold, Kae.” Albedo moved so that Kaeya’s arm was across his shoulders. He snuggled into the warmth. “You don’t mind heating me up a bit, do you?”
Diluc growled. “Hey. Ever heard of personal space?” he snapped.
The blond frowned. “You’re invading his personal space, too.”
Before their bickering could drag out, the middle boy huffed, stopping in his tracks. “Alright, that’s enough from the both of you. I have two hands, I can hold both of yours. Either you share or I’m leaving the both of you to hold each other’s hands.”
The other two stopped instantaneously.
“Good.”
“Thank you for going out of your way to send me home, Kaeya.” Albedo smiled warmly. Kaeya held out his hand and the blond grabbed it gently in his before bringing it to his lips and kissing his knuckles. He rested his forehead against them. «May you find peace in this world».
«May your blessings be heard by the infinity before us».
Albedo let go of his hand and sent a small smile before opening his door and entering.
“What was that?” Diluc asked.
“Was what?”
“The whole kissing your hand thing just now.” He pulled a face. “Why didn’t you stop him?”
Kaeya laughed. “I was the one who initiated it, Luc. It would be weird if I stopped him from doing what I asked of him in the first place.”
The redhead frowned. “Then why did you initiate it?”
“It is a sign of respect, loyalty and devotion,” he said. “If he were to take my hand like he did, he wants to prove those traits.”
“Does that mean
I
can kiss your hand?”
The periwinkle-eyed boy smiled bittersweetly. “Not yet, Diluc. Not yet.”
“Hey, Kae, I’m back,” Kaeya greeted as he opened the bathroom door. It was past midnight and Diluc was sleeping soundly in their bedroom. “Sorry I couldn’t come home earlier. You must be hungry, huh?”
The bitty shook its head.
“No? You don’t get hungry?”
Once again, it shook its head.
“Oh. You can still eat, though, right?”
It nodded.
Kaeya walked in and gave the bitty the small pieces of chopped apples. “Here you go.” He yawned. “I’m gonna go to bed now. You wanna come?”
Kae nodded eagerly.
“You gotta sleep on my bed, though… And I’ll probably sleep with Luc.”
The bitty made grabby hands. Kaeya let Kae crawl into his palm before getting up and walking back to their room quietly. He placed it on the bed, hidden by a pillow, and moved to Diluc. He slid into the other’s arms with seemingly practiced ease.
Diluc shifted to curl into the warmth, snoring softly into the other’s ear.
Kaeya was lulled into peaceful sleep by the constant beating of his soulmate’s heart.
“I’m home, boys!”
The two of them perked at the sound of a familiar, soothing voice. “Father!” Diluc greeted with excitement when the man walked through the door. He walked up to Crepus and gave him a hug.
Kaeya smiled from where he was. “Welcome back, dad. How was your trip?”
“Painful, but it went well.” He opened his arms for Kaeya. “Now come here and give this old man a hug!”
Kaeya laughed but listened, standing up and moving over to the two redheads to wrap him in an embrace.
“Now, I have presents for the both of you. Come along.”
The two boys gazed at each other with eagerness coating their faces as they hurried after their father outside. They stood in the field where there was a big box with holes.
“This one is for Diluc. Go ahead and open it.”
Slowly, the redhead walked to the box and opened it. A gasp slipped from his lips and a smile blossomed. “Is this…?” He reached in and took out a bird. It made a clicking sound in protest but, otherwise, was still. “Thank you!”
Kaeya hesitantly moved forward. “What’s that, Luc?”
Diluc let the bird rest on his arm. “It’s a falcon! I’ve always wanted one. This way, it’ll also be easier to send messages!”
“Those things actually work?”
Crepus began to walk away, so the both of them stopped their conversation to follow him. He led them to a big van and moved to the door. “Here’s your present, Kaeya.” He walked in to grab something before leading it out, revealing a horse. A shining, majestic horse.
The blue-haired boy gasped in excitement as he shifted one leg to another, watching as the beautiful horse’s head turned to them. It whinnied and pawed on the ground, nodding its head.
Carefully, Kaeya advanced to the mare—yes, he checked—and held out a hand. “Hello,” he greeted in a gentle tone. She whinnied and snorted against his face, lowering her head for him to pet her.
“She’s a purebred akhal teke,” Crepus said. “Paid a lot just for her.”
“Yeah, I can tell,” the azure-haired male whispered in an airy tone. He turned to his father figure, with a bright smile that could compare to the sun. “Thank you so much, sir. I–I’m going to bring her to the paddock for a bit.” He grabbed the lead and began walking her to the fenced area, mind dizzy with excitement.
Diluc pouted and ran after his best friend, falcon still on his arm. “But I thought
we
were going to hang out today.”
That made Kaeya pause. “Oh, right. Um…” He glanced at the horse that he had yet to name before turning in the direction of the stables. “That’s alright. I’m sure she needs to rest, anyways. I’ll go bring her to the stables while you make your falcon feel at home. We’ll meet at the front door when we’re done!”
He quickly maneuvered around to get a stall ready for her—filling the water and food buckets and covering the ground with a thick layer of hay—before bringing her in. He took off her bridle and locked the gate behind him, hanging the piece on the rack. He waved goodbye to the horses and left the stables.
The azure-haired boy hummed as he skipped to the designated spot. “Luc, I’m—” He heard light chattering from the maids that were working outside.
“Seems like Master Diluc has a crush~”
“She’s absolutely gorgeous, too.”
“Look, she’s blushing.”
“Ah, young love… takes me back to the old days…”
“Wait, isn’t she the Acting Grandmaster’s daughter?”
“Oh my gosh, she is!”
“Master Diluc is luckier than I thought!”
Kaeya hesitantly peeked over the corner to see Jean Gunnhildr, the most captivating soon-to-be woman in both looks and attitude. She was blushing, he could see that, and there was no doubt that Diluc was, too.
He felt like he couldn’t breathe.
Slowly and silently, Alberich walked away from the scene.
He needed to get away.
“Have you guys seen Kaeya?” Diluc asked, worry evident in both his tone and body posture. “He promised to be out in a bit but he isn’t here yet.”
A servant thought about it before nodding slowly. “Yes, I believe so.”
“Really?”
“About an hour ago. He was at the stables.”
The young redhead furrowed his brows. “An hour? I don’t remember the time being that long.”
“Time passes quickly when you’re with someone you like, Master Diluc,” a maid piped in. “Miss Jean must’ve made time pass
really
quickly, huh?”
A faint blush covered the young master’s cheeks as he sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck, choosing to direct the conversation back to Kaeya. “But if you saw him an hour ago, why isn’t he back yet?”
“Oh. He was going out.”
“Are you positive?”
“Absolutely. He was leaving on a horse.”
Panic formed in the pit of his stomach. “On a horse? Leaving?” Diluc bit his lower lip and began speed-walking to the stables. “Thank you. Please do inform father that I’ll be out for a bit.” Without waiting for a reply, his pace quickened to the stalls where Kaeya was last seen.
He opened the door and looked around.
His horse is there, which means he did come to the stables.
He walked down the line, stopping when he noticed Pavo, the blue roan tobiano paint horse, was missing from his stall. He immediately got out Noctua and saddled her up quickly but thoroughly before getting on her.
He turned her reins to the left, where another horse’s tracks could be seen and got her into a trot. He kept his eyes on the ground and guided her where necessary. The tracks led them to the entrance of the Wolvendom forest, and without much hesitation, he headed in.
Diluc slowed her gait to a walk. Noctua’s ears pivoted to every sound she heard, constantly alert of her surroundings, but her gaze was forward, showing that there was no sign of danger. After getting deep enough into the forest, he heard distant laughter. Kaeya’s laughter.
He quickened her pace back to a trot, wanting to find the source quicker. He got to an opening, seeing a blue blob. “Kaeya, I’ve been so worried. Why did you—” The words died on his tongue and he pulled Noctua to a halt, hiding in the cover of the trees and bushes from afar.
The scene of Kaeya and that
friend
of his—
Albedo,
his mind uselessly supplied—smiling and laughing happily with one another made Diluc’s heart clench. The blond made another joke which caused the azure-haired boy to burst out in laughter, bending over at his waist.
When he gathered himself, the two stared at one another. Albedo carefully reached out a hand and brushed a strand of hair away from Kaeya’s face, placing it behind his ear. Periwinkle eyes blinked in shock before a blush dusted the cheeks of its owner.
Alberich stood up and stretched his arms. “Anyways, you want to ride on a horse, right?”
His companion nodded.
Kaeya smiled and called: “Pavo! C’mere!” The horse went to him, as called, and he petted the neck. “You can touch him if you want. You are getting on him, after all.”
The teal-eyed boy hesitantly placed a hand on Pavo’s neck and gently petted him, eyes wide and curious with the creature before him. “Can I…?”
“Yeah, just get on that rock over there.” He pointed at the rock that was around Albedo’s waist level before grabbing the reins to lead Pavo over to the area. “Alright. So, first, you’re gonna want to put your left foot through this thing”—he motioned to the stirrup iron—“and then you just want to swing your entire body over with that momentum.”
Albedo nodded and did as told but failed with a huff.
Kaeya giggled. “It’s okay. Try again.”
The blond stared at the saddle in determination and got on it on his second try.
“There we go! Now, grab onto the horn and don’t ever take your feet out of the stirrups.” He clicked his tongue to avert the horse’s attention to him. “C’mon, Pavo, let’s go.”
“Kaeya.”
“Luc!” The poor azure-haired boy was startled. He focused his gaze on his best friend and sent him a small smile. “Hey. How long have you been standing there?”
“Quite some time.” He squeezed his legs to get Noctua moving and stopped right in front of them. “Are we going home yet?” She nuzzled her head with Pavo’s.
Kaeya fiddled with the reins in his hands. “Soon. I’m just gonna let Albedo ride around on Pavo for a bit. Wait for like three minutes, alright?”
“Father wants us home.”
“He does?” The blue-haired male furrowed his brows. “I’ll let Bedo ride him on the way back to his home, I guess.”
The blond cut in. “You’ll be walking?”
“Yep.”
“Well, I can’t possibly do that to you.”
Diluc decided to intervene. “Alright, how about I ride bareback with Albedo and you can take Noctua. Sound good?”
“But Albedo doesn’t know how to ride a horse properly yet.”
The redhead clapped his hands. “I'll ride bareback with you and we just pony him behind us.”
Kaeya hummed. “That's actually pretty smart. Yeah, let’s do that. Good job, Luc.”
His friend preened under the attention, although it was short-lived.
“Bedo, I need you to grab onto his reins, okay?” Kaeya handed over the control. “Just hold it still over here. Don’t tug or pull.”
Albedo nodded.
“Kae.”
The azure-haired boy looked over, seeing that Diluc had already unsaddled her. “Oh, that was fast.” He grabbed the long rope and tied it to Pavo’s bridle, passing the other end to Diluc before swinging himself up on Noctua.
He made himself comfortable before taking the rope and saddle from his best friend. He clicked his tongue to gain Pavo’s attention. “Pavo, follow.” The redhead led the way.
The trip back to their home was silent, only the sound of Pavo and Noctua's hooves clacking against the ground could be heard. Kaeya had switched back to riding Pavo by himself and was trailing after Diluc, knowing that the other was silently mad and that he did not want to provoke the other any more than he already did. The sky was beginning to turn into different shades of yellow, orange, red, purple and blue, telling them that it was already time to head back for dinner.
It wasn’t the first time Kaeya had tried sneaking away and even though he was the one who got hurt that time, he wasn’t the one who had cried.
After a few minutes of silence, the younger of the two decided to break it. “I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“Luc—”
“I said I don’t want to hear it.”
Kaeya bit on his lower lip and averted his gaze on the ground, knowing better than to constantly apologise when he was in this state of mind.
When they finally arrived home, Diluc got off Noctua and grabbed onto her lead, waiting for Kaeya to slide off Pavo before grabbing his as well.
The younger of the two kept his head low as maids and servants came rushing towards them, asking questions on their health and wanting to check them over, but Diluc merely held a hand out and dropped both the horses leads in one of their hands. “I trust you to put them back safely,” he declared in an eerily monotone voice. “Don’t come into our room.”
Kaeya stiffened and bit back a whimper. He was in deep shit for this. The redhead grabbed onto his wrist and began dragging him through the crowd and to the second level of their home. He tried to wrench his wrist from the grip but it only caused the other to grip tighter in retaliation. “Luc, it hurts.”
Not a peep.
“Luc, please.”
He didn’t reply.
“Luc—”
Diluc growled and slammed open their bedroom door, yanking Kaeya inside before banging it shut behind them. He made sure to lock it before sitting on the edge of his bed. He looked his friend straight in the eye and pointed at the ground in front of him. “Sit.”
Shakily, the blue-haired boy did as he was told, his gaze on the redhead’s feet as he did not want to meet the other’s eyes.
“I want you to tell me why you went out without informing me.”
It was quiet for a moment.
“I’m not a kid anymore…”
Diluc raised an eyebrow. “Pardon?”
“I
said
that I’m not a kid anymore,
Luc
,” Kaeya repeated, clenching his hands into fists as his visible eye narrowed into a glare. “I know how to take care of myself.”
His eyebrows raised in surprise at his companion’s new behaviour. “Yeah?”
“I know how to wield a sword and I have Pavo to take me away if anything happens.”
The redhead was quick to oppose that statement. “Except you left your sword at home and Pavo would run before you can even get on him.” He linked his fingers together. “Try again.”
“Luc, please.”
“You better give me a valid reason before I bend you over on the living room couch and spank you in front of everyone.”
Periwinkle eyes snapped up to meet his friend’s, full of apprehension and shock. “You’re joking.”
Unyielding volcanic red stared down at him. “I have permission from father.”
Kaeya bit his lower lip and dropped his gaze.
“Did you run away because you planned to meet with your new friend, hm?”
“No.”
“Then why?” Diluc asked. “Tell me why you were with him.”
“It was purely coincidental, I promise.” Kaeya took a deep breath to calm his nerves. “I just wanted to go out on a walk with Pavo through Wolvendom and then we bumped into Albedo on the way there.”
“That just brings us back to my first question of why you left without informing me.”
“Because then you would follow me.”
“Watch your tone,” the redhead snapped. “You ran away from our plans to hang out just to be with this guy you and I both barely know about.”
“I know plenty about him.”
“I know you better—”
“For archon’s sake!” Kaeya shouted. “Is this all about your stupid jealousy problem with Albedo? I can have other friends. You aren’t the most important person in my life!”
“I do not have a jealousy issue,” he rebutted. “This is an issue of you ghosting plans at the last second.”
Ignoring him, the younger of the two continued with his onslaught of questions. “Oh? Not a jealousy issue? Okay, fine. I’m just gonna spill everything now, huh? What if I told you you weren’t the only one that I have bent over for? I bent over for Albedo multiple times. More times than for you, actually.”
Luc clenched his fists on his thighs. “Kaeya.”
“I also kissed him before. How does that make you feel, hm? That I have kissed him before?” he taunted. Kaeya was only digging a deeper hole for himself, at this point. “I kissed him and never once did I offer that to you.”
“I don’t care about that because I like the opposite gender. Like how it naturally and normally should be.” The stiffening of his body said otherwise.
“Hey, and guess what, Luc? More than half the things we do aren’t categorized as ‘normal’,” he spat. “It isn’t
normal
for friends to sleep together at our age, much less cuddle. It isn’t
normal
for friends to bend their friend over on their lap and spank them. It isn’t
normal
for friends to feed each other their food—”
“No!” he protested, tears forming in his eyes as he stood up. “I’m so sick and tired of you constantly wanting to know where I am— I never get the freedom that I want!”
“I’m keeping you safe!”
“You’re not! You’re being possessive!”
“As long as it keeps you safe.”
Kaeya wiped his tears with his sleeve. “As long as it keeps me safe, hm? Albedo wants me to be safe but he never insists on crowding me everywhere I go!”
“Oh. You want to play it like that?” Diluc hissed. “Fine. If you’re going to include Albedo in everything, then go and live with him. Go!”
The blue-haired boy sniffled. “Maybe I will! It’ll make your stupid little life better, won’t it?!”
“It’s not like I need you, anyways!” The redhead screamed. “You’ve— You’ve always been a nuisance in my life!”
Kaeya stiffened and reclined back, a new wave of tears springing to his eyes. Quietly, he asked, “… Do you really mean that?”
However, Diluc was never one to take the time to understand others' emotions. “I hate you! I hate you, I hate you!” He stomped his foot on the ground, his own tears rising. “You’re— You’re so annoying and reckless, a–and spoiled!”
“Diluc—”
“I wish I never met you!”
It took time for the words to sink in and when it did for the both of them, Kaeya took a step back, heaving a quiet and broken “Oh”.
Diluc was quick to reach out to his friend. “No, Kae, I don’t mean that.” He took a tentative step forward and the other took another step back. “Kae…?”
“Please don’t,” came the hushed whisper. His gaze was downcast and his hair blocked others from looking at his face in such a vulnerable condition. “Don’t come near me.”
“I’m sorry,” the redhead begged. “I didn’t mean any of it. I’m sorry.”
Kaeya turned around to pick up his things from his bed, including little Kae who was watching the entire exchange. “I’m… I’m gonna go now.”
“Kaeya,” Diluc called, voice suddenly serious, “what is that?”
The blue-haired boy pushed past the redhead. “Diluc, will you just leave me the hell alone for once.”
A hand reached out and grabbed tightly on his wrist. “Tell me what’s that, first.”
“Oh, just fuck off!” Kaeya exclaimed, pulling his arm away from his friend harshly, tears building up again. “I don't want to talk to you!” In a hurry, he pulled open the door and left the room, leaving Diluc alone.
His hand fell back to his side. “… Oh…”
Kaeya didn’t go down for dinner that night. Throughout his entire meal, Diluc kept glancing at his seat and the staircase, hoping he’d eventually come down.
His father, of course, ever the one with vigilant eyes, noticed his son’s behaviour. He sliced into his beef. “Is there something you’d like to confess, Diluc?”
He noticed the way his descendant stiffened at the question.
“Perhaps something about Kaeya?”
Diluc gazed down at his untouched plate, having no appetite. “I think I may have angered him.”
Crepus hummed nonchalantly. “Definitely. The both of you caused quite the commotion just now.”
His son whimpered at the bluntness of his father and pushed his plate away, resting his face on the table. “What do I do?”
The adult stabbed his vegetables. “Well, apologise first. ‘The wife is always right’ is what your mother taught me.” He plopped the food in his mouth.
“But Kae isn’t a girl, he can’t be a wife. Also, we aren’t together.”
“Wait. You guys aren’t dating?” His father had a genuine look of surprise. “Wow. Um…”
“Did you think we were?”
“I mean, it’s just that the way the both of you are always together…”
Diluc scrunched up his face. “That's what any normal best friends would do.”
Crepus hummed. “Yeah but you two depend on each other and are always there for one another. Do you seriously garner no feelings for him?”
“No! Dad, what are you even talking about?”
“Alright, I won’t push you any more, then.” His father picked up his cup of juice. “Do tell me what your fight was about. You seem like you need to vent.”
“Kaeya made a new friend.”
An eyebrow raise. “Is that it? He just made a new friend and you two argued over it?”
“Yes! And no.” The red-eyed teen fumed silently. Well, not really. “He’s hanging out with him more than he’s hanging out with me now.”
He cut into his beef. “That’s probably because he wants to get to know him. What’s his name?”
“Albedo.”
“Oh! That young boy. He certainly is a mysterious being, just like dear Kaeya, but he’s nice and good-looking. I can see why your friend has taken a liking to him,” Crepus said. “Don’t you agree?”
Diluc grumbled and fiddled with his hands. “I guess… but Kaeya should still hang out with me like before.”
“My, my, are you jealous?”
“I’m not— Why does everyone think I’m jealous?”
His father wiped his mouth. “Alright, let me get this straight. You and Kaeya argued over him having a new friend and that he is hanging out with him more than with you?”
Diluc nodded.
“Why? Are you worried Kaeya might like Albedo more than you?”
“That’s not possible,” the red-eyed boy objected confidently.
“Why?”
“Because he likes me most. He told me that, himself.”
Wise green eyes closed as he hummed. “But who wouldn’t like a mysterious person that decided to randomly appear out of nowhere? Everyone likes a little bit of mystery, including Kaeya.”
Diluc shifted uncomfortably. “I guess…”
“I’m not going to intrude on your problem with Kaeya any more than I had,” Crepus said as he stood up from his seat. “Think about it, son. Talk to him. Remember not to get mad and be understanding.” He wiped his mouth and walked away. “Good luck.”
“Kaeya, I’m sorry,” Diluc whined.
It had been—what—two hours since the two friends woke up and the redhead had been relentlessly apologising every five minutes without fail. Kaeya, as usual, ignored him in favour of grooming his new horse which he had taken the pleasure to name Lucia—or Lux, for short—after his origin homeland’s language.
There was a knock on the stable’s door before Adeline gently swung it open. “Master Diluc?” She smiled when she caught sight of the young master. She bowed her head and held her hands together. “Miss Jean is here to see you.”
“Oh, um, do tell her I’ll be right out.”
The maid nodded and left the room.
Diluc turned to his best friend, who was beginning to saddle Lucia and was still not facing him. He sighed and wrapped his arms around the other’s waist, burying his face into his hair. “I’m sorry, Kae. I didn’t mean it.”
Kaeya pulled the saddle tight and clicked his tongue so that Lux would focus on him. He pushed away from the embrace and walked out into the paddock that the Ragnvindrs owned. Horse shoes clicked against the hard ground as they walked out.
The redhead contemplated chasing after his best friend but the thought of Jean still waiting outside appeared in his mind and he immediately turned around to leave in the other direction. “Hey, Jean!” he called, hurrying into a jog when he saw the blonde. “Sorry I took so long.”
She smiled. “It’s alright, Diluc. I know you were probably busy with Kaeya.” She glanced behind him. “Speaking of which, where is he?”
“We… had a fight.”
“Ah, I see. He’s not talking to you?”
Diluc sighed, running his hand through his untied hair. “Yep.”
Jean chuckled. “Your hair is so messy. You should get a haircut soon.”
“I probably should.” He hummed and played with his hair. “But this is growing on me.”
Just then, his concentration averted to another blond who was walking past him. “Albedo?”
“Sir Diluc, Miss Jean,” he greeted, as though he had not noticed them. “It’s nice to meet you here.”
Diluc cleared his throat. “Well, I do live here.” He was trying to maintain his behaviour to impress Jean, and Albedo seemed to notice that. “What are you doing here?”
A polite smile graced the boy’s lips as he tilted his head in a slight bow. “I am here to pick up Kae. Do you mind informing me where he is right now?”
A scowl threatened to take over but the redhead’s only reaction he slipped was a twitch on his eyebrow. “Apologies but I do not believe Kae wants to talk to anyone as of now.”
Albedo snickered. “I applaud your restraint, Master Diluc. Do pardon my intrusion.” He bowed at his waist formally before walking in the direction of the front door.
However, before he could get far, Diluc grabbed his wrist. “I do not appreciate you trespassing my family’s property, Albedo.”
“Ah! Sir Albedo,” Adeline greeted. “Master Kaeya is awaiting your arrival at the field. He requested me to come pick you up.” She turned at her heels. “Come along, now.”
The blond broke free from the grip and caught up with the maid. “Thank you, Ms.”
Diluc motioned to the leaving duo. “I’m… I’m going to…”
Jean smiled gently. “Of course. I’ll talk to you later?”
“Yes! I mean yes, of course.” He cleared his throat, a light flush brushing his cheeks. “I’ll talk to you later.”
She giggled and walked away, leaving him to head back to the stables.
He walked to the field where Kaeya and Albedo were. “Kaeya!” he greeted.
“Albedo,” Kaeya called, “can you be a dear and inform Master Diluc that I don’t want to talk to him today? I tried showing it through actions but…”
The blond nodded and turned to the redhead from where he was attempting to get on Pavo with the help of the mounting block. “Kae has told me to inform you not to bother him today as he does not want to talk to you.”
Diluc scoffed and crossed his arms. “I know. I heard it the first time.”
“Tell him I changed it to two days.”
The oldest of the bunch gasped. “What! Kaeya!” He scrambled to prepare Noctua and got her to start warming up for the day.
Kaeya checked the time. “Bedo, it's time to go.”
“Kae!”
“Sir Kaeya!”
The blue-haired boy turned around with a hum in reply.
When the boy caught up, he bent over and took deep breaths to calm his breathing. “I’m so glad I managed to catch up with you, Sir.”
“Please just call me Kaeya. ‘Sir’ makes me sound old.” Kaeya smiled down at the boy. “What is it that you need?”
“A few of our new recruits are having troubles with coping into the new environment. Do you mind if…?”
Kaeya sighed. “Yes, yes, of course.”
“Thank you, Kaeya. Also…” He motioned for the taller to bend down. He tiptoed to whisper in the other’s ear.
“Sir Diluc seems to be following you around…”
He rolled his shoulders and straightened his back. “I know. Please, ignore him. He’s rather… insistent on trailing after me today.”
“Kae, I bought us some corn dogs!”
Kaeya smiled and raised a hand over his shoulder. “Apologies.” He walked away, Diluc adamantly following after him with two corn dogs.
By evening, Kaeya was frustrated enough to give in to Diluc’s pleas. He turned around with the intention to snap at him but caught a glimpse of Jean at the last second. “Thank Archons!” He rushed towards her and clasped her hands in his. He gave her the best puppy dog eyes and begged, “Please save me from Diluc.”
She blinked and tilted her head in confusion. “Why?”
“He’s been trailing after me and it’s annoying.”
“How will I be of any help?”
“You can’t be serious.” Kaeya deadpanned. “Diluc has had a big fat crush on you for the past year or so—don’t tell me you haven’t noticed. Just tell him ‘Hey, can we hang out today?’ and he’ll do it. Maybe throw in ‘Luc’ and puppy eyes or something so he’ll be more convinced, not that you need it. Thank you, you’re a lifesaver, I’m counting on you.” He bolted in the direction of the cathedral.
The blue-haired boy ran up the stairs as fast as he could and panted heavily once he reached the top, bending over and catching his breath.
“Kaeya? What are you doing here?”
He looked up and noticed a familiar wine-haired sister carrying a box. “Rosa-jie!” he greeted with a smile. “Can I hang out with you today?”
Rosaria sighed and ruffled his hair. “Sorry, kid, the church is calling today.”
“I can follow you!” He gave her the puppy eyes. “I’ll be quiet, I promise!”
She was unrelenting at first, but he could see the gears turning in her head as she contemplated the options. “Don’t you have knightly duties?”
“I’m on break!”
“How about that redhead friend that you’re always with?”
“He’s on a date.” He clasped his hands together and looked up at the older girl. “Please, please, please! I won’t be a bother, I pinky swear!”
She sighed and motioned to the box on the ground. “Fine. Pick up that box and follow me. We’re going to learn a new hymn today so just stay quiet once we go in.”
Kaeya grinned triumphantly and did as he was told, lifting the box in his arms. They walked through the cathedral doors and to the front. He placed his box down before turning around to find a seat.
He pulled his knees to his chest and closed his eyes, allowing the music to lull him to sleep.
Kaeya awoke to the sound of giggles and a hand brushing loose hair away from his face. He grumbled and snuggled into the warmth.
“Good evening, Sir Kaeya,”
the high-pitched voice of a boy whispered.
“How was your nap?”
His periwinkle eye blinked away the drowsiness at the sound of an unfamiliar person and he stared up at the boy who was holding him close, stunned. He looked ethereal. Softly, he mumbled, “Hey.”
A smile graced the boy with twin braids as his eyes lit up with mirth. “Hello,” he greeted, voice still dancing with certain gentleness and tinted with amusement. “I must be very comfortable, huh?”
“You’re very pretty,” Kaeya blurted in his mixed haze of shock and tiredness.
A melodic laugh escaped from the boy. “Thank you. You’re gorgeous, too,” he complimented. He took a hand in his and played with it. “Would you like to hang out?”
Focused on how much smaller the other boy’s hand was, Kaeya agreed.
Kaeya, as if in a trance, followed the small boy into the forest. He looked around as the hand in his led him deeper. “W-Where are we going?”
The raven turned around and placed a finger to his lips. “To my secret hideout.”
“It won’t be much of a secret hideout if I knew about it.”
“It’ll be our secret, then~!”
Some part of Kaeya felt embarrassed and grateful that a stranger would trust him but another felt shy and wary about the exact same reason. “I-I don’t even know your name yet!”
“Venti’s the name!”
“Venti?”
“Mhm! Don’t wear it out!” He led them to a waterfall and walked behind it, into a well-hidden cave. “Here it is!”
“Wow…”
“Impressed?”
“I… yeah.”
“Thanks!”
How could someone not be impressed? A cave behind a waterfall was definitely a wonderful hideout! Such a shame Diluc won’t be able to experience this.
Venti took a seat and patted the ground in front of him invitingly. Once Kaeya took a seat, he immediately started speaking. “So, Kaeya, I’m just gonna get straight to the point here, okay?” he chirped. Not waiting for a response, he continued, “What is a Khaenri’ahn like you doing on the grounds of Barbatos? Were you not aware that he was one of the gods that demolished your country?”
Kaeya smirked. “Of course I was aware, Lord Barbatos.” He sent a faked close-eyed smile when the smaller’s brows narrowed. “I was merely hoping you’d let me stay. After all, this is your fault.”
“Nonsense. If you want to point fingers, point it at Celestia.”
He let out a laugh. “Now, now, Barbatos. I was never the one to point fingers. I’m simply saying that I am a child of your garden, now, yes?”
“Do not attempt to anger me, for I cannot guarantee your safety.”
“Now you’re just showing your temper.”
“Do you want to face the wrath of One of the Seven?” he fumed, the turquoise ends starting to glow. “I can assure you, you won’t end up in heaven.”
Kaeya tut-tutted, shaking his head. “The Masters of the Ragnvindr family won’t be happy when they realise one of their own was brutally slaughtered by their archon, would they?” He tittered. “My, they might even start a riot!”
“Their family is loyal to me, they would never join thee!”
The Khaenri’ahn hummed as he played with his ice. “Whatever you say, Lord Barbatos.”
Barbatos took deep breaths to calm himself, the tips of his hair gradually dimming to normal.
With a wave of his hand, the ice melts into nothing, as if it was never there in the first place. “Welcome back, Venti.”
Venti summoned his lyre and started to strum. “So you are aware.”
“Yes, of course,” Kaeya replied. “It was my mother who sent me here, after all.”
The sound of music was the only thing heard. After a minute of thinking, Barbatos spoke. “I will let you reside on my lands under one condition.” He stood and dissipated his instrument.
“And that is?”
“For as long as you inhabit my lands, you are my pawn. Your soul and your heart is mine and no other Archon’s. If you are in agreement, I will let you stay.”
Kaeya closed his eye and thought about it. “I don’t see what’s wrong with it.”
“Brilliant.” Gentle hands lifted his face up, causing him to stare into Barbatos’ glowing ones. “Now, my puppet, tell me what your mother had in store for me.”
His own glowed as an indication that he was in agreement and signed his end of the contract. Like ice, Kaeya melted into his Archon’s caress. “Of course, my Lord.”
“Kaeya!” Diluc rushed down the stairs when he noticed the bleuette walking in the downpour of rain through the window. He grabbed a towel and opened the front door, wiping down the trembling boy. “Where have you been?! Oh, Archons, it’s so late out!”
“Master Diluc—!”
“Adeline, please prepare materials to keep Kaeya warm!”
Kaeya leaned into his touch, it seemed, so Diluc grabbed his hand and led him to the bathroom. “I’ll go get him showered!”
Hesitantly, he made Kaeya wait by the side as he filled up the tub, pouring bubble soap into it. Once it was at an appropriate level, he shut off the tap and stuck his finger in the water, gradually warming it up with his Vision. He replaced his finger with his elbow every now and then to check the temperature.
After deeming it perfect, Diluc brought Kaeya over and started to help him to take off his clothes for a bath. However, the younger waved him off and did it himself before slipping into the bathtub. He slid down until his mouth was above the water.
The redhead sighed and started to bathe his friend, wetting his hair and shampooing it with Kaeya’s own shampoo. He gently rubbed it in and scrubbed his hair as the younger played with the bubbles.
“… Thank you,” Kaeya whispered, soft enough that Diluc almost didn’t catch it.
“Your welcome,” Diluc mumbled. “I’m… sorry about our fight. It wasn’t my right to restrict you like that. I’ll try to…” He paused mid-sentence, scrunching his nose. “Ah, damn, my nose.”
Kaeya lifted an arm and helped him to rub it.
“Thank you. As I was saying, it wasn’t my right to restrict you like that and I’ll try to…” He drifted off once more when he realised the bleuette was looking at him with his head tilted back, showing off his bare neck, collarbones, shoulders… His eyes drifted lower and he unconsciously licked his lips as he stared.
Kaeya’s brows furrowed. “… Diluc…?”
The redhead shook himself out of his thoughts, blushing wildly, and slapped his own face with both his hands, forgetting he had shampoo. He watched as the younger’s expression turned into one of shock. How dare I think of Kaeya that way! he exclaimed internally. It’s not normal to…
Diluc was snapped out of his thoughts once again when he heard Kaeya’s laughter. Like always, it started out small and quiet, and gradually increased in volume as time progressed. Eventually, Kaeya was in wheezes with a hand over his mouth to cover the laughter.
The redhead could only stare, enamoured by his… best friend …?
Do I like Kaeya? Diluc questioned, eyes widening in realisation. How long have I liked Kaeya? Is this going to be okay? Will Jean be mad? Will she think he was leading her on? Will she understand? Will my friends accept me? Will… will…!
Kaeya’s soft voice cut through his bulleting thoughts. “… Diluc…? Are you alright?”
He blinked down at the younger. Seeing his worried expression caused a warm feeling to blossom in his chest and ceased all his worries in a second.
… For some reason, Diluc thinks they will be alright.
|
As much as George loves streaming, it’s all he’s been doing lately and that’s taking a toll on him.
What started as filming a simple seven-hour Minecraft manhunt for Dream’s channel on Tuesday snowballed into a following six-hour Minecraft speedrun stream and an impromptu four-hour Q&A stream with Wilbur followed by an eight-hour Dream SMP stream. By this point, it had been 25 hours since George slept but, being too stubborn to reschedule, George followed through with the video for his channel he had planned to film. Filming for that lasted another six hours and then he promised to stream so he streamed for another five hours.
George can confidently say he’s never been so tired in his life.
He’s been stereotyped as the one who’s always sleeping, someone who sleeps way more than they need but, the truth is, he’s been slowly getting less and less sleep the more projects are presented to him. He always feels bad turning down his friends who always help him back, so he takes on twice as much as he’s capable of doing and works himself to the bone.
Just like what he’s doing now.
Checking the time with unfocused eyes, George sighs, rubbing his eyes. It’s been 36 hours since he slept.
Fuck.
George is about to turn off his phone and sleep for a solid twenty hours at least when he gets a text from Karl asking to join Sapnap, Dream and Quackity for a Jackbox stream. George is cranky, tired, and miserable but even as frustrated as he is, he can’t bring himself to decline. Taking a deep breath and brewing some coffee in the kitchen, George agrees and tells them he’ll be on in a few.
George doesn’t even like coffee that much but he knows he’ll need it if he’s really agreed to stream for another three hours at least.
Grabbing water and his coffee, George sits down at his desk and gets his set up prepared. He joins the discord call and opens Karl’s stream, taking a deep breath to prepare himself for the false energy he exudes.
“GOGY!” Sapnap screams as soon as George enters the call.
“SAPNAP!” George yells back. “HELLO!”
“We got Gogy!” Karl exclaims, whooping and hopping around excitedly. “Welcome, welcome.”
“Hello everyone!” George says with a smile.
“Karl, check your chat,” Dream wheezes. “Holy cow.”
George turns to his monitor where Karl’s stream is open and checks the chat out of curiosity; they’re all spamming him to turn on his face cam and stream on his channel.
“Guys, he just got here!” Karl exclaims with a laugh. “I never should have invited George. He’s got too many simps to handle.”
“So, Gogy, where’s that pretty face of yours, hm?” Sapnap purrs playfully.
“Sapnap!” George blushes furiously, thankful his face cam isn’t on yet.
“What? I’m just asking what chat wants to know,” Sapnap defends. “Give the people what they want, know what I’m saying?”
“Oh, sure, sure,” Quackity pipes up. “You’re asking for chat and not yourself, gotcha.”
“George is a pretty man, is he not?”
“Yeah but you’re not talking on behalf of anyone!”
“Guys!” George interrupts, red and embarrassed. “Stop. Just give me a second and I’ll start a stream.”
“WOOOOO!” Quackity screams. “Let’s fucking go!”
George shakes his head and sets up his mic and webcam. Bracing himself, he plasters on a thin smile and starts his stream like he would any other day. He does his best to uphold his signature energetic attitude for the stream, knowing full well he has to put on a false front for his audience. He tries his best to hide his exhaustion as he really doesn’t want to face all the conspiracies his fans would have if he's visibly dishevelled.
“Hey guys! Impromptu JackBox stream courtesy of Mr. Karl Jacobs,” George announces. “Welcome!”
“Yeah,” Karl pipes up. “You should all subscribe to me using Twitch Prime to thank me for getting Gog up and streaming!”
The rest of the guys start bickering about who should get the viewers’ Twitch Prime but George stays silent, smiling politely. Finally, the Quiplash round starts and George does what he can not to let his facade falter.
“The easiest way to make a gamer mad,” Karl reads off. “Ooh, this is a good one.”
George barely pays attention to the answers, only really putting in a half-assed effort for his. Everyone roasts him for being bad but he really can’t find the energy to care. He brushes it off, aware that he’s acting different, but just hopes no one notices.
George scans the chat and pales when he reads, ‘gog you look tired. hella bags, dude. get some sleep’ followed by everyone spamming ‘when is he not sleeping lolol’
George’s stomach churns but he ignores the comments, determined to keep going. His phone dings and George unlocks it to see a text from Dream.
Clay Dream: you good? you’re not acting yourself
gogy: im fine just a little tired from working
George shoots the camera a relaxed smile, knowing Dream’s watching his stream and hopes it relieves Dream of his worry. George swiftly locks his phone and takes another swig of his coffee.
“What’s that?” Quackity suddenly asks. “Is Jo-ji having some tea?”
George cringes at Quackity’s attempt at a British accent. “No. It’s coffee, actually.”
Karl wrinkles his nose. “Coffee? Dude, George, it’s like one in the morning. Why are you drinking coffee?”
George shrugs. “Just needed a little energy booster.”
“But you hate coffee,” Sapnap pipes up. “You British ass, you only ever drink tea.”
George laughs nervously. “What is this, an interrogation? I’m just drinking some coffee!”
Everyone seems to die down at that but George gets another message from Dream almost as soon as he stops talking.
Clay Dream: seriously george, you hate coffee. u sure ur ok?
gogy: simp
Clay Dream: george
gogy: really, im fine, dont worry about it :]
Hoping that response will suffice, George returns his attention to his stream and tries to relax. However, upon looking up at his monitor, George panics when he realizes his vision is blurred. He rubs at his eyes and tries blinking away the spots but they stay burning at his vision. His friend’s voices get quieter, too, and he feels himself slipping.
“Shit,” George mutters, dazed. He grabs his cup of coffee but he doesn't have enough energy to lift it; all he does is spill the scalding liquid onto his lap. He doesn’t even have the energy to jump up, just hisses and sits there, the liquid burning his lap. “Fuck!”
“George?” Dream asks. “What’s going on?”
“Spilled my coffee,” George cringes at the sound of his voice. It’s rough and slurred, he’s slipping, slipping fast. “S’okay.”
George makes a move to stand but a sudden wave of dizziness hits him hard. Slumping down in his seat, George nervously glances at his monitor before his eyes roll up into his head and he collapses with a heavy thud on his desk.
“George?” Dream’s eyes flit over George on his stream, momentarily ignoring their game. His eyebrows are furrowed in concern and he stares at his friend in worry. George isn’t acting normal, there’s something off about him. He looks pale and tired and the fact that he won’t talk about it with Dream worries him. “What’s going on?”
Dream watches as George looks up, delirious, and blinks. “Spilled my coffee,” He’s slurring and his voice is rough like he hasn’t slept in days. Dream’s heart hammers against his chest in concern. Something isn’t right. “S’okay.”
Dream watches as George goes to stand up but slumps back in his chair. Dream practically launches himself out of his chair as he watches George’s eyes roll back into his head. He collapses onto his desk with a thump, startling all four friends.
“George!” Dream exclaims. “Oh my God, George?”
“What just happened?” Quackity asks, looking around in confusion. “George?”
“Um, streams over,” Dream blurts. “Karl, end the stream.”
“What-”
Dream doesn’t even bother to shut off his computer as he sprints to the door, grabbing his keys. He hears Sapnap calling out to him but he ignores him in favour of running to his car and speeding to George’s apartment.
It’s an excruciating seven-minute drive before Dream gets to his best friend's building. Thanking any and all Gods that Dream has a key to George’s apartment, Dream sprints to the elevator and takes it up to George’s floor, shaking with adrenaline. He rushes to George’s door and all but throws it open, running to George’s bedroom.
“George!”
Dream runs to George’s desk where George still lays, unmoving, slumped over. He doesn’t even care if the viewers can see his face as he shuts off George’s computer and surveys his friend, noticing the steam coming from the spilled coffee in his lap. What happened to him?
“George!” Dream gently shakes George’s shoulders and George flinches, only lifting himself off his desk a centimetre before collapsing again. “What…”
“George, are you okay?”
George struggles to turn his head and gives up after it proves harder than he thought. “Who’s… Dream?”
“It’s me,” Dream confirms. “What happened?”
George slowly bears his groundings and whines. “Fuck. I passed out on stream, didn’t I?”
“Yeah, you did,” Dream says sheepishly. “But-why’d you pass out?”
Unease spreads in George’s chest. “I… haven’t had much sleep recently.”
Dream can tell there’s something George isn’t telling him. “When’s the last time you slept?”
George hesitates. “Um… forty hours ago?”
Dream splutters. “George! That’s almost two full days!”
George groans into the desk. “I know.”
“Why haven’t you been sleeping?”
“Work.”
Suddenly, it all makes sense. Dream remembers the manhunt they filmed the previous day and then everything else George did comes to his head. Manhunt then speedrun, Q&A with Wilbur, Dream SMP stream, filming a video then another livestream. Dream goes pale and his heart drops when he realizes he knew George wasn’t sleeping but didn’t clue into it. Guilt pelts him and he falters.
“Shit, George, you need some sleep.”
George snorts. “Yeah, no shit, Sherlock.”
Dream ignores the quip. “Can you stand?”
George pushes himself off the desk and almost falls over in his chair. Dream catches him and George whines. “Guess not.”
“I’ll help you to your bed.”
Dream pulls George up and drags him to his bed. George makes a move to slip beneath the covers but Dream stops him.
“What?” He whines.
“You have hot coffee in your lap.” Dream says with a chuckle. “Want a change of pants?”
He just nods sluggishly. “Just some sweats, please.”
Dream grabs a pair of gray sweats from George’s dresser and throws it to him. “You can change on your own, right?”
George goes red and looks down. “I think I’ll manage, thanks.” He snaps back playfully.
Dream turns while George changes and, after George is situated in his bed, Dream turns off all the lights, before plugging George’s phone in to charge. He grabs the glass of water on George’s desk and sets it on the nightstand.
“Thanks, Dream,” George slurs into his pillow, eyes closed with his back to Dream. He sighs comfortably, curled up in bed. “I love you.”
Dream grins like a little kid and pulls out his phone. “Hm?” He pretends he didn’t hear George as he starts recording.
“I said, thanks, Dream,” George repeats, slightly louder. “I love you.”
Dream ends the video and pats George on the head. “Love you too, George. Goodnight.”
“Night.”
Dream quietly makes his way out of George’s apartment and texts Karl, Quackity and Sapnap what happened before leaving. He drives back to his and Sapnap’s place and stumbles to the couch, his nerves shot from the adrenaline and worry about George.
With a shit-eating grin on his face, Dream opens his phone and rewatches the video. It’s focused on George’s tired face, eyes closed and face relaxed against his pillow. George looks absolutely adorable, like a little kid getting tucked in. Opening Twitter, Dream attaches the video and adds the caption ‘night, george’ and clicks tweet. It only takes a few seconds to upload before it blows up. Knowing exactly what George’s reaction will be when he wakes up the next morning, Dream wheezes and heads to his own bedroom to sleep.
6:37pm
Incoming Call: gogy
Without thinking, Dream answers and pulls the phone to his ear. “Hello?”
“DREAM!”
Dream almost drops the phone but doubles over realizing when he remembers. “Morning, George. Sleep well?”
|
The shock of someone grabbing his wrists rushed through him like a lightning bolt.
Caleb shuddered, chest heaving with shallow pants. From what he could see through his unfocused gaze, the hands holding his still were spattered with drying blood and blue-skinned. He blinked rapidly and rasped, "Jester?"
"Hi, Caleb," she whispered. "Can you stop, please?"
His hands shook in her grasp. He wanted to tear them out of hers. All of him was shaking and he couldn't stop. "What..."
"We're at an inn," Jester said, with the same odd, trembling-soft voice. Caleb's stomach twisted ever harder at the anxiety in it. "We were fighting, there was a Scourger, and you killed them. They burned up. And there was, um, there were those crystals."
Glints of blue-green had shimmered from the last vestiges of firelight in the human ash, and if Caleb had been teetering on the edge of panic from the death, the sight of residuum where the Volstrucker's arms had crumbled apart kicked him into oblivion.
His arms burned. His throat felt scratched raw as if he had been screaming. He twisted at Jester's hold, but he was weak and trembling in the throes of his fit and her grip was firm.
"Let go, please," he whispered. "I need you to let go."
"But your arms, Caleb." Her tone was mournful.
Caleb shivered. More of the feeling had returned to his limbs, the burning under his skin and the sweat beading cold all over him. He needed to move, he needed to run, he needed— "Please, Jester."
"No."
His jaw ground on itself. There was a minute voice, saner and self-aware, that spat at him for being so weak, and for horrifying Jester in his desperation, but he couldn't do this. His arms were bloody, and his body didn't scream enough.
"Jester," he groaned, tugging against her grip again.
"You're not hurting yourself anymore," Jester said firmly. She squeezed his wrists, and the pressure so near his wounds lessened the straining inside for the briefest second. "Caduceus made me a salve, since we're all out of healing spells. I need to put it on your arms, okay?"
Caleb shook his head. More hair slipped from its tie to obscure his eyes, and he wanted to rip it all out.
Jester put one of his hands over the other and wrapped them tightly in one of her own—around his fingers, long and thin so her much smaller hand could securely trap them both. He could see the bright red blood coating his fingertips now and clotted beneath his nails, much fresher than the crusting stains on Jester's hands. Her grip tightened enough for her knuckles to pale, and the creak of his own knuckles beneath it almost eased some of the screaming hateful urge.
"Stay still, please," she said, and Caleb finally noticed the open tin of salve on the floor as she dipped her free hand into it.
His jaw continued to grind and clench as the salve stung deep on his arms. This pain cooled the heat inside him, warmed the sweat on his skin, but now the ache shifted to his face. Caleb could feel the ash of the Volstrucker smeared across his cheekbone.
"Jester," he croaked.
Jester resolutely continued to apply the salve over his arms. His eyes had now focused enough to let him see how ugly the wounds were, how deeply he had clawed at his scars in his fit.
"Jester."
"Shush."
Caleb tugged at Jester's grip, stronger now. Jester's fingers skipped over his arms and caught on a bloody gouge, and she yelped in shock. Caleb hissed at the searing flash of pain, mostly on instinct.
"Caleb!"
"I need my components bag," he insisted. Its weight was absent from his waist. "Where is it."
"Why?"
"I need it."
Jester brandished more salve at him. "Why?"
"Just—give it to me, Jester, where is it?"
"Why, so you can smear bat shit on your face?" she snapped.
Caleb hissed again, knowing that this time he sounded like an angry Frumpkin and hating himself for it, for the burn of frustration and shame welling inside his chest.
She glared. Caleb's heart wrenched at the unexpected wetness to her eyes.
She swiped her fingers on his face.
Caleb recoiled, blinking an eye shut. The salve was now haphazardly clinging in clumps from an eyelid down to the cheek on the other side of his face. He watched with his unobstructed eye as Jester's careful hands smoothed the globs of salve over more of his face. The sticky substance began to dry almost immediately, uncomfortable and tightening on his skin.
"There." Jester's voice was soft and bitter. "So at least it's not bat shit."
The condemnation tore into his chest like wet paper, and tears sprung to Caleb's eyes. Exhaustion was overtaking the squirming energy broiling beneath his skin, now that wounds and salve burned on his arms and the latter dried uncomfortably on his face. But it couldn't sweep away his shame.
He looked away as he felt her touch return to his arms, squeezing his eyes shut.
Caleb's limbs rested easier, his chest no longer heaving. But the stiff, raging tension in them had simply fled out to suffuse the silence around them.
He never opened his mouth or shifted a muscle. It was Jester as she started on his other arm.
"You scared us," she said. The quiet quaver had returned. "You scared me."
Caleb swallowed thickly. "I... I'm sorry, Jester."
"I didn't like it. Seeing you hurt yourself like that, with your eyes all gone. It was terrifying." She squeezed his fingers, the gesture tender this time. "I don't want you to hurt yourself."
"...You would be right to."
He glanced at her out of the corner of his gaze. Jester had her lips pressed together, staring down at his arm as she applied Caduceus's salve to the last of his self-inflicted gouges. There was indeed a paleness to her face, an artificial gauntness of strain and fear. Caleb's stomach twisted, and he went back to looking away at the floor.
The grip on his fingers loosened, even as there was another squeeze. "I'm sorry, Caleb," came Jester's soft voice.
Caleb exhaled through his nose. "Why are you sorry? I terrified you."
"Because it wasn't your fault, but you have to deal with it all now anyway. What Icky-Thong did to you."
It shouldn't have been that easy or appropriate to feel a smile stir on his lips, but it was Jester. Of course it did. "It's all right, Jester."
"No, it's not."
Caleb shrugged a shoulder. "I have to deal with it," he repeated. "Perhaps it is not my fault, but it is a reality I am used to now. I am only sorry that you had to see it."
He looked at her and winced; the tears had returned to her eyes. Why was he always hurting her?
She snuffled.
"Don't cry, Jester," Caleb said helplessly.
Without warning, she flung her arms around him. He stiffened immediately, salve-covered arms hanging uselessly at his sides as Jester buried her face into his shoulder. Her hug wrapped around his chest like Frumpkin as an octopus.
"I'm not," she said muffled into his shirt. "See, you can't see it. Please don't hurt yourself, Caleb."
Caleb swallowed at the lump in his throat and raised an arm to squeeze her gingerly back, careful not to stain any part of Jester with the fresh blood on his fingers. "I will try my best. Thank you."
|
The next day, Recovery Girl wasn’t there.
Deku stood next to Yagi-sensei, ready to practice with his new quirk, and the healer wasn’t nearby to help if things went to shit.
Katsuki really didn’t like this. What if the dumbass went and fucked himself up again? Sure, he’d gotten better yesterday, but it was obvious using the quirk didn’t come naturally to him, yet. That shit took time.
At least Yagi-sensei was forcing the nerd to go slow, though. Today the man had brought a punching bag and was having the nerd alternate punching it with each hand. After each punch, the bag would fly off a bit, and Deku would have to go drag it back, quirk still activated and lights still dancing around his arm. Then he’d switch.
Meanwhile, Katsuki was doing unsupervised training—mostly last week’s endurance exercises with just enough added to them that he wanted to kill the old man. Katsuki was fine with the repetitive torture, though, since it meant Yagi-sensei would be paying close attention to Deku. The shitty nerd needed the help.
Over time, Deku was getting faster and faster at the switch, and more confident with his punches. A few days later, and All Might even sparred with him for the day in his hero form. Katsuki’d been working on his flying that day and acted as a lookout, warning the duo whenever someone was approaching the beach.
That was the other thing—people were starting to realize that Dagobah Beach was clean again, and, slowly but surely, the area was becoming more crowded.
Katsuki hated that they were slowly losing what had been their training ground, but Deku looked thrilled whenever someone commented on how nice it was to have the beach back.
The shitty nerd liked helping people like that.
After a full week of punching practice, Katsuki was beginning to get annoyed by an obvious oversight. If he hadn’t noticed it yet, the nerd must be fucking exhausted.
Deku’s fighting style relied a lot on their karate forms and on using his environment around him—a trick he’d picked up from Eraserhead’s videos. On the beach, there wasn’t too much to use, so the nerd was sticking mainly to punches from karate. He did, however, throw in the occasional kick to keep his opponents off guard.
Katsuki’s eyebrow twitched as All Might took the kick as if he didn’t feel the shitty attack.
Fuck, he probably hadn’t, with how strong he was.
“Oi, dumbass, why are you just using your quirk in your hands?”
“Huh?” Deku halted in his steps, his eyes confused. “What do you mean, Kacchan?”
“All Might punches a lot, sure, but you aren’t even thinking about using the damn quirk in your legs!” Katsuki growled in frustration, “Fuck, one of the first things we fucking tested was if my quirk was centered in my hands or if I could activate it in other places. Why haven’t you done the same fucking thing?”
The nerd was relying too much on All Might’s shitty exercises and not thinking for himself! Dumbass.
Deku’s eyes widened in realization as All Might beamed at Katsuki. “A good suggestion, Young Bakugou! One For All does, after all, enhance the whole body. It’s how I can jump so high and run so quickly!”
“So…” Deku looked down at his legs, frowning. “I should be able to do those things, too?”
“Exactly! But be careful not to use too much of your power!”
“Right…” Deku shuddered, no doubt remembering his mangled arm.
“Tch.” Katsuki rolled his eyes and flew into the sky again, trying to use his explosions to build up enough momentum to make himself go into a spiral. It was tricky to get the timing right, but All Might had encouraged him to do any sort of practice with his quirk in order to build up endurance with it, and this was the only thing Katsuki could think of at the moment.
A few days later, and Katsuki finally had a spiral going, but it wasn’t tight enough or fast enough. He growled in frustration, about to jump up into the air once more.
“Young Bakugou!”
Katsuki froze, glancing over to where Yagi-sensei was standing next to a beaming Deku. Had the nerd finally mastered using his legs at the low percentage?
“How would you two like to have a race again, this time with your quirks?”
Bakugou grinned, oh, it was on. “Get ready to die, Deku.”
His soulmate swallowed nervously, “Kacchan, you’re doing the evil grin again.”
His grin just widened, “You got a problem with that, nerd?”
“Nope!” Deku shook his head vigorously, “None, just… um… a bit intimidating.” He paused, then grinned, his eyes taking on a determined gleam, “But I’m going to beat you, Kacchan! My quirk is better suited for speed.”
Oh, the little shit was so dead! “My quirk does just fine with speed, dumbass!”
“Now, now!” Yagi-sensei laughed nervously, “Why don’t you two start here,” he drew a line in the sand with his foot, “and race to the stairs? We’ll lengthen the distance each day as Young Midoriya gets more accustomed to his quirk.”
“You’re going to die!” Katsuki took a swig from the water drum, then ran over to stand behind the line.
Deku gave him that same fucking determined grin, “I’m going to win this time, Kacchan!”
“Go to hell, Deku.”
“Start!”
Katsuki jolted forward, palms igniting, by now used to the lack of a countdown. He could hear Deku just behind his shoulder, actually fucking keeping pace.
Shitrag.
Katsuki focused on his explosions, making sure that they were as strong as they could be while still allowing him to maintain his balance.
Behind him, Deku tripped and went sprawling in the sand.
Katsuki reached the steps a few seconds later and landed on his feet before turning around to look back at his soulmate.
He burst out laughing, “I thought you were going to fucking beat me, you damn nerd, not faceplant into the sand!”
Deku groaned before slowly standing up and dusting the sand off. He looked up at Katsuki, his determined grin from earlier still in place, his eyes shining bright with happiness. “Again. Let’s go again, Kacchan.”
Holy shit.
Katsuki swore he stopped breathing for a second.
Seeing the nerd all damn determined like this, determined to beat him, even….
Katsuki grinned back at the nerd, “I’ll fucking kill you however many times you want.”
“Wonderful enthusiasm, boys!” The two of them positioned themselves at the start line, waiting for All Might’s cue.
The second he gave it, they were off again, racing toward the stairs.
This time, Deku tripped after only a few steps.
Katsuki stopped mid-flight, turning back to glare at the nerd. “What the fuck?!” A victory didn’t mean shit if his opponent wasn’t even close to him.
“Sorry, Kacchan! It’s still hard to run with my quirk activated in both legs. But I’ll get the hang of it!”
“Tch.” Katsuki held out his hand, helping the nerd back on his feet. “Then you better fucking focus.”
“Of course!” Determined grin still in place, Deku positioned himself back behind the start line. “I’m going to beat you!”
“Die, nerd.”
“Start!”
This time, Deku made it halfway.
Then three fourths.
Then halfway again.
Then three fourths again.
After several hours, Katsuki’s hands were beginning to blister, and Deku was drenched with sweat, but he still looked up with that same smile in place. “I’ll get it this time, Kacchan. I know I will!”
Katsuki once again positioned himself behind the now disheveled start line, “I’ll believe it when I damn well see it, shitty nerd.” The nerd had been getting closer and closer.
“Just this one more, my boys. You do have to go home and do your work for school tomorrow.”
Deku nodded sharply, and then the signal was given.
Katsuki blinked. Deku was actually a little bit ahead of him? Shit. His hands were hurting, so his explosions probably weren’t as strong as earlier.
Fuck that.
He increased their power, passing the shitty nerd, but Deku stayed close behind him. He remained at Katsuki’s shoulder, even after all the points where the nerd usually tripped.
Katsuki grinned, eyeing the approaching steps. Finally. He would finally get a victory where the nerd didn’t eat sand.
He pushed himself a bit harder, wobbling slightly in the air, but keeping steady as he crossed the final few feet.
He let loose one last blast and reached forward, fingers stretching toward the stair railing.
Contact.
He laughed, feet landing on the stone stairs.
Deku skidded to a halt a second later, stumbling up a few steps and sitting down with a thump halfway up. His soulmate let out a shaky breath, eyes bright with happiness. “I did it, Kacchan!” He actually had to reach up and wipe a fucking tear away, the dumbass was so happy.
Katsuki’s hand tussled the sandy green locks, “I still fucking beat you, you damn crybaby.”
Deku laughed, “I’m just so happy! And you beat me for today, Kacchan. For today.”
Katsuki shoved the nerd’s head, making him wobble slightly on the stairs. “Fuck that, I’ll kill you any day, Deku.”
“Of course.” Deku pushed Katsuki’s hand aside and stood up, “Just don’t forget that I can beat you, too, Kacchan. When I want to.” His grin was wide and playful, and Katsuki wanted to murder him.
“Huh?!” Katsuki glared at his soulmate as he walked toward their sensei, “What’s that, you shitty nerd? Who has the more victories at the dojo?”
“You.” Deku looked over his shoulder and stuck out his tongue, “But that doesn’t mean I haven’t won some, Kacchan. Or that I can’t win again.”
Fuck no! “We’re racing again right now so I can kill you and remind you who’s the fucking best, here.”
“But Kacchan, Yagi-sensei said that was the last one for the day!”
“Then we’re racing home!”
“But you’ll be carrying the water drum, so you won’t have both hands to use your quirk!” Deku shrugged, taking a couple steps back towards the stairs. “Plus we won’t have adult supervision, so the quirk usage would be illegal.”
“Fuck! Fine! A quirkless race, then!”
“You’re on!” and with that, the shitrag sped off, yelling “Bye, Yagi-sensei!” over his shoulder.
“Fucker!” Katsuki grabbed the water drum, hefting it over his shoulder as he ran after his soulmate. It was damn hard to run with this shit, but he would still fucking win.
He lost.
Katsuki seethed for the rest of the night, while Deku wore a damn annoying grin.
The next morning, they raced to school and Katsuki beat him by a full minute, but Deku claimed that was because Katsuki had started before Deku realized they were racing.
Like the shitty nerd hadn’t done the same thing the night before.
For the next few weeks, though, that was their schedule—race after race after race, the distance slowly increasing as the days went by. Katsuki didn’t mind. The races helped him work on stamina and balance with his quirk. And he still did some weight training while Deku hit the punching bag at the beginning of each day.
Once Deku could reliably run without falling on his face, Yagi-Sensei started to spar with them, the two of them against his All Might form for one hour every day, though sometimes that had to be cut short if other people came to use the beach.
Fucking assholes ruining their practice.
It’s not like he and Deku could use their quirks to spar against each other because of the damn bond. That hour was really the only quirk sparring practice they were able to get, and the UA exams were just two and a half months away, by that point.
One day they went to meet Yagi-sensei on the beach, ready for another day of sparring, and caught him looking out at the water, lost in thought. “Oi! Old man!”
The hero gave a start then turned to face them. “Ah! My boys. I was just thinking about our sparring sessions…” he tapped his chin thoughtfully, then muttered, “Teaching works best when the students find the answer themselves.” Katsuki’s eyebrow twitched, was that from some fucking teaching textbook? Before he could call the twig out on it, the hero continued, “You two rarely land an unguarded hit on me when we fight, despite the fact that both of you are very fast. Do you know why?”
Katsuki frowned. “Because you’re the fucking #1 hero for a reason.” Deku nodded beside him.
Yagi-sensei laughed, “As flattering as that is, my boys, no, that’s not what I was thinking. You both can sync up attacks very well, and you can certainly surprise me for a second or two by throwing each other or something like that, but you don’t play to each other’s individual strengths very well.” Their individual strengths? What the fuck did he mean? Katsuki frowned, trying to figure it out. Both he and Deku had pretty well-rounded quirks that were good for attacking.
Yagi-sensei sighed, then slipped into his All Might form. “There’s no one here at the moment, so let’s start with sparring, today. I want you to pay attention to how and where each of you makes your strongest attacks.”
“Right!” Deku nodded firmly, falling into a fighting stance. Katsuki distanced himself a few paces, then did the same.
“Begin!” Deku darted forward, light dancing around his legs, then it switched to his arm as he tried to land a hit on All Might’s jaw. Katsuki flew toward All Might, readying himself to hit the man on his side. Before either hit landed, though, Deku was blasted backwards, and Katsuki had to quickly dodge his flying soulmate.
Thinking fast Katsuki reached backwards and grabbed Deku’s shirt, using his other hand to alter their momentum and send Deku flying back toward All Might. Then he dropped to the ground, landing in a steady stance for a large explosion.
The second All Might dodged or Deku was sent flying again—there!
Boom!
Heat rippled against his face, but he quickly stopped the explosion. Fuck All Might, the man still managed to jump out of the way. Shit. Katsuki had thought he’d created a good set-up to catch the old man off-guard, too.
Deku was already running toward the hero once again but the nerd stuck his tongue out at Katsuki as he passed, “Kacchan! A warning next time before you let loose a big one, please!”
“Fuck you!” Katsuki propelled himself up into the air, trying to watch for the best moment to attack. “Then he’d get the damn warning, too!”
Deku’s lightning was flashing everywhere as he dodged All Might. “I almost got fried!” He lifted his left arm for a punch, then brought his right arm, which lit up at the last second, around to hit All Might. The hero easily saw through the left bluff, though, and blocked the right swing. Damn it. The quirk lights made it really fucking hard for Deku to fake out his opponent or shit like that.
As Deku backed off from the attack, Katsuki flew in, his hand almost reaching All Might before he was shoved to the side and sent flying. Quickly, he let out a few blasts to reverse his momentum and head back in. Deku was coming in, too. “Like I’d hit you with an explosion! Trust my aim, dumbass!”
Katsuki flipped through the air, dodging All Might’s swing and landing a hit on his shoulder, not that the hero even appeared to notice the fucking explosion.
All Might grabbed both of them by the arms, halting their movements before throwing them into a heap a few meters away. “Please be careful, my boys. You really don’t want to hit each other and mess up the bond. If I suspect that you might, I’ll stop these spars immediately.”
“Ugh!!!” Katsuki screamed in annoyance, throwing himself upwards and then into a tight spin, gaining force for his next attack. “Fucking fine! Damn you!”
Not only did All Might dodge his damn attack, he sent Deku flying on top of him a second later.
Katsuki groaned at the impact. Damn it, the shitty nerd was heavy.
“Sorry, Kacchan!” Deku slid off of him, not even pausing before he adopted a fighting stance and once more charged toward All Might.
Katsuki pushed himself up. He would land a hit that would get a fucking reaction from the hero.
Despite his determination to do so, though, when the hour ended Katsuki had yet to land a single other hit.
“Damn it!” He grabbed the water drum, taking a swig of water before passing it over to Deku.
Yagi-sensei morphed back into his twig form, hands now resting on his hips. The old man wasn’t even fucking out of breath. “Well, did you notice anything?”
Deku immediately spoke up, “My best attacks are from the ground because I can shift my footing and move faster there, but Kacchan’s are from the air, like with his spinning attack, or when he abruptly changes momentum or something like that. His large explosions are easy to dodge because he’s standing still, so you know where they’re coming from.”
“Tch.” Yeah, he’d noticed the same shit. “Since I’m better in the air, and Deku’s better on the ground, we should each be trying to attack you that way.”
“Or take advantage of each other!” Katsuki blinked, turning to his soulmate. “Like, All Might’s focused on the ground when he’s fighting me, and the air with you, right? He can only pay attention to so much at one time! So he’s not paying attention to the other area when one of us attacks. We should be trying to use that to our advantage, or do something like force him to dodge in a way that will put him in the way of the other person’s attack!”
“Exactly!” Yagi-sensei was beaming at Deku.
“Tch.” They’d been fucking trying to do that last shit this whole damn time but hadn’t had too much luck. Maybe adding in this new information would help with it, though?
Whatever. There was something else that had been bugging him recently, and if Yagi-sensei wanted to talk about tactics, he might as well fucking mention it. “Deku’s quirk lights—can we do something about them? He’s gotten better at not using his quirk until the last second so that it doesn’t give away his moves and shit, but the lights mean any fake attack is damn obvious.” Katsuki ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Is there something he can do about that? You’re in bulky form all the time when you fight, right? So could Deku constantly use the quirk like that?”
Yagi-sensei and Deku stared at him. “C-c-constantly? How… that would be so freaking hard, Kacchan!”
“But it would keep enemies from knowing where you were attacking.” Katsuki rolled his eyes at his soulmate before turning back to Yagi-sensei. “Well? Could he do it? Hold 3% constantly?”
All Might nodded slowly. “He could. Young Midoriya has gotten good enough at keeping the percent steady in each limb when he uses it, so it shouldn’t be too hard for him to keep it steady throughout his whole body. It will be taxing, though.”
Katsuki raised an eyebrow at his soulmate. “There you have it, dumbass. You gonna work on it, or are you going to stay fucking weak? You wanted to get better at the damn quirk fast, right?”
“Of course I’ll work on it!” Deku glared at him, “It’s just going to take a while, that’s all.” The nerd began twiddling with his thumbs, “and I want to keep sparring, but this will probably keep us from doing that, since I’ll need to get my quirk under control, first—gah!”
Deku stumbled forward as Yagi-sensei clapped him on the back. “Not to worry, my boy! We can only spar for one hour, right? You keep using your quirk like you have been in spars, but then after that we’ll work on this new technique!”
“Ok!” Deku nodded firmly, grin back in place.
Deku may have been determined to conquer it, but the nerd took fucking forever. It was a week before Yagi-sensei let him use the full body quirk in spars, and Katsuki could tell that the nerd was moving a lot damn slower since he was still focusing so much on his body.
It was a fucking pain in the neck, and both of them were landing fewer hits on the hero because of it.
Slowly, though, day by day, that number increased again. Katsuki finally felt like they might actually get to the point that they did better than before when—
“I’m not going to train with you two over the next two weeks.”
“What the fuck?!” Katsuki stared at Yagi-sensei in disbelief, “These are the last two weeks before the entrance exam, you asshole!”
“Exactly!” The hero stared at the both of them. “I have no doubt that you two are ready for the practical exam! You both will do wonderfully!” Yagi-sensei smiled, “However, the last thing you need to do is hurt yourself before the exam or start working on some new move that you won’t have time to perfect. Right now, focus on studying for the written exam. Or did you two forget about that portion?”
Katsuki scowled, “We’re the fucking top students in the school, even with all this damn extra training. We don’t have to worry about the shitty written exams.”
Yagi sensei sighed, “Well, that’s good to hear, but I insist that you spend these two weeks relaxing your sore muscles and getting your brains in top shape.”
Katsuki glared at the man. “Auntie spoke to you, didn’t she.”
“Kacchan!” Deku yelped, “Mom worries about our grades, but we’ve kept them up! She wouldn’t—”
“I’m aware of Midoriya-san’s concerns, but I was planning on having you two take these two weeks off, regardless. You really should relax your bodies for a bit. You’ve put them through a lot, and the test will be trying. You need to be in as good of shape as possible.”
“Tch.” Katsuki scowled, “If we just need to rest our muscles, yhy wouldn’t one week be enough?”
Yagi-sensei sighed. “Like I said, Young Bakugou, you should also give yourselves time to study. The written test will not be easy.”
“Yeah, yeah. UA only accepts one out of every 300 students, I fucking know that. Deku and I will still be at the damn top.”
All Might smiled at him, “I’m sure you both will be. Well…” he scratched at the back of his neck. “besides the recommendation students, that is.”
“Recommendation students?” Deku turned to Katsuki in confusion, but he just shook his head. He hadn’t heard of them, either.
“Heroes above a certain rank can recommend students into UA and they will go through a different admissions process. I thought about recommending you two, but the test for the recommendation students was right before Young Midoriya received my quirk, and I thought Young Bakugou would care more about getting in on his own merit, than on my word.”
“Hell yes. No one’s going to pave the way for me, I’ll blast my own way to the damn top.” Fucking losers. Who relied on someone else’s word to get them into school?
“T-thank you for even considering it, Yagi-sensei!” Deku gave a quick bow, “It...it’s an honor that you even thought about it, really.” He looked down at the ground, fiddling with his hands sheepishly.
“Tch.” Katsuki rolled his eyes. “If you’re not training with us, then, are we at least free to train on our own?”
All Might shrugged, “As long as you don’t use your quirks unless convince one of your parents to supervise you, I don’t mind.”
“Fuck.” It was going to be damn difficult to convince one of their parents to watch them. Maybe in the few days right before the test, though? To make sure they hadn’t gotten rusty? But that was when they’d be the fussiest about damn injuries… he groaned. They’d think of something.
“There is one other matter.” Yagi-sensei paused, as if uncertain of what to say, before he continued, “I would like your permission to reveal your bond to someone.”
“What the fuck?!” Where was this fucking coming from?
“Umm…” Deku’s eyes were wide, and he looked like some damn deer caught in front of headlights. When he spoke, his voice came out like a squeak, “Why?”
“The practical exam is held in arenas the size of a small city. Applicants from the same schools are automatically separated so that they will not work together or sabotage one another. UA wants to see how well you work on your own in this exam.”
“So…” Deku played with his fingers nervously, “there would be a lot of distance between Kacchan and me.”
“Exactly.” Yagi-sensei had a worried furrow between his eyes.
“Fuck.”
The old man smiled tentatively, “Recovery Girl brought this to my attention, and suggested that I talk to Principal Nezu and ask for an exemption from that policy for the two of you, on the condition that you promise to work separately during the practical exam, despite being in the same city. We want you two to be tested fairly, and we don’t want to test you while putting you under strain from the bond.”
Katsuki ran a hand through his hair, the whole damn situation was a mess. Fuck. Why did so many assholes apply to UA that the school needed multiple examination areas? “Once we get into UA, we’ll have to tell the fucking principal anyway, right?”
“That is advisable, yes. Principal Nezu is trustworthy. He is… devious, but trustworthy. He knows my secret, if that helps in your decision.”
Devious? And All Might trusted him that much? Katsuki shrugged. He didn’t like it, but…
“I… I think we should let Yagi-sensei tell the principal. I don’t want to take the exam while the bond is making me sick or something.”
They’d never been apart since the first incidents, but based on those stories, being a ‘small’ city apart (whatever the fuck that meant) would be really fucking bad. Katsuki looked at his soulmate--despite the reluctance in his voice, Deku’s stance was firm and he seemed to want to do this.
Katsuki frowned, “Go ahead and talk to the principal, Yagi-sensei. You’ve got our damn permission.”
“Thank you, my boys. Principal Nezu will keep your secret, I promise, and this will make the exam much fairer for you two.” Yagi-sensei smiled at them, putting a hand on each of their shoulders. “You’ve come so far. I really am proud of you two boys.”
Katsuki rolled his shoulder, pushing the hand off as he grabbed the drum and headed toward the stairs. “Say that after we’ve fucking killed everyone at the exam, Yagi-sensei.”
Behind him, Deku ran forward to catch up to him while the old man laughed. “Of course, Young Bakugou. I will.”
|
As it turned out, marriage to Sherlock Holmes was actually quite lonely. While living with Molly gave Jane the constant reminder of company as long as she was home, living at Bakerfield Park left her feeling a constant gnawing absence of any sort of companionship. Sherlock's parents had moved out only three nights after their son's union. The servants barely spoke a word to her, as if fearing to invoke her wrath by talking to her. And as for Sherlock himself, she felt like she hadn't seen him in weeks. They had separate bedrooms, and he was always away on business of some sort.
Jane realized she had no idea what sort of work the man did. The thought had crossed her mind that he was cheating on her, but he didn't seem the type. And even though they were married, Jane didn't really feel she had a claim on Sherlock in any way. They were friends, well, sort of. One has to see a person regularly to maintain a friendship. So perhaps acquaintances on good terms was more accurate.
An arranged marriage, not quite. A marriage with an arrangement. That was more accurate. Jane had honestly never pictured herself anywhere near where she ended up in life. Wealth by marriage to a strange man she barely knew, a pair of breasts that were hers (among other things), and living in a time centuries before she was even born. She wondered what Bill would've thought. This was certainly never the future either of them had planned.
She had cleared out the library of books to read and now she had nothing to do but read them again, and even that didn't seem very appealing. The vast estate had been fun to explore at first but now it was all familiar. She even had a favorite reading spot in a lovely meadow with blue and purple wildflowers speckled among the grass.
For the first time since being thrown into the past, her limp had returned and she was careful to make sure the servants didn't see, not sure she wanted Sherlock to know, or what his reaction would be in the first place.
After a few weeks of not having Holmes home at all, finally, he returned without notice in what seemed to be a very good mood. Jane had been reading in the parlor, inclined not to go out since it was November, freezing, and she now had the limp back almost constantly. Sherlock paused when he spotted her as she stood from her chair to greet him.
"Welcome back, Mr. Holmes."
"Oh... um... thank you, Dr. Watson." He replied, swallowing thickly and looking a bit too much like a child who had got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. The suspicion that he was cheating on her came back full throttle. Dr. Watson? She didn't know what to say. She'd taken his last name and yet he was insisting that separation be in place between them? Jane shook off her shock, determined to at least get something to do around here from this conversation.
"I trust your journey went well?"
"Yes..." Sherlock's mouth dragged the word on, almost making it sound like he was posing a question. He was, in fact, it was just silent. Why are we having small talk? Jane could practically hear it ringing in her ears even though he hadn't spoken more than a single word. Or perhaps the question was 'why are we talking at all?'
"I've been meaning to talk with you for a couple weeks now, but you're never home."
"Been meaning to speak with me? What about?"
"I need something to do." She said seriously.
"I don't understand." Sherlock admitted, looking a little confused.
"I'm losing my mind, Holmes. I've read half the books in your library twice by now and if I have to read them a third time, you might come home to me throwing them at you." Jane stated matter-of-factly.
"Do you want new books?"
"I'm a fast reader."
"You want something to do?" he repeated her statement from earlier with confusion expressed freely on his face.
"The servants won't let me help. I am used to doing sutures, not cross-stitch, and it's not proper for noble women to have occupations, I need something to do around here. Anything."
Sherlock stood in a quiet shock for a moment or so before speaking. "Well, I suppose, it is my turn to host the family Christmas party... I'm not very good at parties, nor have I ever understood the appeal of them. If you were to plan it for me in my stead, it might be the first year my party has not been a complete failure..."
"A Christmas party?" It was Jane's turn to be shocked. She wasn't sure why she was so shocked. Perhaps it was due to the fact that she hadn't really thought Christmas was something that people celebrated in this time period.
"If it's not too much trouble, yes. I suppose I should've told you that we are hosting it sooner, but it more often than not slips my mind... which is part of the reason why my parties are usually the worst in the family..."
"If your parties are so bad, why does your family let you host them?"
"My parents are liberal with second chances among family members..."
"Uh-huh... and how many Christmas parties have you botched?"
"Um... without your help, this will be the third." Sherlock admitted, fiddling with his hands. Jane realized he'd been doing it the entire conversation and had only now noticed. He never really played about with his hands when they spent that first week together. It was a strange thing to pick up on, but it just felt... off.
"Alright. Fine. This Christmas party will be the best your family has ever seen." Jane agreed, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms. Anything was better than sitting around reading another book she'd already read, again.
Sherlock stayed on the estate for twelve hours, if Jane were generous with her estimation of time. And the fifty-five minutes she added to make herself feel less lonely was definitely generous. Most of those hours he spent in any part of the manor that Jane was not in. The thought occurred to her that he was avoiding her.
With her frankly depressing reality realized, she set to work planning the party. She was going to go as full Martha Stewart as was possible in the time period, she decided, drawing up lots of different ornament designs and really paying attention to the architecture so she could use every element of the house to compliment the decorations, as well as make the decorations accentuate the beauty of the home.
All of her plans were plotted and she was ready to make the first step. She considered which aspect would probably take the longest and came to the conclusion that if she wanted a lot of baubles she should probably commission a glass-blower first. She decided to go to London for her shopping, knowing her tiny little town of Baskerville could hardly satiate the desires of her Christmas spirit.
The glass-blower she found, of course, was surprised by the massive quantity of baubles she requested. Jane made sure to soothe him by ensuring if he couldn't completely meet the order, it wouldn't be a problem but she would still appreciate as many ornaments as he could make and that she'd pay handsomely for it. She left the store in a pretty good mood but it was soured almost immediately when she literally ran into Moriarty. He looked genuinely surprised to see her.
"Mrs. Holmes." he greeted, straightening out his jacket and giving a slight bow in greeting. Jane simply nodded her head stiffly. "I hardly expected to see you in London. I haven't seen you about Baskerville so I assumed your husband had you locked up in Bakerfield Park to have you all for himself."
"Moriarty, I believe I made it perfectly clear last time we-"
"My comment was not meant as an advance, merely an observation." he assured, batting away her worries. She held her gaze on him speculatively and fine spoke again.
"Alright then... I should be going."
"Would you like some tea?"
"What?" Jane blinked at him in disbelief.
"There's a lovely little place down the street that sells tea. Would you like some?" He repeated.
"You're buying me tea?"
"If you'll accept it."
"Why would you buy me tea?" Jane asked suspiciously.
"To make up for my appalling behavior last time we saw each other and to give as genuine an apology as I am capable of."
"...Fine... I'll humor you just this once, but at the first sign of any trouble from you, I'm running." Jane warned.
"Duly noted."
Together this uncomfortable pair walked a block and a half to a tea shop. Jane watched her cup the entire time until the lady poured some tea for them and she made sure to keep her cup as far away from him as possible in case he had any plans to drug her or something.
"So why are you in London?" Jane asked curiously.
"I could ask the same of you."
"I'm here doing shopping for a family Christmas party that I'm hosting."
"I'm settling some of my father's gambling debts."
"That's surprisingly generous of you."
"He passed away. I'm simply alleviating myself of the responsibilities he left for me to deal with."
"Oh." Moriarty glanced to his right and sighed heavily.
"As pleasant as this tea is, I'm going to have to cut this short."
"You never apologized." Jane said sternly.
"I will do it when I can be more sincere towards you with it. Right now, business detains me." Jane glanced towards in the direction that had changed Moriarty's mood. A tall blonde man was leaning against a wall in the corner looking comically out of place in the tea shop with his bright red uniform and broad, muscular shoulders. He had a cup of tea poised in his hands and it looked alarmingly small in his grip. Something about this man unsettled her and she simply nodded.
"It was fun while it lasted. Let's not do this again."
"I would repeat the instance but without the added company of that soldier."
"I would not repeat the instance at all."
"Have a safe journey back to Baskerville, Mrs. Holmes."
"And you have a less than fortunate one." and with that Jane left the store, heading in the direction of a dress shop across the street.
Jane spent as much time as she needed recovering from her interaction with Moriarty, brief and formal as it was, by looking over the dozens of dresses that were piled onto the shelves, each unique and patterned differently. Most were sewn in the same style, Jane noticed, the same cut as her wedding dress had been. Jane noticed that Sherlock had been standoffish since their wedding and now assumed that he regretted their union altogether. Jane didn't want to remind him of something he obviously didn't enjoy so she decided to go with something that wasn't reminiscent of that dress.
With her dress picked out she left London to return to her lonely home. It was late by the time she got home so she simply went to bed.
In the morning, she had been on the way to the dining room for breakfast when she heard a knock on the door. Being the closest to the door she decided to answer it herself. On the other side she found Mr. Lestrade who looked surprised to see her despite he taking up residence there three months ago.
"Ah, Mrs. Holmes, good morning." he greeted sincerely. Mrs. Holmes. How come everyone saw her as that except for Mr. Holmes?
"Good morning, Mr. Lestrade. What brings you here at this hour?"
"I was wondering if Mr. Holmes was home."
"Nope. He left again two days ago, sorry."
"Ah... Must be on a job..." The urge to find out what that meant welled up inside her but she shoved it back down.
"I don't want to make your trip here for nothing. Could I ask a favor of you?"
"What is it?"
The day of the party had finally arrived and Jane was fairly excited to find out what everyone would think. Sherlock was still not home, it had been four weeks and she wasn't even sure if he was coming home or if he had forgotten the party entirely as had been the case in the past based on her conversation with him last time they spoke. Mrs. Hudson had been busy in the kitchen since yesterday preparing them a feast of delicious meals. The entire house was decked out in baubles of various colors and shapes and the tree that she had gotten the assistance of Mr. Lestrade to fetch stood proudly in the foyer, decorated beautifully. She wasn't sure it fit the time period but she couldn't bring herself to care. It felt relatively normal and the colorful decorations made her feel less alone.
She got her dress on with the assistance of the maid, Janine, and looked at herself in the mirror.
"I clean up well, I think..." she muttered to herself, Janine already in a different part of the house on her duties. Her dress had a square neckline, tight mid-length sleeves and red and white stripes going up and down the base of it, with a lovely red, floor-length peplum that was embroidered with beads in various patterns. Her hair was done up in a braided bun that sat low on her neck and she had put of sprig of holly in her hair to be an accessory for the evening. With most of the family already arrived, she made her way downstairs to greet them, hoping that Sherlock would show up so she didn't have to explain to his family the state of their marriage with no other explanations to give.
Sherlock's parents greeted her excitedly, well, that is to say Virginia was excited but Wolfson, as was his nature, was smiling gently at her from a few steps away as his wife crushed her daughter-in-law's ribs more effectively than her bodice. And to Wolfson's right was a man and a young lady.
"My beautiful daughter-in-law! Merry Christmas, dear." She exclaimed with a bright grin.
"Hello." Jane greeted nervously. That's what she was afraid of; letting Virginia down. "Who is this?"
"Oh, this is Euros, Sherlock's younger sister. And his older brother Mycroft. I had to practically drag him along."
"With all due respect, mother, you did not. I simply came because I haven't had the opportunity to meet Sherlock's bride." A sweet melodic laugh came from Euros and she playfully swatted at her brother's shoulder.
"Oh, Mycroft, you always have been a laugh." She mused amongst her giggles. "Mama had to grab you by the ear and threaten your inheritance. You didn't show any interest until I mentioned Jane. Speaking of which, it's a pleasure to meet you."
"Thank you, likewise." Jane curtsied graciously. Mycroft was a bright shade of red embarrassment and Euros was looking around the room like an excited puppy.
"Where's Sherlock? It's rude for the host to not greet his family." She mused, looking to Jane for answers. Jane felt nervousness well up inside her.
"Well, actually... I-" The front door opened.
"I'm right here, Euros. Honestly, you could try to make it less obvious that you came here to see me." Sherlock muttered, handing his gloves, coat, and blue scarf to a nearby servant to reveal a dashing suit underneath, similar to the ones he usually wore. His cravat was trimmed with light green lace and he looked around at his home with awe. He stepped towards his family, moving to stand next to Jane. Jane had thought she'd been relieved to have Sherlock here but as it turned out, his presence made her feel dizzy with nervousness. Whatever he was up to, it was obvious that he had not had any interest in being around her so to have him three feet away felt out of place. "Thank you, everyone, for coming. Merry Christmas. Shall we go to the ballroom and enjoy some music. We have six people here. For once no one will be singled out."
"I will take no part in danc-
"You most certainly will dance with me, Mycroft, or I will have someone collect your toes." Euros interrupted her brother's protests, grabbing his arm and dragging him across the polished floor in the direction of the dance floor. Wolfson and Virginia looked at each other, shared a small chuckle and followed the two of them. Sherlock didn't follow after them but rather lingered next to Jane a moment.
"Thank you for this." He murmured gently. "Everything looks lovely."
"Um... I don't know how to dance..."
"I will lead." Sherlock assured, offering his arm to her. "The only one likely to judge you for it will be Mycroft and it's been a while since I watched my mother try to beat him with a shoe. It could prove to be fun." Jane reluctantly took Sherlock's arm and followed as he lead her to the ballroom. His touches were light as he gently guided her into the starting stance. Musicians scrambled in through a side door and started to play.
"I hadn't even thought about musicians..." Jane muttered in slight horror.
"It's perfectly fine. I would be remiss if I didn't contribute somehow." Sherlock explained, chuckling. "By the way, Mr. Lestrade sent me a letter. He mentioned something about you dragging him into the woods to get a pine tree?"
"Oh, the Christmas tree!"
"The what?"
"It's... I don't know how to describe it..." She gestured to the tree decorated in baubles in a corner near the fireplace with her head.
"It's beautiful, but what is it for?"
"It's a place to put gifts."
"...Interesting. You do come up with the most unique things."
"It that good or bad?"
"It's good. I'm never bored when I come home." Sherlock mused.
"Hmm..."
"What is it?"
"Well, if it's good... why are you never home..?" Jane asked quietly, looking down at the floor as they danced. Sherlock fumbled a step and ended up closer to Jane as a result, obviously not expecting such a forward question.
"Mostly because of work..." he admitted, stepping back again and blushing slightly.
"Mostly?"
"Well... There is another reason..."
"Is it another woman?" She questioned quietly so none of the other relatives would hear.
"Another woman?" Sherlock asked bewildered, nearly stumbling again. "No. Not at all."
"... What do you do for work?" She inquired curiously, deciding that if Sherlock was being truthful, there was no reason to continue to drag on that depressing topic.
"Well, it's a little silly..."
"Silly?"
"...A bit..." he fumbled, cheeks tinged pink.
"Well?"
"I solve crimes..."
"That's rather..."
"Silly?" Sherlock supplied, the tips of his ears a light pink.
"No! I was going to say cool."
"What does cool mean in this instance?" His definition of cool was mostly in regards to temperature, she realized.
"Wonderful."
"Hmm... No one has ever said that." He said, pondering something.
"Oh... Can I ask you a favor?" Jane asked, remembering whatever it was suddenly.
"A favor? What is it?"
"Can I hire on a personal maid that will speak to me?"
"Does yours not?" his brows knit together.
"Not really, no..."
"That's fine... Did you have someone in mind?"
"Molly Hooper?"
"Who?"
"The lady I used to live with."
"Oh. I don't see why not, if she has no aversion to it." He agreed.
"Alright... Thanks."
"You're quite welcome, now, if I could ask something that's been weighing on my mind?" Sherlock asked gently. Jane's brow furrowed. She hadn't expected that. Slowly she nodded. "You've been limping. Are you alright?"
Of all the questions she'd expected, that hadn't been on the list. When had he noticed? He was never home. She'd always been so careful not to get caught. Apparently not careful enough...
"Oh, um, it's nothing to worry about." Jane assured, forcing a smile. "I just limp when the weather gets cold." it was a bold lie, but hopefully he wouldn't notice. He must've accepted her answer because he didn't press the matter further.
The rest of the evening was simplicity itself and went much better than she expected. Sherlock played the perfect gentleman as usual and everybody liked the decorations and simple gifts that Jane had gotten them. Christmas felt weird without the Christmas Crackers she grew up with but she felt a little less lonely than she had. And anything was better than how she felt about life almost a year ago.
She had asked Mrs. Hudson's advice on what to get everybody since she had been with them the longest out of all of the servants in her house. Jane had been surprised to learn that umbrellas had been a thing in England for almost thirty years and the gift she had been suggested for Mycroft was that. It was nothing like the ones that Jane was used to, this umbrella felt fragile to her. The rods that held it up and together were made of wood and the fabric didn't seem like it would keep the rain out for too terribly long but it had to be better than nothing. It was black in color and it seemed to be very stoic, something that suited him well. He didn't show much of a reaction at first but Jane could see how his eyes lit up when he discovered his gift.
Wolfson's gift also seemed fairly simple. According to Mrs. Hudson he would misplace his spectacles quite frequently. She got him a lovely chain that would attach to both ends of his glasses and he could wear it as a necklace of sorts. He didn't know what it was at first but once Jane explained a small smile appeared on his face and he immediately put the chain to use, mumbling a quiet but sincere thanks.
Virginia was simple enough too, she loved seeing operas with Wolfson and he had never complained about it. So Jane gave Virginia two tickets to see the newest opera in London. Virginia showed her usual dose of excitement, pulling Jane into a hug and telling Sherlock that he had made a good choice in spouse, making Jane and her husband blush and feel a pit of incredible awkwardness.
Jane gave Euros a book on anatomy and the youngest Holmes spent the remainder of the evening enthralled in it. Dinner was spent with Euros still reading and Mycroft quietly observing to Jane the extent of Sherlock and her relationship, which was laughably poor.
It had felt a little uncomfortable to be stripped clean of all the secrets of their pathetic marriage, but Jane was grateful that Mycroft had chosen to only talk quietly about it with her and not announce it to the dinner table.
Finally all of the extend Holmes had gone to bed in their guest rooms and Jane was picking up dishes with Mrs. Hudson. The housekeeper only allowed it because Jane gave her the excuse 'It's Christmas.' Sherlock was leaning against the wall in the dining room, eyes following Jane keenly.
"Are you going to continue to watch me for the duration of the time before I retire for the evening, Mr. Holmes?" Jane only asked since she knew Mrs. Hudson would be in the kitchen washing the dishes and she wouldn't intrude.
"I apologize... I didn't mean to make you feel uncomfortable..." Sherlock mumbled shyly, averting his eyes much like a kid who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar.
"I was only teasing..." Jane felt bad after seeing his reaction. "Did... Did you want to say something? Is that why you were watching me?"
"Actually, I was trying to figure you out, I suppose... But I did want to thank you again."
"It was fun. I had a blast planning it."
"I don't think they've ever enjoyed such meaningful gifts before... You have a talent."
"Well, I did ask Mrs. Hudson's advice. It's not like it was done on intuition."
"It still means a lot to them." Jane stared at him for a moment before resuming picking up dishes and going into the kitchen and returning.
"I... got you something too." Sherlock's eyebrows quirked upwards and he stared at her in disbelief.
"You were convinced I was having an affair and you still got me something?" He inquired, jaw slackened from its usually tight clenched position.
"Convinced is a little strong, but, yes... I did." Jane headed out to the ballroom and Sherlock followed behind her curiously. She vanished behind the Christmas Tree for a moment before returning with a long, thin package, handing it to Sherlock and brushing her bangs out of her face awkwardly.
"A violin... How did you..?" He looked at her with wonderment.
"Mrs. Hudson told me you had an affinity but yours broke a couple years ago and you never got a new one..."
"... I..." Sherlock was in a stunned silence for a moment, staring down at the beautiful polished and carved instrument in his hands before finally daring to look at Jane. "Thank you... I'm sorry I didn't get you something..."
"It's alright. There's always next Christmas, right?"
"Erm... Yes... I suppose there is."
"Have a good night's rest, Mr. Holmes."
"You as well, Dr. Watson."
|
1.
Stiles didn’t really know how it started.
(That’s a lie, he knows exactly how it started)
Because he’s
funny
dammit, he’s the token human without claws and teeth or arrows or Molotov cocktails, all he’s got is his brain and his wit.
He’s Stiles, he’s funny.
They were having a pack movie night and Scott had insisted they watch Underworld.
Because they didn’t have enough supernatural creatures in their normal lives.
Actually—
“Oh my god, Derek, are vampires real?” Stiles whipped around from his place on the floor. Scott and Allison had stolen the love seat, Jackson had Lydia on his lap in the armchair, Erica and Isaac and Derek were all crammed on the couch. Boyd had work that night. Which left Stiles on the floor. Erica had offered up her lap but Derek had growled at her.
“Of course they are, shut up.” Derek bumped Stiles’s shoulder with this leg, turning him back around. Stiles scooched back and leaned against Derek’s legs in retaliation. It seemed to be working when Derek huffed out a sigh, but then he started running his fingers through Stiles’s hair so maybe it hadn’t been as irritating as he had hoped.
Oh well, no use complaining now.
They were all mostly quiet (besides Scott and Allison trying to covertly make out. And failing) as the guy’s blood (Stiles had forgotten all the characters names, he was too busy complaining about sitting on the floor) was being tested for whatever the plot of this movie was.
Stiles gasped as the test was held up, “Oh my god, he’s pregnant!? That was so not where I thought this movie was going.”
Scott and Isaac snickered and Stiles could just
feel
Erica rolling her eyes at him.
“Well would you look at that.” Lydia said casually. The hands in his hair froze, then retracted.
“What was what?” Stiles asked, glancing over at her.
“Our great brooding Alpha just smiled.” Lydia settled back into Jackson with a smirk.
Stiles spun so fast his knees practically got rug burn.
But Derek’s face was back to its impassive-but-with-a-hint-of-melancoly-and-the-potential-to-kill-you look.
“And I missed it!” Stiles cried, “Do it again.”
Derek, to be contrary, just started glaring at him, “I’m not a zoo animal. I don’t do tricks.”
“Just you wait,” Stiles pointed an accusatory finger, “I’m going to get you to smile one of these days.”
(Oh. Right. Maybe that’s how it started.)
2.
Stiles didn’t really know what prompted him to continue it.
“Dude, Scott, did you read the paper this morning?” Stiles panted as they hiked through the woods.
Again.
In the middle of the night.
Again.
“Nah man, why?” Scott glanced around, eyes flashing in the dark.
“Ten people have been murdered in Mexico by a serial killer who’s just been caught.”
“Holy crap, really?” Scott gaped at him.
“Yeah, he would strike on trains, get people when they were in the bathroom and then jump off before anyone would notice.” Stiles nodded along.
“Why would anyone ever do that?” Scott asked.
“Well,” Stile paused, “He had locomotives.”
Jackson groaned as Stiles whipped around to face Derek who was taking the back of the group.
“Nothing? Not even a little bit of a smile?” Stiles threw his hands in the air.
Derek raised an eyebrow, “That wasn’t funny.”
“Boyd!” Stiles cried, starting to walk backwards to keep an eye on Derek’s face.
“Don’t drag me into this…”
“What does a nosey pepper do? Get jalapeño business.”
Scott laughed, best bro award every year running, but Derek doesn’t even twitch.
“Allison, what do you call a big pile of kittens?”
“Adorable?” She tried.
“Nah, a meowntain. Still nothing? Damn, alright, here’s my a-game. What do you call a fish with no eyes?”
Derek’s face still stayed deadpan.
“A fshhhhh.” Erica, Issac, and Boyd said all at the same time.
“Okay wondertriplets, it’s a classic for a reason. Let’s try something more up our alley, how do you kill vegetarian vampires? No, no guesses? Nobody? Wow.” Stiles shook his head and kept walking.
“Jesus Stiles, fucking tell us.” Isaac grumbled after a long pause.
“Duh, a steak through the heart.” Stiles grinned.
“Enough Stiles.” Derek growled, “This is just childish.”
“Wow, Derek, maybe we should call you Camera.” Stiles joked.
“That’s not even a joke—” Jackson complained.
“Because you’re always snapping at things.” Stiles finished with a smirk.
“Seriously?” Erica rolled her eyes, “That’s the best you could do?”
“Oh yeah? Erica, why don’t werewolves make good dancers?” Stiles gave her a little hip shimmy.
Erica glowered back at him, “I can dance.”
“Bzzzz, the correct answer was because they have two left feet.” Stiles cackled.
“Stiles if you don’t stop making horrible jokes I’m going to punch you in the face so hard you’ll finally be able to see behind you.” Jackson threatened.
Stiles picked up the pace a bit, throwing a smile over his shoulder, “Hey Jackson, what do you call a werewolf with no legs?”
Jackson growled and dove for Stiles. He twisted and kicked out, knocking Jackson’s legs out from under him while the werewolf was off balance.
“Anything you like, Asshole,” Stiles put his hands on his hips and leaned down to look at Jackson with his eyes glowing blue, “He can’t chase you!” Stiles took off running through the forest, Jackson hot on his heels.
A short laugh brought him up short.
“Derek did you just—” All the air whooshed out of him as he was knocked on his back.
Jackson rolled off him with a smirk and Stiles was left gasping up at the sky and a significantly less smirky Derek Hale.
“You smiled didn’t you.” Stiles fought for breath.
Derek said nothing, didn’t even twitch.
“I can’t believe I missed it.” Stiles closed his eyes rather than stare at the Alpha’s impassive face.
“Do you want help up or not? We have four more miles to go.” Derek held out a hand.
“Okay, okay.” Stiles let himself be tugged up, “Let’s keep hiking through the woods in the middle of the night for no real reason. Uhh. Derek? Are you going to let go of my hand?”
“Right. Shut up.”
(Maybe it was how cute Derek looked when he was flustered)
3.
Stiles didn’t think his life could get any worse.
Dammit.
Fuck.
Shit.
Fuckkk this. And everything about this.
It was three am, he had a history test in the morning, and his pack was out trying to kill an evil dryad without him.
Because he had a history test in the morning.
Stiles shifted on his bed again, unable to find a comfortable spot for the last four hours while his brain whirled with worry for his friends, his pack.
Who hadn’t texted or called in an hour.
Who could be dead right now.
Fuck.
Stiles gave in to temptation and grabbed his phone again and pulled up Derek.
>you better not be dead, I refuse for the last words I said to you to be ‘fuck off, asshole’ as much as you deserved it at the time
He set the phone down and tried not to think about it, but ended up only thinking about it more.
The phone buzzed and Stiles nearly flailed off the bed in his hurry to get it.
<<Not dead, everyone’s fine. What would you want your last words to be? Hopefully less explicit.
Stiles snorted at Derek’s use of proper capitalization and punctuation and typed out a response and sent it before he could psyche himself into deleting it.
>nah still explicit, but more like ‘go out with me, asshole’
If anything he could claim exhaustion in the morning.
With his heart in his throat, he checked his phone again only to have it plunge when he saw the text was from Scott.
<<<dude wtf did you text to derek!?!?? He started grinning like a crazy person, im scared
(Maybe it could better though.)
4.
Stiles didn’t know why he loved his best friend.
“Scott,
don’t hang up on me again
, this is serious. Derek hasn’t texted me back in three hours, this is cause for alarm.” Stiles paced his room.
“Stiles,” Scott sighed, “he’s probably asleep, or running around in the Preserve, chill out.”
“No, I will not chill out, Derek always text back, and if he’s not able to, he’ll tell me beforehand. Now
please
, for your best friend, send out the Twilight Bark or whatever you werewolves do to keep in touch and make sure my boyfriend is okay?”
“The what?”
Stiles groaned and smacked his head against the door.
Stiles tapped down the panic as he creeped forward, crosse gripped in his hands in the dark hallway. Several floors above him, Scott and the pack were fighting the group of Hunters that had stormed into town and kidnapped their Alpha from a grocery store.
A grocery store.
It was honestly incredibly simple, the Sheriff had requested the surveillance tapes, gotten the names of some of the Hunters from the vehicles registration, and then tracked their credit card charges to find the severely dilapidated house they started renting.
The Pack had attacked when it got dark, allowing Allison and Stiles to sneak through the creepy house looking for their Alpha.
They had split up, despite Stiles’s protest that this is how horror movies started.
The basement he was entering was perfect for a slasher film, as he turned the corner and—
“Oh thank god.” Stiles rushed forward to Derek.
“Stiles…” Derek said weakly.
“Are hunters all trained by the same person? How do you always end up bloody, shirtless, and chained to the ceiling?” Stiles laughed hollowly.
“Just lucky I guess.” Derek said softly.
“At least they didn’t hurt your sense of humour.” Stiles put his hands of either side of his face. His gross, sweaty, blood-splattered, gorgeous face.
“Now can you please get me down?” Derek rattled his chains a bit.
“On one condition…” Stiles hesitated.
“
Stiles—“
Derek warned.
“Just a smile, come on!” Stiles whined, “Then I’ll let you down, I swear.”
“No.” Derek glared, “Thankfully I have Beta’s who care more about my health than a petty self-imposed challenge.”
Just then Scott and Isaac burst in, eyes blazing, and pulled their Alpha down with a few quick motions.
“How did you find me so quickly?” Derek asked as they exited the building, supported by Scott and Isaac. Stiles trailed dejectedly behind them.
“Stiles said you didn’t text him back and then we sent out the search parties.” Scott shrugged.
Derek’s shoulders slumped in, head bowing.
“Awwwww,” Isaac laughed, “That was so cute.”
“Dammit, I missed it again, didn’t I?” Stiles lightly wacked Scott back with his crosse.
(Okay, maybe not so lightly.)
5.
Stiles—
He—
oh god
Stiles didn’t,
oh fuck
, he didn’t… well whatever he hadn’t done he definitely had now.
Derek was a line of heat on his back, sweat sticking between them that felt
dirty
but not gross.
“Stiles.” Derek growled out, claws pricking his sides in a way that should have been scary but was really just ratcheting his pulse up even further. He felt like he was going to implode, everything was burning hot and settling low in his bones, everything was melting away to the points where they touched and the pain-pleasure feeling of Derek’s mouth fitted around the juncture off his neck and his shoulder.
“Derek, fuck, I’m gonna—“ Stiles’s arms collapsed from under him, his vision dancing a bit as Derek caught him and effortlessly flipped them on his side.
They panted together for a second, curled up.
Stiles grimaced at the weird feeling of suddenly not having something in his ass, but Derek’s soft apologetic murmurs and even better soft kissed made him lose his complaints.
He was drifting off a bit when Derek came back with a warm wash cloth and cleaned them up.
“Knew you would be useful someday.” Stiles kept his eyes closed and blindly reached out a hand to pat at Derek.
Derek fitted himself around Stiles’s ungainly sprawl on the bed, shifting a few limbs were it pleased him.
“So I’ve earned my keep?” Derek nuzzled into his neck. Fucking werewolves.
“Hmm, no. Not yet.” Stiles was losing consciousness fast.
“How long until I’ve exceeded my usefulness?” The tone was light, teasing.
“Not for a long, long time buddy.” Stiles yawned, settling into Derek even more.
“Good.” Derek whispered.
Stiles could feel the little gust of breath on his neck as Derek talked, feel the imprint of Derek’s mouth turning up at both corners into the smile he desperately wanted to see.
But he didn’t open his eyes, didn’t move out of Derek’s arms to finally see what it looked like.
(Maybe he just fell asleep.)
+1.
Stiles didn’t really know why they were arguing.
It seemed like that was all they did these days, argued and fucked and frankly Stiles was sick of it.
“I’ve been part of this pack for
two years
Derek, stop trying to fucking leave me behind!” Stiles yelled.
“I wouldn’t want to leave you behind if you actually stuck to the plan and stopped taking stupid risks!” Derek yelled back.
“I had to improvise, Scott would have gotten hurt!”
“You got hurt, Stiles! Scott can heal, you can’t.”
“Great, remind me once again how fragile and useless I am. I didn’t already know that from the fact that we are having this fucking argument for
the four bajillionth time
.” Stiles angrily ran a hand through his hair.
“It’s it such a fucking crazy idea to you that I don’t want to see you get hurt?” Derek paced in front of him, eyes flashing.
“I don’t want to see you hurt either.” Stiles protested.
“But if I get hurt, I’ll be fine,
you won’t be
.” Derek growled.
“But I will be!” Stiles cried, “I heal too, maybe not as fast as you but that’s not the point. Just because you have super healing doesn’t mean my heart doesn’t skip a beat every time you take another hit or get gorged by the supernatural-flavor-of-the-week. You’re still hurt, and I want to do anything in my power to stop that from happening! And I can’t do that if you leave me on the sidelines.” Stiles’s breaths were coming in gasps.
“I’m an Alpha werewolf Stiles, I’m can heal from nearly everything. Why does it matter?” Derek levelled at his gaze.
“Because I love you!”
The room was suddenly dead silent besides the roaring in Stiles’s ears. His mouth opened and closed a few times, like he could take it back, or explain, or do anything to stop the silence and the blank look on Derek’s face.
Stiles suddenly turned on his heel, rushing to grab his stuff.
“You know what, fine, fuck it, do whatever the hell you want, I won’t be there.” Stiles shouldered his backpack, stupid tears stinging the edges of his eyes.
His hand was on the doorknob when Derek said, “Stiles. Stop.”
Stiles closed his eyes and leaned his forehead against the cool wood, “What Derek?”
Suddenly the wolf was right behind him, palm skittering nervously on Stiles’s arm.
“Did you mean it?” Derek’s voice was low.
“Yes.” Stiles whispered into the door before opening his eyes and turning to face Derek.
The sight made his knees buckle a bit.
Derek was smiling, grinning for lack of a better word, laugh lines Stiles hadn’t know existed springing up and eye shinning with happiness.
It was breath-taking.
Literally, Stiles’s usually convoluted brain and void of anything to say.
“Jesus, you could power a city with that thing.”
Or not.
“Me too.” Derek said softly, arms wrapping around Stiles’s torso.
“What?” He had lost the train of conversation in the glory that was Derek’s smile. Everything was still a bit tipsy-turvy.
“I love you too, dumbass.”
“Oh, good.”
(That was all he needed.)
|
“We still need to register my quirk mom. What will its name be?” The name was something Izuku was curious about.
“Oh right. Pull and push? If your quirk is similar to other’s name then it will have that name. Your quirk is pretty much telekinesis, but I’m not sure” He noticed her mother had no idea but she still tried to help him.
“I thought the same. ‘Telekinesis’” Without another exchange of words, they continued on their way.
“Look mom! I can do it!” He said with a big smiler, bigger than All Might’s. He could finally control lifting an object with air. He was lifting a fridge 3 times his weight.
“Good job Izuku! I knew you could do it! It’s getting dark we should head home” She said smiling.
It had been a good day. He answered a lot of his questions about his quirk and even managed to improve his technique. If he kept going like this, getting to UA didn’t seem like a dream anymore!
He was exhausted too. It seems like physical exhaustion was his drawback? Maybe just improving his stamina would do? Concentrating too much warmed his head. That seemed more like his drawback than the exhaustion.
Heading home he kept muttering and his mother made sure to contribute with some words.
“I think we have enough ingredients to make katsudon.” Ending the day with his favorite food? Awesome.
“Yes!”
He felt like a kid again. Happy about little things, without having to worry about anything, just living. Where did his childhood went? It felt like the only happy moments in his life had been sticking to his dream and analyzing heroes. Did he play with friends? He did, but it ended when he reached the age of 4. Like his happiness.
Kacchan made sure of it. What happened to those happy moments? They felt so far away from him, like they weren’t his. Didn’t he have a normal childhood? He doubted that. Suffering shouldn’t be normal.
Thinking too much was one of his bigger problems. It helped with his quirk, but he didn’t want to ruin this perfect day. Kacchan wasn't going to take this away from him. Forcing a smile he entered his home.
“Freckles! My little bunny! You have grown a lot!” Someone said while hugging him. His mother gasped.
After the shock, he finally realised who was hugging him.
It was his father!. He returned the hug and started crying and trying to talk to him. But his uncontrollable sobs made it difficult.
“Yeah, I missed you too.” His father somehow understood him.
“Hisashi! You got here faster than I thought. I still didn’t tell him you were going to came!” His mother seemed as surprised as him. She joined the hug and cried too.
After all the tears this family shed, they were now calmly talking.
“Well I really wanted to see my 2 sunshines. And I took a jet to get here.” He said like it was a normal situation.
“How did you managed to take a jet dad?!” They didn’t have a lot of money. So how was this possible?
“An old friend owed me a favour.” He said with a smirk, feeling like a genius.
“And did you come to stay? What happened to your job? They gave you vacations? Did they fire you? If they gave you vacations, why they didn’t gave them earlier? They don’t give you the legally amount of days its required. And…..” He could go all day long.
“Stop right there! Have you gotten faster at talking? First of all, I didn’t get fired.” He said while chuckling.
“I’ve been accumulating my vacations days to stay with the 2 of you in summer. However it seemed like you needed me here. I’m sorry I wasn’t here” A sad smile. Izuku had seen too many of them. Without giving him time to contradict his father and apologize for ruining his plans, Hisashi went on.
“They don’t give me the usual amount of days off. Didn’t I mentioned to you that my job was special?”
Izuku tried to remember what his Father said to him and…..
“Daddy what’s your work? I have to write yours and mom’s” He was doing his homework and it was an school assignment.
“Oh. I’m a private investigator.”
“What’s that?” It was something that caught his attention. A new word he didn’t knew the meaning of.
“Well it’s like an spy? Maybe police? Something in between. I usually do more stuff than a normal investigator. I think an spy would suit me more” And with that his father kept thinking about the correct name for his job.
He meanwhile started drawing his father. A not-so-tall figure with black curls and dark eyes. He still didn’t understand the meaning of that word. Maybe his father was just an office guy and was trying to look cool? He draw him with his typical suit and working in an office.
Oh. so he just dismissed his father’s job as a lie. Pretty unbelievable as a kid.
“But I don’t understand. What do you do exactly?” The word curiosity was written in his eyes.
“Exactly? I investigate villain cases while I’m disguised as a drug dealer. When I get the information I sometimes arrest them myself or just leave it to my partners.”
Izuku looked at him in complete disbelief. How could he be so oblivious to his father’s job? Hell. He felt terrible.
“And before you ask.” The man spoke again when he noticed his son’s shocked face. “I’m not a drug addict. I just sell them. I usually get some extra money from doing so.” The last sentence was said in a whisper.
Silence. Nobody was saying anything. The sentence had cut every possible solution to keep going with the conversation.
“Sooo…” Izuku felt horrible for breaking the path of the conversation and make it awkward. He has to fix it. “Do you have a gun?”
Great. They should give him a medal for having the worst social interactions skills.
“Yes” Without a beat he took out a gun from his pants. Izuku could have sworn that his pants looked normal to him. However, they were hiding a gun.
“It’s a must for this work. Even if I don’t need it, they force me to have it.”
“You don’t need it?” Was his father this good at his work, or could he take down the villains without much of a difficulty?
“All of my covers haven’t being discovered yet, and I doubt they will discover any of them. I think I really sink into the character.” He said with a small smile and rubbing his left cheek. A sign of embarrassment as his son watched him with admiration.
Inko stared at his husband with a look of nostalgia. That little gesture brought back memories from when they were dating.
“So your quirk is attracting?”
“Yes”
“Cool because I’m being attracted by your beauty. And it’s not to brag but my kisses are the hottest”
And that’s how you flirt. Inko love this man. However he was going to be spending some quality time with their son unless he wants her angry. And Hisashi knew damn well that angering her will mean his death wish.
“Izuku weren’t you hungry? I will go and make katsudon for the 3 of us” She said smiling.
And Izuku noticed he had been occupying his father’s attention. He should let his parents have a moment of privacy.
“Okay. I will take a bath.” After leaving the room, he was now immerse in all the information he has gather with his mother about his quirk.
“His name is Shinsou Fuminshou. His quirk allows him to not have the necessity to sleep. He used this advantage to study psychology and graduate quickly. He’s been known for having a lot of patience. He should be good….So please don’t stalk him” She ended up the sentence with a defiant tone.
Threatened by your wife. Getting back home sure is amazing!
|
She smiled at her laptop, waving enthusiastically at Tony’s video call. A couple of days had gone by and the doctors had yet to discharge her, saying that they wanted to “make sure” that she was 100 percent ready to go. Tony was all for it, but she was truthfully experiencing some cabin fever.
It would have been better if she had Stephen around to tease but he was a busy intern and didn’t really get to visit her as often as she liked. There was a nice nurse, May—she believed—who liked to talk to her whenever she had the time. She was grateful for the conversation, especially when May talked about her nephew Peter. According to her, Peter was a very smart little boy who got in trouble so often that May didn’t know what to do with him.
She had asked her once, why she was taking care of him instead of her parents but May merely shook her head. She got the picture though and felt a slight kinship with the little boy she had never met.
She knew what it was like to grow up without any parents.
In any case, she was going absolutely insane, so having Tony call her was the highlight of her day.
“How’s my Rapunzel doing?”
She rolled her eyes, “If I’m Rapunzel—who are you?”
Tony puffed up his chest, “I’m Prince Charming of course.”
“He gets blinded by a witch and dumped in a swamp, you know.”
Tony winced, “Ah maybe that’s not the best analogy.”
“Not everyone can be perfect, Iron Man,” she teased him.
“No, Dum-E not here—hey, I didn’t come up with that name,” Tony said, pulling away from the camera view for a bit and doing something off screen. “I’m not on fire don’t—” She heard a fire extinguisher in the background followed by yelp. Tony stumbled back in view, with bits of foam stuck to his hair.
“Nice.”
“Not a word—“he said, before turning around at a large crash. “Listen, honey, can I call you back later?”
She nodded, “Take care of yourself.”
“Will do—FOR THE LAST TIME DUM-E—”
---
The nice thing about having Iron Man as a—friend—was that he could fly from California to New York without much of a hassle. She was truly grateful when Tony showed up to the hospital holding a bag of her donuts from her favorite donut place in LA, a tiny shop with a giant sculpture of a donut plastered on their roof.
He was babbling about something, a Stark Expo of sorts. She just liked to listen to his voice sometimes, not quite paying attention to what he was saying. It was nice—soothing almost—to hear him talk about what he was passionate about. People didn’t really like letting him talk but she did.
She blinked as a small body smacked into her legs, causing her to tilt dangerously before Tony held her steady. She had been slowly walking around the hospital floor, but with the IV pole that she was carting around, it was a slow and frustrating process.
Tony stopped mid-diatribe to yell angrily at whoever dared to hurt her in his presence but paused as he saw a pair of terrified eyes under a shocking bush of brown hair.
“Peter! Where—oh hello miss!” said May as she fast walked through the hallways. She smiled warmly at the young nurse, who snuck a chocolate pudding cup into her tray last night when she was lamenting over the horrible hospital food. “You’re on your feet!”
“I feel like an old woman.”
“A very sexy old woman—” Tony added and she grimaced, feeling her greasy hair leach against her face.
“Tony, I haven’t showered in days.”
“A dirty sexy old woman?”
She snorted and turned to Nurse May, smiling apologetically at her. The young woman grinned at them before saying, “I’m sorry about Peter. I was supposed to take him to school but I got a little side tracked—PETER!” She shook her head, “Sorry I have to go. I’m glad you are recovering!”
“Thanks!” she said as May rushed past her. Turning to Tony she tried to return to the conversation, “What were you saying?”
“I was making a joke about—”
“Before that,” she sternly said.
“Oh yes, that,” Tony said, “It’s nothing.”
“Tony.”
“Alright, jeeze. I was just saying that I’m planning on setting the Stark Expo at Queens. You know so you see it too.”
She paused, turning to Tony in confusion, “What do you mean? I can see it just as well back home.”
Tony smiled slyly, before whipping out a letter from his blazer pocket and handing it to her. Confused, she took it and read the letter addressed to her. “I—what, Tony?”
“I know you were pretty bummed out about Banner not responding to you—he doesn’t know what he’s missing,” Tony said, “Congratulations on getting accepted to med school. Again.”
She clutched the paper tightly to her chest and stared at him incredulously, “Tony I—what did you do?”
Tony waved his hands, “What makes you think I did something?” She shot him a look and he caved, “I may have sent copies of your research proposal to the nearby med schools. And that application you’ve been writing—oh don’t think you can hide any secrets from me; I’ve seen you working on that thing. You want to go back to school.”
She didn’t say anything. It was, after all, the truth. She had been sitting on her finished draft for a while now, too nervous and worried to send it in. After all, she did quit and leave the first time.
“They were impressed—to say the least. Full ride scholarship to finish up your MD as well as acceptance to the Ph.D program. ”
She had to sit down. A full ride? She—she didn’t have to pay? “Tony, I can’t—"
Tony placed a finger over her lips, silencing her. He adjusted the IV pole closer to her body, detangling the wire as he said, “You did good kid. You did everything all on your own and you just needed a push. Now let me help you like you helped me alright?”
Her sigh brushed against his fingers. She was tired to doing things by herself, “Alright.”
---
Her life changed quickly after that. She settled quickly into medical school, getting used to being a student again as if she never left. It was odd being back, because the age gap that was present the first time around only widened in her absence.
“So, new girl,” said a half a decade younger 4th year student. They were undergoing a rotation in Internal Medicine and had only just been dismissed for lunch at 5pm. “What’s your deal?”
She shrugged, shoving a sandwich into her mouth. Searching for some water before she choked, she coughed, “Do you want to know my secret?”
Intrigued, the 4th year came closer. After a dramatic pause, she whispered loudly, “I’m friends with Iron Man.”
Her partner drew back, looking at her incredulously, “You’re crazy.”
Between working 24 hour shifts and getting lost on the New York subway system, she barely had time to talk to Tony, who was busy preparing for the Stark Expo himself. She had to admit that it was lonely not seeing him all the time; she did live with the man before all the craziness occurred.
So seeing his face through one of his video calls were truly a bright gift through her days.
“Tony, how are you? Have you been eating?” she asked, waving at her screen. Tony opened his mouth to answer but she cut him off, “And coffee doesn’t count as a food group.”
Tony shut his mouth and pouted, “Honey, I’m busy with all this nonsense.” He waved at the screens behind him, flashing millions of designs and plans that only he could understand. “Food is overrated. Science is cool.”
She groaned, “Tony.”
“Fine fine,” he said, grumbling to himself, “I’ll just call for pizza. Hey JARVIS? Can I have the one I like?”
“Certainly, sir, would you like—”
“How about something healthier, JARVIS?” she asked, “A salad perhaps?”
Tony made a face. She laughed and continued, “Tony. You’re what 37 now? When’s the last time you went to a doctor and got your cholesterol checked?”
Looking affronted at the thought of going to a doctor, Tony made a fuss, “I am healthy! Look at these arms.” He flexed, his biceps hardening in front of her eyes.
Her mouth suddenly dried and she swallowed nervously. “Tony.”
“I don’t want some stranger playing with my blood. What if they make a mini-Stark. Can you imagine? Another one of me walking around?” Tony shuddered dramatically, “The horror.”
“The scariest,” she said dryly, “Why don’t you take your own blood then? I’m sure you can whip up a biometric analyzer or something. You can even check your Iron levels.”
“That’s not actually a bad idea,” It was testament to how intrigued Tony was at her idea since he didn’t even acknowledge her bad pun. Turning towards the screen and tapping something on the holographic keyboard on his table, he was already muttering to himself, mind far gone from the conversation.
She smiled, satisfied at her handiwork and said a goodbye that was left unheard.
She left him to it.
---
With the amount of work she already had throughout her day, there was very little time for some of her night-time extracurricular activities. She had been in the process of weaning off from her clients anyhow, seeing them less and less until they eventually forgot about her in the first place. But much like a chronic smoker returning to a pack of cigarettes, she couldn’t help but take up a job on occasion.
It didn’t surprise her in the least when a bald, nonassuming male walked into her hotel room, looking just like any businessman with a need that couldn’t be ridden of in conventional ways. What she was surprised by was the fact that he was white.
“You don’t look like an African American man named Nick,” she said dryly, observing him for any clues for this bizarre experience.
“Looks can be deceiving,” the man said, tone impossibly drier than her own.
“I was given a photograph.”
“I had makeup on,” he said, body language screaming mild mannerism and politeness. She couldn’t tell exactly why this made her more wary. “In any case, you’re a hard woman to get a hold of, miss,” the man spoke her full name. It was like being doused in ice cold water as she never gave out her last name, preferring to remain as anonymous as she could. “My name is Agent Phil Coulson. I am from Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division.”
“Someone really wanted it to spell out SHIELD,” she pointed out. Agent Coulson shrugged before taking a step forward. She raised her hands, “Don’t take a step closer. If you’ve come to murder me, save me some of my dignity and let me get dressed first.”
Coulson’s eyes flickered to her body, as if it was the first time he noticed her wearing a stars and stripes teddy that left little to the imagination. “I’ve seen Mr. Stark in worse situations.”
Hearing Tony’s name turned a switch in her brain and she was suddenly very aware that she was in a room with an unknown male who claimed he was working for some secret government division. She had been confused, wondering what a government agency would want with her but hearing Tony’s name—even casually like this—from the Agent’s lips made it clear. They knew of their connection.
They wanted something from Tony and she was their way of doing it.
“What do you want with him?” she snapped, sounding much braver than she felt. Why did she always get into these messes?
“I have a…partnership I would like to discuss with you.”
“A partnership,” she repeated, looking at him incredulously.
“Precisely.”
“Not interested,” she said, inching closer to the nightstand, where she kept the pepper spray she bought at a dollar store. “Sorry. Please don’t let the door hit your racist ass on your way out.”
The agent smiled encouragingly and she swallowed the need to hiss at him, “Please hear me out. It will be very worthwhile.”
“Not likely,” she muttered. “No offense, Agent, but last time some bald male smiled at me encouragingly, I was shot at. And unless this teddy is really doing it for you, I am pretty sure that’s a gun in your pocket.”
She wondered if heroes would have blabbered their observations like she had. Probably not. They would have been silent and deadly, dispatching the enemy in a heartbeat. Well, she was no hero and the only defense mechanism she had in the face of danger was babbling—which was surprising news to her.
Agent shrugged, neither confirming or denying, “The partnership is simple. SHIELD would like to employ you as their new Chief Resident after your graduation.” She gaped at him as he continued, “And in return, we would like to get…to put it lightly…continuous information about Tony Stark and his technological advances.”
Well, this had to be the weirdest job offer she had. “You want me to spy on Tony?”
“Precisely.”
“How is this a partnership? Partnership implies gains on both sides!” she shouted. “I don’t want to work with an agency that doesn’t bother to make a good alibi. I mean come on? Nick Fury? That name sounds like something from a comic book. And in case you didn’t know this—” she hissed at him, which in hindsight probably looked ridiculous given that she was still in a revealing teddy. “You are an average Anglo-Saxon white male!”
“You will be getting a guaranteed job after school, something that cannot be said for the rest of your generation,” Agent said logically, completely ignoring her outburst. “And with your current job, I would think that job security is important, yes?”
It was true. Job security was hard to find now a days, but still this was wrong. She couldn’t betray Tony like this. It wasn’t even a question. “Get out.”
“Are you sure you don’t—”
“Get. OUT,” she shouted, pointing at the door. She ignored her shaking hands and firmly said, “I don’t want to be a part of this secret boyband you have—whatever this is. Don’t contact me again.”
---
Agent Coulson stepped out of the motel room and walked briskly to the elevators at the end of the hall. Briefcase in hand, he looked like any other businessman in New York after a long day of work. Humming tunelessly as he waited for the creaky elevator to stop at his floor, he stepped inside and pressed the first floor button.
A sharp shrill from his phone echoed through the small elevator and he smoothly picked it up and answered it, “This is Coulson.”
The man listened to the other voice on the line before nodding his head, “Yes sir, she passed with flying colors sir. She is all clear.”
The elevator dinged and he stepped outside, past the empty lobby and out of the motel. Stepping towards his car, he glanced up towards the sky, made a sharp hand gesture and entered the driver’s seat.
A couple of feet in the air, another man dressed in black relaxed his grip on the taut string of his bow and collapsed the arrow back into the case strapped to his back. He glanced at the window of his potential target once more before leaping off the building and toward the black car.
A moment later, the two set off back into town. Leaving the young woman with the Captain America teddy completely unaware how close she was from her untimely demise.
---
She wordlessly opened the simple present wrapped in string and gasped at the beautiful necklace. It was made of white gold chain, small and delicate links sparkling against the light of the street lamp. As beautiful as the chain was, her eyes were absorbed by the small pendant it held.
“Tony?” she whispered, fingers brushing against the small arc reactor pendant. It was, to her eyes, an exact replica to what was in Tony’s chest. It held the same outwardly blue color, the color that she associated with Tony and safety. Awed, she held the necklace carefully and shyly glanced up at him.
Tony smiled at her, his emotions genuinely shining through his eyes. She felt her chest soar.
“Happy Birthday, honey.”
|
Jughead stares into her eyes. She’s so beautiful. He always felt she was so out of reach. In this moment however she isn’t. Elizabeth Cooper had been the girl of his dreams since before he ever knew what to dream for.
Jughead had submitted to the fact that Betty was never meant to be his when he was only eleven. Even in those juvenile days of their purest youth it was clear to him that Betty and Archie just seemed meant to be. That left him the odd man out in their trio. He was and would always be the odd man out.
By some stroke of luck and chance though, Betty ended up in his arms. Here she was sitting across from him at a booth in pops. Her eyes sparkled and spoke of love and a happiness Jughead could feel in the core of his being.
Betty’s hand was wrapped tightly around his as if she were trying to squeeze some of that happiness into him. The sun radiated off of her through the windows in the diner and her smile radiated that brightness back at him. Dreams do come true even against all odds.
Jughead feels a swell of joy in his heart and he squeezes Betty’s hand back to assure her he is just as happy as she is. She leans across the booth and he inches forward to meet her in the middle in the Sweetest kiss. She taste like Vanilla and Bubblegum, a sweet mixture of her shake and her lip gloss.
“I love you Forsythe Pendleton Jones the Third.” She says just loud enough for him to hear. “ I will always love you.”
Something feels off.
Jughead knits his brows at Betty, wondering why she would use his government name.
He then takes in her appearance noticing for the first time that she’s dressed in an all black dress. The black is an odd color for Betty and she looks like she’s about to attend a funeral. Before Jughead can give it too much thought. Archie strolls into the diner in a black suit and slides into the booth next to Betty.
Something feels really off.
“Hey B.” He says smiling at Betty in a way that makes Jughead’s stomach turn.
She returns his smile.
“Hey Arch.”
She leans in and kisses Archie on the lips and Jughead feels his heart plummet .
Betty looks back at him and her smile is gone. She looks as hurt as he feels.
“You were supposed to come back to me Jughead !” She yells at him as she begins to sob. Archie pulls her into him and anger surges through Jughead’s veins like Venom.
“I never left !” He shouts at her.
He’s alone at pops in the booth by himself. Tears streak his face as he cries alone.
“I never left.” He whispers to no one.
“Yes you did. You left me all alone.”
Jughead looks up and he’s sitting on the front steps of his trailer home.
His younger sister Jellybean glares at him with angry accusatory eyes.
“I didn’t JB , you left me.” Jughead tries to pull himself together in front of his little sister.
“Not then Jughead, now.” She whines like the little girl he remembers from before his mother took off.
Jughead is confused. He feels like he’s missing a big part to an even bigger puzzle.
“Don’t leave Jughead ! Don’t leave !” Jellybean screams as he realizes she too is dressed for a funeral then suddenly he’s falling.
He falls into the darkness that birthed him. He’s so lost and he’s confused and he’s hurting. Everything hurts. He’s alone, something he should be used to by now.
“I’m alone too.” Says the voice of Veronica Lodge.
Jughead can hear her but he cannot see her in the darkness. She sounds so sad. She sounds broken just like he’s broken. He wonders if she hurts everywhere like he hurts everywhere. He just wants to stop feeling. He wants the darkness to swallow him whole because that feels like the only way to be free of it.
“Jughead !”
Jughead wakes with a start. He’s in the Whyt Wyrm and Sweetpea is laughing at him along with a few of the others. Toni’s holding his hand and it gives him a weird feeling in his gut that reminds him of the dream he was just having. He looks into her eyes and sees sadness. She’s wearing a short all black dress that could pass for funeral attire and he feels a slight panic before remembering short Black dresses aren’t all that odd for Toni to be wearing.
“Toni ?” Jughead ask.
“Yeah Jug?”
“How did I get to the Wrym?” He ask in a rushed tone hoping this isn’t another part of the nightmare.
Sweetpea leans down and clasps Jughead on the shoulder looking him into his eyes with a somber expression making his blood run cold.
“You’re not at the Wrym Jones.” He states.
Jughead looks to all of his friends but their faces begin to blur. A face appears in the crowd clear as day. The one face that shouldn’t be there.
Hiram Lodge.
Jughead tries to stand and chase him down but his legs won’t work. Hiram smiles at him and winks before turning and walking out of the Southside bar.
“Lodge wait !” Jughead screams as loud as he can.
He finds the strength to get up and run after Hiram but his exit is blocked off by his father.
“Stop chasing demons boy.” FP says gruffly to his son.
“Dad move.” Says Jughead. “I have to find out what Hiram is doing on the Southside.”
“You leave that fight to someone else son.” His father tells him with an air of authority.
“If I don’t fight him no one else will, no one else cares.” Jughead tells his father in a defeated voice dropping his head.
“You don’t know what it will cost you.” FP says hauntingly.
“I’ll pay it, whatever it is.” Jughead states then pushes past the older Jones, shoulders bumping.
Jughead walks out the Wrym and is standing outside on a small playground. He recognizes it as the playground he, Betty, and Archie played on as children.
“You found me.” Veronica says.
Jughead turns around and she’s sitting on the swings swaying herself back and fourth slowly.
“I wasn’t looking for you.” Says Jughead. He’s upset he’s found the wrong Lodge but he takes a seat on the swing beside her regardless.
“No you were looking for yourself.” She states.
“Then why did I find you?” He asks feeling the truth in her statement. He’s been trying to find himself his whole life.
“Because we’re the same , you and I Jones .” She answers with a soft smile and a wink.
“I refuse to believe I could find myself in a Lodge.” Jughead spits but with little heat.
Veronica just chuckles. He finds himself smiling with her.
“When did we become friends again?” Jughead asks.
She doesn’t answer so he turns to look at her and she’s staring at him in horror.
“Jughead you’re bleeding.” She says with concern.
He looks down and sees he’s perfectly fine.
“No I’m not.” He tells her , but as soon as the words are out of his mouth he’s coughing up blood and all the pain is back.
Jughead is suddenly terrified that he in fact is dying. The crazy thing is he’s never been scared of dying before. He can’t help the tears that fall.
“Veronica I’m scared.” He confessed with a mouthful of blood.
His vision blurs but he feels her hands over his.
“Jughead focus on me.” She tells him.
His vision blurs to the point that he only sees red.
“Jughead focus on me.” This time it’s Betty’s voice and she sounds scared too.
“No.” Jughead tells her pulling his hands away. He’s cold but he doesn’t want any of Betty’s warmth. She brings with her another type of pain that Jughead can’t process at the moment.
“You left me. “ he tells her.
“Everyone leaves me.” He whispers to himself.
He hears his mothers voice firm and cold in the distance “It’s best if you don’t come here Jughead.”
“Because you’re always in the way Jones.” Says Hiram standing too close.
Jughead tries his best to see past the red and see Hiram but he can’t. The pain is too much.
“Do you know how I handle obstacles Mr.Jones ?” Hiram asks.
Then it all comes back to him. A flash of headlights and a slip of his bike in the rain.
“With fatal intentions.” Says Veronica sadly.
Jughead feels the air leave his lungs as he relives the moment he hit the pavement. He knows without a shadow of a doubt he’s dying and Hiram Lodge is the reason.
There’s an annoying beep going off and Jughead can’t tell where it comes from as he fights for breath but he wants it to stop. People are shouting all around him.
“Jughead please wake up.” Veronica begs and he feels her hands over his. Is he still dreaming ?
“Save my boy!” FP is yelling.
Jughead feels so cold.
“Dad be quiet.” Jughead manages to whisper as the pain fades around the edges.
“What’s happening?” He hears Betty ask. She sounds like she’s crying.
“Betty don’t cry.” He whispers to her.
He’s falling and he feels the cold darkness grip him. He’s aware he’s not breathing but it doesn’t hurt and he doesn’t need the air. He’s aware his body is in a lot of pain but he doesn’t feel it.
He feels his worry about Hiram slipping as he loses will power. He’s tired and he wants to sleep. He wants to let go of everything , he’s so tired of fighting. He’s tired of being the only one fighting, all it’s ever gotten him was into trouble.
Jellybean was right , he’s leaving her. He’s leaving FP and his mom. There will not be a fourth Forsythe. Maybe that isn’t a bad thing. He’s leaving Betty and Archie. They don’t need his shadows clouding their light. They deserve each other, he never deserved them. Hiram wins, the Lodges always seem to win. Even Veronica . She’s a Lodge and she’s somehow won a spot in his last thoughts, maybe even his heart. Damn her for that last part.
Who’d figure the last girl he’d ever kiss would be Veronica Lodge. Is it poetic justice that her father probably had him murdered?
He hadn’t even made up with Betty yet or heard her side of what happened. He would die with that regret because she was honestly quite obviously the love of his life even if he would never be hers.
His heart broke for his father and he hoped this wouldn’t bring FP back to the bottle. He hoped the Serpents wouldn’t let The Southside go without a good fight, then again he wouldn’t want any of them on their deathbeds. He would die a thousand times if it meant none of them had to. Southsiders had suffered enough.
“I’m sorry dad.” Jughead whispered hoping someone would hear him. “Tell Jellybean I’m sorry and that I didn’t want to leave her.”
“Jughead you fight goddamnit !” FP yelled but everything went black.
|
"URGH! STUPID! STUPID!" Sebastian screamed and threw his cup to the wall, breaking it.
He was stupid! Stupid! How could he have been so careless?! He should have thought!
'They know, they will know, they will hate you'
The blond ran a hand through his hair. The kids saw him shirtless today...
He fucked up.
It was early in the morning, he naively thought the kids would be sleeping so he went to the kitchen to get toothpaste...Just to find them there, stealing fruit.
They all gaped for a second and before he could even think of escape, the twins tackled him to the couch.
"Let me go!" Sebastian cried, but it was useless. He wasn't going to kick or hit his niblings, so he just defeatedly accepted his fate as they giggling turned him around...
Just to find his zodiac tattooed on his back.
"Hey...What's this?" Mabel asked confused. "I thought it was an unicorn! But that triangle is cute with that little eye!" She giggled.
'Aawww, you make me blush, Shooting Star!'
Dipper rolled his eyes and forcedly opened the closed eye of his uncle. "What is this, Uncle Seb? It is...weird" And oddly familiar, was unsaid. "Is it a cult? Does it have to do with your powers!?"
You have no idea...
Sebastian's face was crimson red and he was trying to hide himself from view, but it was impossible. He was chest naked with his niblings over him and he unwillingly showing them what he had been avoiding all summer.
'So will you tell them or what?'
Are you fucking insane?! Of course not!
"Um..." Seb hummed in thought before laughing nervously, feigning embarrassment (which wasn't that difficult) "Damn it, kids! I didn't want you to see this!" He groaned exaggeratedly and Mabel giggled.
"What is that? What does it mean?" Dipper asked. He was finally seeing Mystery #23! And he had no idea what to think about it. His uncle was super mysterious though, so it must mean something weird as well!
He didn't expect the answer he got.
"A regret" Seb pouted. "Never drink alcohol with bad people, kids, because you will wake up one day with your back burning and a stupid meaningless thing tattooed on your back" That wasn't necessarily a lie, so it helped him ease his conscience.
"So you don't know what it is?" Dipper asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Nope! No idea what or why that guy made this shit on my back!" Seb laughed.
'Rude'
"Language!" Mabel scolded.
"It is really crazy, isn't it?" Seb chuckled. "So, can I go put on a shirt?"
The twins let him go and he quickly went upstairs.
He felt horrible the rest of the day, Mabel was cheerful like always, but Dipper seemed suspicious of his apparent ignorance of the meaning of his tattoo. He wasn't dumb though, he was going to know sooner than later...
"Stupid! This is all your fault you horrible portal!" He glared at the incomplete portal in front him. If he hadn't stayed awoke at night working on it then maybe he wouldn't have been so tired to think enough before walking down shirtless...
"I HATE YOU!" He flipped the metal structure off but of course, the cold machine didn't respond, mocking him with its silence.
'We will never bring them back'
"This isn't working..." The blond whimpered and rested his elbows on the panel, his angry mood changing to sadness to sulk about the portal.
He had learnt a lot about the portal, he took some photos of Journal 3 and had memorized Journal 1, but still, without Journal 2, it didn't matter. He needed the three of them to really start working. The Journals were the blueprints, the steps to activate it, he needed them!
Frustrated for everything and with hands wishing to become matches, the blond sighed and went back upstairs, almost tripping with one of Mabel's plushies in the dark.
Sebastian slowly walked upstairs and into the twins' room. They looked so small...All curled up and drooling on the pillow...
"Ugh, kid..." Seb chuckled softly when he saw Dipper had kicked off the blankets and was clutching a book in his hands. He gently took the book away and put it on the nightstand after bookmarking it and tucked up his nephew once again.
He sat down super slowly next to him and gently stroked his curly hair, lifting his bangs to see his beautiful birthmark.
Pinetree and Shooting Star...The kids who caused his downfall on his first life...They were his brother's children and he loved them so much, damn it!
'Ew, emotions are all over here...'
He cooed, his anger disappearing, when Dipper sighed sleepily.
-.-
After a long, boring rainy day at the Shack, Sebastian finally could call it a day. It started raining heavily and Wendy and Soos decided to stay a bit longer until it stopped. He didn't have a problem with that as long as they didn't break or steal something.
His niblings were about to start playing Conflict Boat after working as slaves so he left them downstairs while he changed clothes. He loved his suits, he loved being elegant, but t-shirts and sweatpants sounded so comfy and appealing right now...
From his room, he turned on the radio of the living room with his mind and smirked evilly when he heard everyone scream startled.
"But my knees were far too weak
To stand in your arms
Without falling to your feet"
The blond-brunet gasped, feeling the need to go and annoy everyone downstairs, and finished changing.
"But there's a side to you
That I never knew, never knew
All the things you'd say"
He quickly ran down the stairs with a huge smile on his face, almost tripping with his socks.
"They were never true, never true
And the games you play
You would always win, always win"
He jumped into the living and sang with all his heart as everyone looked at him unimpressed and used to his antics. "But I set FIIREEE to the RAAIINNN! Watched it pour as I touched your face!" He went towards Dipper and dramatically ran a hand through his face, making the child whine.
His hands burst into flames and he fell to his knees.
'You are so dramatic'
Oh, admit it, you love it!
"Well, it burned while I cried 'cause I heard it screaming out your name! Your name!"
Dipper rolled turned off the radio and giggled when he saw his uncle's horrified expression.
"My drama!" Seb whined.
"Stop, we are playing" The brown-haired child stuck his tongue out at his uncle and went back to sit down in front of Mabel.
Sebastian rolled his eye at the child, he was a meanie, and went to sit on the couch to watch TV.
Dipper hummed, concentrating on his game again, and said. "I'm gonna say... B5!"
Mabel giggled "Miss!" She put a peg on her board arranging it like a kitten.
"I don't think you're playing this right"
Sebastian suddenly gasped when a commercial popped up in the screen and he laughed loudly.
"Hey! Everybody come! You need to laugh at this with me!" Sebastian shouted and his niblings and employees crowded around him.
The commercial started with the Tent of Telepathy and then Gideon appeared singing. "Who's cute as a button, and always your friend? Lil' G-I-D to the E-O-N! Wink!"
Bud Gleeful's voice was heard saying "Li'l Gideon!"
Dipper made a face. "Ugh, Gideon!"
"Remember when I wouldn't date him and he tried to destroy us?" Mabel asked and looked at her uncle.
Seb rolled his eye. "For a year that kid has been trying to trick me into losing the Mystery Shack! As if!" He knew Bud was behind all of this! He hated him! A 10yr old couldn't be that evil, could he?
'Weren't you?'
No...I-I was confused with my life, I-I am good.
Bill2 chuckled. 'Sure, sure. You are a saint, Sebastian"
One time I caught him stealing my moisturizer" Wendy added, crossing her arms over her chest.
"And yet, our mutual hatred for him bonds us!" Soos smiled and hugged Wendy and Seb.
The commercial continued and Bud spoke again. "Come on down to Li'l Gideon's Tent of Telepathy, opening soon at this location!"
Everyone's eyes widened a little bit when the Tent of Telepathy crushed the Mystery Shack on Tv
Dipper frowned and looked at his uncle. "Uh, should we be worried about that?"
Seb snorted and waved a hand dismissively. "Pinetreee! Star Boy can't take over my house unless he break in and steal my deed!" A fake deed which he inherited from his supposedly fake dead brother, but a deed nonetheless.
They heard a loud crash from a broken window and with a quick check with his All seeing eye, he knew it came from his office.
Wendy frowned a bit and looked at her boss. "You mean like, right now?"
Sebastian sighed tiredly. "Come on, who wants to hurt a kid?" He grinned and his adorable niblings nodded. They followed Seb to his office and the blond kicked the door opened dramatically.
Not wearing the bowtie, think before acting!
Gideon was there, trying to open Seb's safe, well, Stanford's, but what wasn't his in this place?
"38? 41? Oh, heavens to Betsy!"
"Gideon!" Seb shouted and the white haired boy jumped, but quickly smiled.
"Well, well, Sebastian! My arch-nemesis! We seem to have entered a dangerous game of cat and mouse. But the question remains, who is the cat, and who is the-"
"Soos, broom" Seb extended his hand and his older employee handed him the object as Wendy and the kids laughed.
"Oh no, not the broom!"
"Run, little shit, run!" Seb smiled madly and started chasing the boy around the room, hitting him twice before the boy hissed at him.
Seb guided Gideon to the front door hitting him with the broom until he finally chased him outside, watching with glee as his hair full of gel was hit by the rain.
"Get outta here, Star Boy! Go bother someone else!"
Gideon glared at the man who was grinning at him with his huge fangs. "You mark my words, Sebastian! One day I'm gonna get that combination, and once I steal that deed, you'll never see the Mystery Shack again!"
"Yeah, yeah! Hey, say hi to Bud, tell him he's an ass!" Seb grinned and closed the door in his angry, chubby face.
"Way to chase Gideon out, Mr. P!" Wendy laughed and high-fived him.
"Yeah! Next time it is me hitting that kid!" Dipper said and his uncle rolled his eye. Gideon wasn't a threat, he was just the stupid child of the stupid man he hated. Yes, he got hold of a magic artifact but it was just once and they took care of it, so everything was safe.
He picked up the deed Gideon had dropped as everyone went back to the living room, and he put it back into the safe before pressing the lock button.
"No one can find this combo, only one person knows it and it's me! It is in my pathetic, limited human brain" Seb mumbled before going to the living room as everyone else.
If he had been a demon and able to see everything at the same time, he would have seen Gideon watching him from the window in his office, scowling angrily.
"Your brain isn't as safe as you might think, Sebastian Pines!" The white-haired child pulled out a red journal with a six-fingered hand which had a number 2 on it and grinned.
"This is the last straw! It's time to unlock the journal's greatest secret..." He found the page he needed, showing a Zodiac with 11 symbols, and in the middle, the drawing of a one-eyed triangle with bowtie and top hat.
-.-
"So, Mr. P, is there food in here?" Wendy shouted from the kitchen as she rummaged through the drawers. "You could, you know, feed us?" She smiled and Seb laughed.
"I sure have food! But for my family...? Why don't you go annoy your Dad a little bit? I have had enough of you these years"
Wendy came back with snacks from the Gift Shop and took a mouthful to her mouth. "Nah, you love me, dude!"
Dipper watched his uncle and the teen banter playfully. He wished he could have that kind of relationship with Wendy... "So-um...How long have you known our Uncle?" He coughed to call their attention.
"Since forever, dude!"
"I know her almost as much as I know you" Seb said as he flickered through the channels trying to find something. "She used to sneak in to see monsters or some shit like that. She knew I would give her candy as we waited for Dan so eventually I stopped calling him to pick her up and used her as slave"
"Child labor! You're insane, man!" She punched his shoulder with a grin.
"Haha! Sure I am, Red! What's your point?! And it is called taking advantage of the situation" Seb clarified.
The twins started laughing and Wendy turned to look at Dipper, who froze when her green eyes landed on him. "No, but seriously, this man is like an uncle to me too, even though he's nuts" She would never admitted it, but she was really fond of the blond. She knew him since she was a toddler, he was her friend and she knew she could count on him.
"Oh yeah?" Seb blushed a bit at the small show of affection. "You-You aren't just saying that to get more free food, are you?"
Wendy gasped and looked at Dipper in fake shock. "Dude! You heard what he told me?!"
Dipper laughed but he was suddenly attacked by Mabel, holding a Nyarf dart gun.
"Bam!" She gave him a gun and both ran away laughing, attacking each other with foam darts.
The twins eventually got bored of running around and lazily threw themselves close to their uncle to watch a movie. Seb had been looking for a while now and he settled on an Old West one.
Mabel gave her gun to Wendy in favor of laying down on some pillows and the teen and her twin started shooting at each other lazily.
The announcer of the movie started speaking. "He put the old in "old west," they call him...Grandpa the Kid!"
The old man wearing cowboy clothes said dramatically. "I'm tired during the day"
"Ah, I relate to this on a spiritual level" Seb said and when Dipper and Wendy looked at him, he huffed. "What!?"
"Grunkle Seb, why can't we watch a movie that we'll all enjoy?!" Mabel asked and showed them their DVD box "Dream Boy High! Where love is on your permanent record"
"Booo!" Everyone said with a scowl. Seb hated most romantic feels, they made him think of Wanda and he didn't like it.
"You'll learn to like it!"
They heard another crash, but this time it came from the kitchen. Soos came running into the room gasping for air.
"Aaah! Dudes, there's a bat in the kitchen! It tried to touch me with its 'weird little bat fingers!'"
"A bat?! Cool! I want it as a pet" Seb grinned and looked at his nephew. "Pinetree, go get me my bat"
Mabel laughed and got more comfortable. "Yes!"
"What? Why can't Mabel do it?" Dipper pouted and Seb leaned back on the armchair.
"Cause life ain't fair, kid. Now go fight and capture my bat so we can watch TV" Seb said. He might be sounding a bit rough but he wanted Dipper to face danger bravely! He didn't do it to Mabel because, stupidly or not, his niece jumped into dangerous situations with a smile, Dipper was a bit more jumpy and he wanted to help.
"No way, Uncle Seb! You always make me do dumb chores. I'm putting my foot down this time!" He petulantly stomped his foot on the carpet. The child hated when the blond exploited him. Dipper liked his uncle a lot but...sometimes he-he was too much for him!
"I said do it, kid!"
Dipper stood in front of the Tv and old west music played conveniently.
Seb and Dipper stared at each other, glaring and growling. Seb of course had more experience making intimidating glares (As a child and teen those were necessary to keep people from bothering him) and with a dramatic effect with blue fire, Dipper winced.
"Okay, I'll do it!" He sighed and walked into the kitchen with Mabel following from behind.
"Do you really need that bat?" Wendy asked and Seb grinned.
"Haha, no"
"Why can't you just, I don't know, kill it with your powers?"
"Dipper is capable of handling a tiny bat, Ice" He rolled his eye. "Besides, bats are more afraid of you than you are of them" He shrugged and raised the volume when they heard loud screams coming from the kitchen.
-.-
The rain stopped a little while ago and while Dipper was getting his injuries disinfected by Soos, Wendy said goodbye to her boss now that the weather was nice enough for her to walk home.
Sebastian stayed on the couch curled up, watching cartoons and waiting for everyone to come back.
The bat escaped but he didn't care, at least Dipper confronted it! And he was really proud!
Unfortunately, he didn't have time to tell him because he passed out exhausted. A little nap couldn't hurt right?
Oh but before that, he remembered the rain had stopped. "Dipper! Go mop the entrance!"
-.-
"Why does Uncle Seb always pick on me? Think about it! The more painful or difficult the chore is, the more likely it is I'll have to do it. Why doesn't he pick on you guys?" Dipper complained as he was cured by Soos and Mabel from the bat's bites.
"Dipper, Seb's personality is one of life's great mysteries! Like whether or not it's possible to lick your own elbow"
"I bet you can't!" Mabel smiled.
"I bet I can!" Soos tried to lick his elbow and walked away, followed by Mabel chanting "Lick it! Lick it! Lick it!"
Dipper sighed and watched his twin and his friend use the back door to go outside and have more space for their dumb game. "I-I like my uncle, but, but sometimes I feel like he hates me..." He looked at a picture of him on the wall and glared.
"Dipper! Go mop the entrance!"
The boy growled when he heard his uncle speak and fired a Nyarf dart at it.
Meanwhile, Mabel and Soos were still laughing and seeing if he could touch his elbow.
"Lick that elbow! Lick that elbow!"
"Like the infinite horizon, it eludes my grasp" Soos said when suddenly, both of them heard laughter.
Mabel looked at the man and frowned "Is that who I think it is?...Come on, Soos!" She started trotting in direction of the high-pitched voice which belonged to a nasty white-haired child.
Mabel's face morphed into a confused pout as the voice got louder and she recognized it without a doubt as Gideon's.
"-Vene foris videntis omnium!"
What is he saying!? The girl thought as she looked at what Gideon had done. There was a circle on the floor with candles around, and in the middle, there was a photo of her uncle with his eye crossed with a red 'x'
Suddenly, Gideon grunted a bit as if in pain and his eyes started glowing blue as he chanted. "Egassem sdrawkcab. egassem sdrawkcab. Egassem sdrawkcab! Egassem sdrawkcab! Egassem sdrawkcab!"
Mabel and Soos watched in shock as their surroundings turned black and white as the animals stopped midair.
Soos hugged Mabel to try to protect her and both of them cowered in fear as a white light surrounded by fire appeared in the sky.
"AAHAHAHAHAHA! AAHHAHAHAHA"
An eye appeared in the triangular form and a triangle popped out of it.
Mabel gasped but quickly covered her mouth with her hands. That was the triangle guy from her Uncle's back! She knew it was him because that triangle also wore a hat and a bowtie and he thought it looked funny!
"Oh, oh, Gravity Falls! Hasn't been long but it is good to be back! Name's Bill Cipher! And I take it you're some kind of living ventriloquist dummy?! Haha! I'm just kidding, I know who you are, Gideon!"
"Hey...That dude reminds me of Mr. Pines" Soos whispered and the brunette girl quickly shushed him, scared they might draw their attention.
Soos was crazy! How could he even think that-that THING was similar to her Uncle?! Sure he had a bowtie and was yellow and had one eye...But that didn't mean anything!
Maybe she was being paranoid?! Yeah! It had to be it! Dipper was making her paranoid too!
Gideon frowned scared at the demon "W-what are you? H-how do you know my name?!" He demanded.
"Oh, I know lots of things!" In a slow, deep voice, the demon then repeated "LOTS OF THINGS..." His body showed lots of cryptic things and locations like UFO's, moon landing and the pyramids.
Doesn't Uncle Seb always say that? Mabel thought.
The demon eye-grinned and his body returned back to normal. "Hey, look what I can do!" He gestured towards a deer and with a flick of his hand, he pulled out all the animal's teeth, making them fly into his hand.
Mabel and Soos gagged.
"Deer teeth! For you, kid! Ahahahahaha!" Bill poured the teeth in Gideon's hand and the boy cried in shock, dropping the teeth nervously.
"You're insane!"
"Sure I am, what's your point?!" Bill returned the deer its teeth.
Mabel frowned a bit more. No...It couldn't be...That-That demon was stealing her Uncle's phrases! What a big meanie!
Gideon doubted it for a second before glaring at the floating triangle. "Listen to me, demon! I have a job for you. I need you to enter the mind of Sebastian Pines and steal the code to his safe!"
Mabel and Soos gasped in shock and looked at each other worriedly.
Bill laughed easily until he remembered something. "Wait...Sebastian Pines?" Bill turned around to think.
Fuck. He couldn't enter to his mind...Not with the deal, he needed permission from Corn Chip...
As he thought, images of his deal flickered in his body.
Ok, he knew what to do. He turned to face Star Boy again. "You know what, kid? You've convinced me! I'm sold! I'll help you with this and in return you can help me with something I've been working on! We'll work out the details later!"
Gideon grinned and extended his hand. "Deal!"
Bill's hand engulfed in really familiar blue fire and he shook Gideon's hand. "Well, time to invade Seb's mind! This should be fun!" The white portal from before appeared and he opened his arms. "Remember: reality is an illusion, the universe is a hologram, buy gold, bye!"
With a bright flash of light he disappeared and everyone opened their eyes. Everything had gone back to normal again.
Gideon rubbed his eyes and then grinned. "It worked!" He started laughing maniacally as Mabel and Soos watched in shock.
They backed away a bit and Mabel looked at the man. "Come on, Soos!"
A dorito demon was going after her uncle, she had to help him! She sped up and Soos started gasping for air, trying to keep up with her.
"Soos...That...Bill...had a similar voice to my Uncle Seb" Mabel mumbled as they trotted back home.
"Yeah, I know right, dude? But Mr. Pines doesn't have that echo thing though"
Mabel frowned. What was she thinking?! Her uncle Seb had nothing to do with that demon.
"Well, that doesn't matter! Bill is going to invade his mind to steal the code! Come on! We gonna warn them!" She ran even faster and Soos groaned tiredly.
"But we will stop for snacks on the way!"
-.-
Sebastian sighed in relief in his mind when he started dreaming. He was always conscious while dreaming, which took away the fun, but at least he was able to sleep and dream as a human.
"Sebastian?"
The man turned around and smiled widely, staring at the blonde woman in front of him.
"Wanda..." He smiled widely and ran towards her to give her a strong hug.
"Sebas?" She asked again. Her soft hands stroked his cheeks extremely slowly, as if she couldn't believe he was there. She hadn't dreamt of him in a while, why was he coming back to her mind?
"Yeah, it's me...I miss you so much ..." Seb sobbed but the blonde wiped his tears gently.
"I thought you were dead..." She tiptoed and kissed his lips, both of them melting in the kiss as if they were teens once again.
"No, I am not!" Seb laughed softly and kissed her forehead. "What do you want to do? We can do whatever we want, Wanda!" Seb snapped his fingers and the blurry background changed into a forest based in the one of Gravity Falls. "We can get married in the forest, like you always wanted! We-We can be happy here..."
Wanda looked around and whimpered. "You're not real...I must be dreaming"
Seb tilted his head to the side and slowly put his hands on her waist. "Wanda..."
The green-eyed woman clung to him tightly and started sobbing. "Sebastian, you big idiot! Why did you leave me!?"
"Come on, why are you sad? I don't want you to be sad..." Seb said. In his dream he could say and make everything go as he wanted. Why couldn't he make Wanda happy if she was part of his dream?
Neither of them knew Sebastian was dream walking. He was talking to Wanda for real and neither of them knew it...
"I miss you...I have been alone without you, I can't take you out of my head, you big jerk!" Wanda hit his chest with anger. "But I still love you and-and it would be nice to have a life with you...At least in a dream"
Seb materialized a ring, a golden ring with a pink diamond on it because Wanda loved pink, and he gently put it in his finger. "Wanda...I-"
"Aaaaawwww! Isn't this so SICKENING SWEET!?" Sebastian's eyes widened and he turned around, standing in front of Wanda protectively.
"Bill!" Sebastian shouted and Wanda grimaced.
"What the heck is that?!"
"Ahh! You must be Wanda! The one who makes Corn Chip cry at night right?! Name's Bill Cipher, kid!"
"This is a nightmare" Wanda mumbled and Bill laughed madly.
"Ah, sure it is! Sorry I had to come all the way here but Corn Chip here doesn't seem to know he shouldn't invade other people's dreams, it's rude! Now! I don't wanna talk to you, blondie, so WAKE UP!" He shouted at Wanda and Sebastian screamed when he was forcefully taken back to his own mind.
"Didn't I tell you to stop bothering me?! Stop pulling on my dick!"
"Geesh, relax! Why would I want to touch that?! You humans are disgusting!" Bill shuddered. "But I like that girl! Strong willed! Now I know why you wanted to procreate with her! Ahh, procreation, huh? What a sick, sad, limited mandate" Bill sighed dramatically.
"I wanna talk to you, as a friend! Here! Peace offering! More corn chips, you like to ingest them no?" Bill materialized a pile of Doritos and Seb yelped as the pile fell over him.
Bill2 was watching just next to Seb, but the demon wasn't paying to him, after all, it was just one of Seb's creations, it wasn't real, the only real being in this mind was Corn Chip and whether he wanted to admit it or not, he carried both his human and demon selves.
"Ahahahahahahahaha!"
Seb incinerated the corn chips and glared at the demon with his yellow eye glowing blue.
"Get out of here, Bill! I told you, you couldn't get in my mind again without my permission!"
Bill laid down on the air and put his hands behind his back. "Well, you might wanna let me in again, though"
"Who does he think he is to order us around?!" Bill2 spat and Seb couldn't agree more with him.
"Why!?"
"Your little, dumb niblings Pinetree and Shooting Star are getting in your mind, if you don't let me in, I might get angry with them for that" Bill shrugged.
Sebastian shook his head slowly. No, they wouldn't do that! He was lying! What did Bill want this time?!
Seb groaned in mild pain when an unfamiliar pressure in his mind suddenly appeared, the kids' consciousness.
"What will you do?"
"That is not of your business, but I won't hurt your intruders if you let me in again"
Sebastian sighed tiredly and looked at Bill2, who shrugged. "You're on your own"
"Alright...But don't hurt me or them!"
"I will not touch any of their corporeal and 3 dimensional bodies!" Bill eye-grinned and shook hands with the blond.
"See ya around, Corn Chip!"
Bill popped out and disappeared, leaving Seb standing in his dreams, alone.
"Well, that asshole wanted to come in, then I'm following him" Seb told Bill2 and raised a fist. The tiny triangle grinned and fist bumped him.
"It should be fun, let's do it!"
"Ah, ah! I don't want you around! They could see you! Go with my mom or somewhere!" Before his demon-self could protest, Seb moved a hand and chains wrapped around his ankles and dragged him screaming into the house to one memory Seb temporarily locked.
He made the remaining black fog disappear and he sighed, looking around at his blue and purple surroundings. He walked towards the Shack, which after considering it his home for so long, it became the center of his memories, and heard voices of people who shouldn't be there.
"Is this Sebastian's mind?" That was Mabel. "It is so pretty! It is like being in space! "Walking it's like floating!
"I figured there would be more hot guys and ladies" That was Soos.
"What would happen if we fall to the void?" Dipper asked curiously but fearing approaching the border of the floor.
Seb decided to make himself known. "Kids?" He didn't suppress the grin he made when the three of them jumped.
"What? What are you doing here?!" Dipper asked in shock and Seb raised an eyebrow.
"Well, Pinetree, last time I checked this was MY mind...What are YOU doing here?!"
Mabel stepped in front of Dipper, who crossed his arms over his chest, and exclaimed frantically. "Gideon wants to steal the code to the safe! We've got to look out for the triangle guy!"
Sebastian jumped when Bill's shrilly voice spoke.
"Yeah, look out for the triangle guy!" Bill appeared after he managed to go through the fog and twirled his black cane casually.
Seb acted surprised to see the demon in his mind and watched as Soos and Mabel got angry.
"It's him! It's the guy!"
"You leave our uncle's brain alone, you isosceles monster!" Mabel shouted and ran towards Bill, making Seb jump in fear, but Bill luckily only absorbed her and seconds later he let her come back.
"Gotcha! Wait, what?" Mabel looked at her hands and then back at the triangle with one eye. How did he do that!?
"Ah, Sebastian's family, we meet at last! Question Mark, Shooting Star, Pine Tree, I had a hunch I might bump into you!" He said and shot a hole in Dipper's chest, making both uncle and nephew scream panicked.
"HEY!" The blond shouted but with the funny look Bill gave him he decided to tone it down a bit. "Don't hurt my nephew, demon!"
"Haha! Those aren't their corporeal, three dimensional bodies, Sebis! All is fine!" The look the demon gave Seb was one of 'That was our deal'
Mabel playfully stuck her hand through Dipper and laughed. "Boop! Hahahaha!"
"Shooting-um-Mabel, no" Seb scolded and pulled her away from her brother.
"Oh yeah! That's another thing, demon! Why do you steal our uncle's nicknames!?" The girl demanded Bill, who just laughed out loud. This was gold! When they discover who Sebastian really is, it will hurt him so much and he will enjoy it even more!
"What do you want with our uncle's mind anyway?" Dipper asked and glared at the demon who laid back lazily and crossed his legs.
"Oh, just the code to our favorite tailor's safe! Don't worry, I won't hurt you, dear sir I have never seen before-"
Seb just glared even more. That asshole was doing it on purpose to provoke him!
"Inside the shack is a maze of a thousand doors representing your memories" Bill explained Seb, playing dumb with him, which clearly irritated the human "Behind one of them is a memory of him inputting the code! I just need to find it and Gideon will pay me handsomely!"
Luckily for Bill, no one was suspecting, and Mabel glared at him. "Not if we stop you!"
"Hah, fat chance! I'm the master of the mind" Blue flames encircled him dramatically. "I even know what you're thinking right now!"
Seb did too, he could feel it and he wasn't going to like the outcome…
"That's impossible, no one can guess what I'm thinking!" Mabel put her hands on her waist and confronted the demon but Bill just snapped his fingers and two of Mabel's favorite movie characters appeared, Xyler and Craz.
"Whoa, where are we, bro?" Xyler, the boy with blond hair asked and the boy with blue hair smiled.
"We must be in heaven, 'cause I just saw an angel!" Craz pointed to Mabel and the girl squealed, clinging to his leg.
"I'm never letting go of your leg!"
Bill spoke again, moving his cane up and down. "You're out of your league, kids. Turn around now before you see something you might regret, am I right, Sebastian?!"
The man tensed up and the triangle demon laughed. "Later, suckers!" He flew backwards and crashed through the wall of the Mystery Shack.
"We're goin' in!" Dipper declared but Seb pulled his vest to stop him.
"No, are you nuts? I don't want you in my mind! Get out of here, I can handle it, ok? This must be a weird dream" Seb feigned confusion as he pushed them away from the Shack.
"Uncle Seb! No! This creature is really dangerous and very, very real!" The child's eyes widened and he looked at the Journal he had brought with him before looking for the page of Bill.
Seb had to look away slightly as his nephew shoved him the blood-covered page to his face. "You see?! The Author warns us about him! He is dangerous and he shouldn't be trusted or in your mind!"
The blond stared at the drawings of Bill and he unconsciously took a hand to his neck because he was luckily not wearing his bowtie when he fell asleep. These drawings were making him nervous, that blood was Sixer's and this made him remember he had been a monster.
"Dipper, it will be ok"
The boy glared at him and then back at the drawing on the Journal. Out of the blue, he gasped and looked at his uncle with wide brown eyes.
"This-This Bill…He was the one in your back…" He said softly but loud enough anyway could hear.
"Wow…" Xyler and Craz said at unison as Mabel gasped. His tattoo didn't seem that cute anymore…
Fuck this kid and his keen perception and deduction!
"It-It is?" Seb asked and the boy nodded solemnly.
"You see why it is important we help you find that memory as soon as possible?! He might be targeting you for that tattoo! Let us help you, damn it!" The child shouted with a faint blush in his cheeks which made his uncle grin.
"Nope" He said, just to pissed off his nephew.
"Come on, Uncle Seb! Let's go before Bill gets there first!" Mabel pleaded.
"Ok" Seb smiled and his nephew glared at him offended. "You can come help me, but I'm in charge here, ok?! This is my mind! I know this place so you better not touch anything"
Everyone nodded and Seb led them inside the Shack but stopped just by the door.
"Mabel, can we leave those guys out here? Looking at them hurts my eye" He looked at her niece who hugged her new boys protectively.
"No! They can help us!"
"Totally! Arm throne!" They said and carried Mabel in their arms.
"Sure, but if I do something, it is always no for me" Dipper mumbled as he crossed his arms over his chest.
Soos saw Dipper frowning and approaching him. "Dude! Arm throne!" He started walking after Dipper "Arm throoone!"
"Gah! Get away!" Dipper screamed and ran inside the Shack, careful with the holes which appeared and disappeared on the floor.
Once inside, everyone gasped in awe as they looked around the Shack, much bigger than the original and which shifted between dark colors and grays, much like the exterior. There were thousands of thousands of doors floating around and grouped in different categories such as Fears, Hopes and most importantly, his three group of memories: gray, yellow and brown doors.
Seb had had to tidy up his Mindscape after Bill2 told him to fuck off when a flying gray door crushed him. It had been hilarious, but he was right, and he was glad he did because finding the memory of him putting in the code would be much easier now.
"Radical!" Craz said and Xyler spoke next. "I also think it's radical!"
Seb moved his right hand a bit and all the gray and yellow doors were surrounded by glowing blue chains which would keep them protected from prying eyes. He didn't need Dipper seeing his past life memories and jumping into conclusions...
"What? Why are you closing them?" Dipper asked his Uncle who grinned at him easily.
"These aren't the memories, it's just junk"
They continued walking, oblivious to the tense posture of the blond, and Soos pointed ahead to an entrance with the letters "Vhe'v Phprulhv" written above. Inside his memories were contained.
"Woah, look! Are those your memories, Mr. Pines?"
"Yeah, yeah, move it" Seb crossed his arms over his chest and watched his family and the colorful boys get inside.
"Great. I can't wait to see more of memories of Sebastian bossing me around" Dipper spat and Sebastian raised an eyebrow at him, confused.
"What was that, kid?" He glared and squatted to be eye level with him. "Remember who you are talking to, Mason. I might be relaxed, but I'm still older than you and your uncle" Seb felt a growl forming in his throat, how dare him?!
Both male Pines glared at each other until Mabel separated them. "Come on, guys! We've gotta find the code before Bill does!"
"Mabel is talking!" Craz shouted with a smile.
"So rad!"
Sebastian casted one more glance at his nephew before looking at his niece with a small smile. "You're right, Shooting Star. Let's go" He kissed her forehead with a smile and the girl hugged him briefly before running down the hallway with everyone else.
Dipper rolled his eyes and shoved his hands in his pockets. He didn't care, he didn't mind! He wasn't jealous! He didn't want Sebastian to like him like he liked Mabel!
He lazily opened a door and looked inside, only to frown a little bit at the scene inside. It was his uncle, he was much younger than now, wearing piercings all over his face and with his curly hair still brown. And he was in a prison patio.
Ha, Sebastian in prison, why doesn't it surprise me? Dipper thought bitterly.
"Guys, I-I don't want to do it" Seb pleaded but the delinquents paid him no mind. "I'm scared"
"Don't you dare back up on the plan"
Dipper paled dramatically and slammed the door shut when he saw his young uncle stabbing himself in the guts to escape from prison.
"It's not here" He coughed
Soos opened a door and found a younger version of his boss, still a teen, wearing a waiter' uniform and fighting with some costumers.
"Do you think I am having a blast having to look at your ugly butt face the entire evening and your equally ugly bratty children?!"
"Listen, stupid! That's my wife! How dare you?!"
"Hahahahaha! You heard me, fatass! Come and get me, old man!"
Sebastian was punched in the face by the man and Soos closed the door, not really expecting to see his boss looking so young and so full of anger. "Nope"
Sebastian rubbed his sixth finger nervously as they examined his memories. He really doubted the memory would be here…
Mabel looked at her uncle with a grin and opened a door, seeing his uncle sitting next to a grinning young man. "Uhh! Uncle Seb, are you on a date here?!"
"I'm Aiden" The older man said.
"S-Sebastian"
"Are you here with someone? I don't think someone as handsome as you can be single"
"N-No…I-I am alone…I just came to drink…"
Mabel watched his uncle interacting with the man and flustering and giggled madly. This was so adorable!
That caught Sebastian's attention and made his brown eye widen because he remembered what happened that night.
"How about getting out of here, uh?" The man offered with a whisper and Seb nodded drunkily.
"I-I…My motel is-is just around the corner"
Mabel jumped when the door was slammed close and locked with glowing light blue chains.
"Don't" Seb warned, making her retreat with her hands raised defensively.
"Yeesh" The girl said before going to see another memory.
Sebastian rolled his eye and looked away, checking another door to ignore the fact his niblings and Soos were in his mind! Walking all over the place! He would have to clean… He was so distracted that he didn't see Dipper running towards Mabel and Soos.
"Guys! I found memories about me! I'll be back!" He informed them but before he could run away, he was grabbed by the collar of his blue vest.
"That doesn't seem like a good idea" Soos advised, letting him go, and Mabel nodded in agreement.
"I just wanna know what that crazy guy really thinks of me…" Dipper looked in front of them, casting a glance at his uncle.
"We already know how Uncle Seb feels about us! He loves us! We're great" Mabel shrugged with a smile before walking away to meet with her uncle.
"Yeah. Let's just keep moving!"
"More moving? Yes! I love motion!"
Yeah, because he treats you nice… Dipper thought and before casting one last glance at his uncle, he walked towards the door with the answers to his questions. "Just a quick peek…"
Meanwhile, Sebastian opened an old door and smiled slightly when he saw himself playing with his tiny brothers at the beach with something yellow. Out of the blue, the yellow object flew towards him and landed by his feet, almost giving the man a heart attack when he realized it was Bill2.
"What are you doing here?!" Seb snarled and the triangle wiped the sand from his eye.
"MERCY! The kids are driving me crazy!"
"Hey! Come back!" Tiny Stanley shouted and Bill2 hugged his shoe.
"Let me out!" Bill2 demanded.
Before he could reply to his demon self, he saw Mabel and the rest of the group walking towards him, so, desperate, he kicked the triangle back inside with his foot before slamming the door shut.
"Are you ok?" Mabel asked giggling and the blond laughed sheepishly.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine" Seb rubbed the back of his head before looking at the doors ahead of him. If the door he just opened was from when he was five, it meant two things. First: He didn't organize his memories as well as he thought. Second: Any of those doors could contain his childhood memories, all of them where he wasn't wearing his eye patch! He couldn't have them seeing his yellow eye!
He turned around and saw everyone behind him opening and closing doors.
"Hello?! Code to Seb's safe? Where are you?" Soos shouted.
Mabel's colorful friends were opening the doors too, but Seb doubted they the double digit IQ necessary to realize something or even tell Mabel.
"Opening and closing doors is fun!" The blond smiled and his blue haired partner replied with "I can do it also!"
"Why didn't I incinerate them before…" The blond lamented himself, feeling his eye twitching.
Soos opened a door and looked inside, seeing his boss wearing Pj's and standing in front of the vending machine. He opened it and behind it was a secret hallway.
"If only people knew the truth… That hidden behind this vending machine, I secretly have a-"
Sebastian jumped and raised a hand to stop Soos, but luckily for him, the man shrugged and closed the door.
"BORING!"
Mabel looked up and saw a small door with the letters 'Top secret' above it.
"Alright, guys! I have a good feeling about this door! I bet this is the memory, Uncle Seb!" She moved to open the door without looking behind her. If she had looked at her uncle, she would have noticed how he paled dramatically
"Mabel no!" Seb cried horrified.
The girl opened the door and gaped at the scene in front of her. Her uncle was in the bathroom, half naked with a towel around his waist, wet and disheveled hair, and he was singing in front of the mirror.
"I know it sounds sordid! But you'll be rewarded when at last I am given my dues! And injustice deliciously squared! Be prepared!" Sebastian sang loudly with a surprisingly nice British accent.
"MABEL! Close that door!"
Mabel, holding back laughter, looked at her uncle who covered his face embarrassed and then turned back at the memory, in which Seb had started making voices for the hyenas and was having a serious conversation with himself.
"Idiots! I'll be king! Stick with me! And you'll never go hungry again! LONG LIVE THE KING! LONG LIVE THE KKIINGG!" Seb started raising his fist to the air.
Mabel closed the door and then burst into laughter. Her Uncle also sang in the bathroom like Dipper?! This was gold! Wait until Dad knows about this!
"Sweet Sally! That is why you take so long showering?!" Mabel laughed and Sebastian, with his face bright red, closed the door angrily and locked it with glowing blue chains.
"Ok, enough of this shit! Don't look at my memories anymore!" The embarrassed man raised a hand and the doors covered themselves with glowing chains so they couldn't open them anymore, but added a peephole so he could be the only one seeing inside. It was more practical, easier, and the best of all, he could keep everyone from seeing something he would regret later…
"Hah, we've been searching forever! What if the triangle guy finds the memory before we do?" Soos complained tiredly and looked at his boss for direction.
Mabel looked at her uncle. "Uncle Seb, you need to think! We can't think like you better than yourself! You are always hide a lot of stuff-" She ignored how he tensed up. "So you must have at least an idea where it could be!"
Soos nodded slowly, stroking his fat chin. "Yeah, she is right, Mr. Pines! Like how you hid your arrest warrants under that rug in the gift shop?"
"You are right!" Seb grinned. "Come on!" He took the group to where the carpet was located and knelt in front of it to move it out of the way.
Everyone gasped and smiled widely when they found a small door under it.
Soos opened the door slowly and the four of them poked their heads inside. They saw Sebastian in his office earlier in the day putting the deed in the safe. "There you go" He closed the door and started putting the code. "13, 44 and-"
Seb smiled sheepishly and closed the door. He didn't need anyone knowing the code. The least, the better.
"Dude! we found it!" Soos shouted and high-fived his boss.
"Yeah!" Mabel cheered and hugged her uncle by the waist, only to squeal when he picked her up and spun her around gently.
"Yeah indeed! We did it, Shooting Star!"
"But what do we do now? Jinx!" Xyler and Craz asked at the same time.
"We-wait…Where's Dipper?" Seb suddenly realized he was missing one charge and frantically looked around
"Dipper's lost?! That's not cool!" Xyler exclaimed.
"I am worried too!" Craz added.
Sebastian put Mabel on the floor and frowned. He lost Dipper in his freaking twisted and complicated mind! What was he going to do?!
Soos looked around nervously. "Maybe we should destroy the door first, right dude? So Bill can't find it… I should do it! My big fat arms are great at destroying stuff!"
The blond nodded and then looked at Mabel. "I'll go find your brother, stay here with Soos, alright?"
Mabel nodded obediently so Sebastian turned around to go back to where they came from, but his little niece's scream made him stop and look back worriedly.
Soos making the small door float in the air with a light blue glow and the realization hit him so hard it froze him in his spot.
No! No! NO!
Another Soos walked in with a huge grin on his face and everyone looked at him with a confused expression. "Hey guys! I just saw a memory of Seb wearing short-shorts and a crop top as a teen!...Didn't look... didn't look that bad! Hey, something weird is goin' on here"
"MABEL!" Sebastian shrieked and shot fire at the fake Soos, but the illusion just dodged it and started laughing in Bill's voice.
How could he have been so stupid?! He fell for it again!
Sebastian ran towards his scared niece and stood in front of her as Bill morphed into a yellow blob before going back to normal. Soos quickly joined them.
"Boy, you kids sure are gullible! I knew you'd lead me straight to the code!" Bill laughed maniacally as he held the door close to him. "It's funny how dumb you are!" He said and Seb growled at him.
"I got the combination to your safe, Corn Chip! Boy, that was even easier than I thought!" Bill mocked the human.
"Oh, yeah? Well, you're a-a stink face!" Mabel stepped in front of her uncle and shouted at Bill, but she was quickly pulled back.
"Mabel, enough" Seb hissed without taking his eye off Bill.
"We thought it was an awesome comeback, Mabel!" Xyler smiled but Mabel glared at him.
"Don't treat me like a child, Xyler"
"Haha! Later, suckers!" Bill flew away backwards with the door and Mabel looked at her uncle worriedly.
"Come on! We gotta get it back!"
"No, no! He is a demon, Mabel! I don't want you anywhere near him!" Seb scolded her and started pushing her away. "Go back"
"No!" The girl stomped her foot. "If he is so dangerous then we gotta stop him to safe you!"
Sebastian was really proud of her stupidly kind heart but before he could tell her going after Bill freaking Cipher was a really bad idea, a voice he hadn't heard in a while came from the stairs.
"What's the point?!"
"Pinetree!" Sebastian exclaimed relieved and with a big smile on his face before hugging him, only to be pushed away angrily.
"No! Don't act like you care, now!" The boy shouted and put his hands in his short's pockets.
"Dipper? What's wrong?" Seb asked worriedly at him and the boy let out a humorless laughter.
"Why should I save you?! I work for you day and night! I am interested in your powers and I thi-thought you were really cool and all you do in return is say you want to get rid of me!" Dipper accused, tears making his brown eyes glisten. "If you didn't want to have me here they you should have just told my Dad you only liked Mabel!"
"Where did you hear that?" Seb asked softly with a tiny frown. Dipper had surely looked in one of his memories and misunderstood something. He had never ever said that about any of his niblings, them or Dillon! He loved them, they were his family and they were the only people he cared about…
"Dipper, I'm sure that's not true" Mabel said but her twin continued shouting.
"I saw it with my own eyes in one of his memories, Mabel! He always picked on me remember? And now I know why! Sebastian hates me!"
"It's not true! Dipper, let me explain!" Seb pleaded desperately, hating the betrayed look Dipper was giving him, just as Mabel stepped in front of him to speak to her brother.
"Dipper, it doesn't matter what you saw! If we don't stop Bill, we'll lose the Shack!" She told Dipper who just rolled his eyes and started walking away.
"No! You know what? Not this time! For once this is one of Sebastian's problems I'm not gonna fix!" He shouted at them before running away.
"Dipper, stop!" Sebastian cried but the boy was already gone. He turned to look at Soos and Mabel. "Don't move from here, got it?! I'll go look for him"
Mabel saw her uncle run after her twin and looked at Soos. They were too dummy to face that triangle? Then they will do it! "Come on, Soos. We'll save my uncle ourselves, he just doesn't know how bad that demon is because he didn't see him"
"Dipper is a cool dude but…that wasn't cool, dude" Soos mumbled as he walked next to Mabel. The little girl sighed tiredly and shook her head. He just hoped Uncle Seb explained to him whatever Dipper saw. She knew Uncle Seb loved them equally and he would never hurt them on purpose.
"I know, Soos…I know"
-.—
"Pinetree!" Sebastian called, running around the mind Shack as he searched for his nephew without results. "Dipper! Dipper, please! I am sorry for whatever you saw but I swear it isn't true! DIPPER!"
A door opened and Sebastian looked in it hopefully, but just deadpanned when he saw Bill2 coming out of it, gasping for air even though he didn't have lungs.
"Sebastian!" He shrieked. "I was almost eaten by a shark in there! Now I know why you hate water so much!"
"No! Not now!" Seb shouted at him angrily and nervously, and physically forced the screaming triangle to go to another door. It looked old so it was probably one of when he was a baby or a toddler.
He entered to a different hallway fighting nervous tears when he finally saw his nephew trying to find a way to get out of his mind.
"Ugh! How do I get out of this place?! Exit? Hello?"
"Dipper!" Seb cried relief and ran towards his nephew.
"Ugh, you again…" The boy rolled his eyes and started walking away from his uncle. "Leave me alone!" The poor boy's voice dropped and he sniffed softly. He was trying to hold back his tears.
"Dipper, please…Don't get angry at me"
"How do you want me not to get angry?! You don't like me!" The boy's tears finally streamed down his chubby cheeks and Seb sniffed to hold back his own. "I thought you liked me, but I guess you are like everyone else…They hated me at school and even my own uncle hates me too so much he doesn't want to have me around…" The boy angrily wiped his tears from his eyes.
Seb squatted to be eye level in front of him and pouted sadly. "Pinetree…"
"When-When we get back, I-I want to call my Mom and Dad to tell them I want to go home" Dipper said angrily but he really wasn't feeling it. He liked Gravity Falls, there were so many mysteries he hadn't discovered yet but what was the point if the person taking care of him and accompanying in his adventures hated him…
"Dipper, how can you say that?" Seb asked softly, gently pulling his angry nephew into a hug who he didn't give back. "I don't hate you, Pinetree…You are my nephew, kid, how can you think I want to get rid of you?"
He gently pulled away from the hug and Dipper hugged himself, embarrassed for crying in front of Seb. "Tell that to the memory of you making me chop wood…" The child mumbled.
"Memory of…OH! The one I am with Soos?"
Dipper nodded sourly and Seb smiled gently. "Can I show it to you so you can see I didn't mean that at all?"
Before Dipper could reply, Seb summoned the door and it flew in front of them. The older Pines opened it and gently pushed his nephew inside so he could see the memory again. He felt much more relieved now. He knew he never said anything like that about his niblings, but knowing the memory Dipper saw was actually a good one was relieving.
Dipper looked down when Seb opened the door and saw him ordering him to go chop the wood.
"Dude, Sebastian, I've been meaning ask you. Why are you so hard on Dipper all the time?" Soos started asking and Seb from the memory leaned closer to him.
"Look, Soos, I'm gonna tell you something, ok?"
Seb pushed Dipper closer for him to hear what the two of them had been whispering.
"The kid's a freak! He's weak and a waste of space, I just wanna get rid of him! Those are all things people said about me when I was a boy..."
Dipper's eyes widened just as his Uncle closed the door and remembered the hard childhood he actually have "Huh? I-I don't understand, Uncle Seb…" The boy said softly.
"Listen, I-I wanted to explain it to you myself…I-I said those things because like you I used to be bothered at school…"
As he couldn't show him the real memories where he had his yellow eye uncovered, Seb created fake doors with modified memories inside and made them float in front of the place they were standing on.
"It-It was terrible" Seb laughed humorlessly. "If it wasn't for my height, it was for my six fingers, if it wasn't for that, it was for my eye, or my teeth, or how I didn't have any friend…"
The memory which floated in front of them was one of when Crampelter had beaten them to pulp in the playground a dark, rainy day. He had been with his triplets that day, but in this memory where his little self was wearing an eye patch, he was alone.
Dipper winced when the bully threw the ball to his Uncle's stomach and then threw him to the floor to kick his stomach.
"Eat dirt, six-fingered cyclops!" The fake memory of the bully shouted, repeating the insults Seb had heard all along his school years.
The younger Pines looked at his Uncle, expecting him to continue with the explanation. He did.
"I wanted so much to learn how to box, but-but my 'father' never let me even try..."
"I-I don't know your Dad…" Dipper apologized. He only knew Grandma Kari, he didn't know anything about his Dad's father…
"I'm glad you don't" Seb nodded solemnly.
Another fake door appeared in front of Dipper, making him wince.
"Pops! Can please go to the boxing lessons!? I have been good, really! I promise I'll behave more!"
"No" The man wearing a hat and dark glasses replied.
"Please, dad! Please!"
The younger version of his Uncle was hit hardly on his cheek and Dipper gaped. He just hit his uncle! What was wrong with him!?
"Listen, boy, and listen well! I'm not paying shit for you, you understand? You are a little monster and I'm not paying you to be one even more! Now, stop asking me that question because you'll get something worse than a slap. And you better not tell your mother about this! You heard?!"
"Y-yes, sir..."
Seb didn't modify the memory that much, he just gave himself an eyepatch and deleted from his sentences the parts he mentioned the Stans. The old hatred he used to feel towards Filbrick came back even stronger than before.
"Dipper, I didn't mean to make you feel like I'm torturing you, I-I was just trying to help you…Your dad is a freaking black belt and he didn't teach you how to fight! I know I am really annoying and tiring but I wanted to help the only way I know, I wanted to give you what I wasn't given: confidence, braveness, self-defense, strength! So when the world fights, you know how to fight back with useful skills at your disposal!"
Dipper smiled slightly.
"Do you think my unconventional methods are working?" Seb asked with a smirk and the boy hummed, thinking in the memory of him chopping wood.
"I-I managed to chop that wood in half!" Dipper realized with a soft gasp. He had never used an axe in his life, even less chop wood! Forcing him to do it without Mabel's help (who unknown to him was also forced to chop wood days prior), his uncle taught him how to do it himself instead of just asking for help!
"I'm really proud of you, kid" The blond ruffled his hair. "I just don't go around repeating it because your ego would be too big to go through the door!" Seb joked and the child laughed and punched his shoulder. This time, it felt like a decent punch!
Seb hugged his nephew tightly and this time, Dipper hugged him back. "Thanks, uncle Seb…Sorry for shouting like that"
"Nah, don't worry about it" Seb said and was about to poke his belly when he realized Dipper didn't have half his torso. "Oh, right! The hole, haha! I forgot about it! Let's fix that up" He pointed a finger at him and his chest regenerated.
"Wow! Cool! How did you do that? Is it part of your powers? You can still use them in your mind, can't you?"
"Haha! Pinetree, you are in a mind! You can do whatever you want in here! Powers or not!" Seb created a bag of Doritos to proof his point.
"Well how about that?" The boy smiled.
The two male Pines jumped when they heard screams and evil laughter. Seb and Dipper looked at each other. "Bill!"
"Damn it! I told them to stay put!" Seb cursed before making the last fake memory disappear.
"Come on, Uncle Seb, we gotta stop Bill!" Dipper said before standing up and running in direction of the screams.
Seb watched his stupidly brave nephew and grinned before following him. "Huh, fighting back...Remember, Dipper! You can have any power you imagine here, ok?! Use that to fight that monster!"
Running, Dipper grinned and after concentrating a little bit, he started floating.
"Woah! Awesome!"
They followed the screams and there they saw a really angry Bill standing in front of Soos and Mabel, screaming.
Those brats! They didn't know what they just costed him and he swore he was going to make them pay! He couldn't destroy them physically, there was the deal after all, but he could make them suffer here.
"Eat nightmares! HAHAHA One nightmare, coming up!"
Soos frowned worriedly. "Nightmare? Hope he doesn't mean that British dog man I'm always dreaming about..."
Bill snapped his fingers and the British dog man appeared in front of Soos who gaped scared.
"'Ello, 'ello, 'ello! Who's crike for a stick in the pudding?" The dog poked Soos with his cane and the man started jumping up and down screaming. "Ah! It's everything I've ever feared!"
"You!" Bill shouted and stroke Mabel with his powers. The girl's head started to grow as she became green and deformed. "My cuteness!" Her voice changed low and slow.
"What did you do to my cuuutenessss" She blew a raspberry.
Bill knocked out Xyler and Craz with a beam and made them fall to the void, burn and vanish. They were so annoying, that was the best action he had ever done!
My dream boys!" Mabel cried with her distorted voice.
"And now to finish you all once in for all!" Of course not real, they would wake up, or be in a coma, who knows? Haha!
Dipper and Sebastian jumped into action at that moment and Dipper flew in.
"Hey! Bill!" The flying boy shouted at the giant, red triangle.
"whAT?!" Bill cried, looking at Dipper fly. Damn it! Sebastian must have told him about his abilities in a mind!
"Nice bow tie!" He shot lasers from his eyes and in revenge, he made a hole in Bill's middle where his bowtie was, making the demon scream.
Sebastian laughed out loud and transformed to look similar in appearance like Bil. His eye under his eyepatch turned black with a white slit pupil, his hair turned red and his arms and hands turned milky white.
"Don't touch my family, Cipher! Do YOU have any idea what I'm like...WHEN I'M MAD?!" He grew in size and punched Bill in the eye, which took the demon by surprise and sent him flying out of the platform.
Mabel and Soos approached Dipper happily as Seb watched Bill rubbing his throbbing eye.
"Guys! Uncle Seb told me you can conjure whatever you can conceive in his mindscape!"
Mabel tilted her giant head to the side. "Huh?"
"Just think of cool fighting stuff and it will happen! Like this!" Dipper shot lasers to the dog and got rid of him.
"Ha ha, he's dead now" Soos pointed.
The triangle looked up at them and started shaking his hands. "What?! No, that is not true! Don't listen to him!"
Sebastian grinned and moved to punch Bill again, but the demon just growled and dodged the attack. They locked hands and started pushing each other.
"Stop touching me!" Bill growled and Seb growled back, feeling his sides aching to release his arms.
"Then don't hurt my family! It was a deal" Sebastian pushed him further away from them. This was his Mindscape, he had the advantage here, not Bill! This place was HIS!
"We can do anything?!" Mabel smiled and went back to normal. "Like have kittens for fists?!" Her hands turned into kittens and she grinned at the triangle.
"Move, Uncle Seb! Po-pow! P-p-pow! Pow!" She shot kitten heads at Bill just as Sebastian dodged the attack, and the demon shrieked when the kitten fists stuck on him, disabling him from seeing.
Mabel's kittens started licking her cheeks and she laughed. "Well hello, friends!"
"Anything, huh? Soos love stomach beam stare!" He shot colorful question marks from his stomach and the impacted knocked Bill off the platform once again.
Sebastian went to stand next to his family and watched amused as Bill was getting his geometrical ass kicked by mortals.
The memory of when his past self was in the same situation flashed in front of his eyes and he shuddered slightly.
Bill fumed and covered his hole. "Enough games!" He shot a red laser from his eye and before Seb could react to protect them, Mabel shouted.
"Hamster ball shields activate!" She createa hamster ball around herself and Seb, Dipper and Soos raised their arms and repeated it.
"Activate!" They got their own hamster balls around themselves.
Bill's laser got reflected by the balls and he was hit in the eye. Seb had to wince at that. Damn, that must have hurt...
"AH! Oh my eye! AAH!" Bill cried and rubbed his eye furiously.
They broke their hamster balls and Mabel smiled and lifted her arms dramatically.
"Rise, Xyler! Rise, Craz!"
Her colorful boys rose from behind her with musical instruments and started playing synthesized music.
Both Bill and Seb winced and covered their ears, or in Bill's case, the part in his body from where he heard.
"No! Synthesized music! It hurts!" Bill moaned.
"And now to imagine your worst nightmare!" Dipper pointed at the demon. "A portal out of Seb's mind!"
"Out of Seb's mi-ind!" Mabel started singing but her twin shushed her.
"Mabel! Everyone, together!"
Seb watched with a smile on his face as everyone started using their imagination. He imagined one himself and a black and red hole appeared under Bill, who started kicking desperately as he was absorbed.
"No, no, NO! ENOUGH!" Bill shook his arms and made everything go white. The gang found themselves floating in the white space and Bill sighed before going back to his normal yellow color.
"You know, I've been impressed with you guys" He said as he cleaned his top hat and put it back in his upper angle. "Shouldn't have underestimate Corn Chip's family after all! You are more clever than you look. Especially the fat one"
Soos poked Mabel and whispered. "He's talking about you!"
Bill looked at Seb and grinned. "So I'm gonna let you kids off the hook. You might come in handy later, eh Sebastian?"
"Fuck off!"
"HAHA! BUT KNOW THIS: A darkness approaches. A day will come in the future when everything you care about will change! Until then I'll be watching you!" He saluted them with his hat and went back to his normal form. " I'LL BE WATCHING YOU..." He was surrounded by a circle with 11 different symbols and he disappeared.
Dipper blinked a bit when he was gone, trying to ignore the fact someone tattooed that demon's weird sign on his uncle's back while he was drunk, and he looked at the group smiling.
"He's gone! we did it!"
Everyone cheered and high-fived each other but stopped when Mabel,Soos and Dipper looked at their hands and realized they were disappearing.
"Um, what's happening?" Dipper asked his Uncle who smiled.
"Don't worry, I am just waking up..."
Mabel looked at her dream boys. "Will I ever see you guys again?" She asked worriedly.
"In your dreams" Craz said and Xyler grinned.
"Good one, bro"
Seb watched his niblings disappear and soon enough, he woke up.
The twins and Soos woke up shouting in surprise, realizing they were on the living room's floor.
"We did it!" Mabel exclaimed. "Do you think Uncle Seb remembers?"
Seb groaned and put a hand over his slightly throbbing head. "Never-Never come into my mind again, ok? I'll be dreaming of brightly colored and radical young men for a while and it is all your fault!"
'YOU ARE AN ASSHOLE! I ALMOST DIED'
Ugh, always so dramatic! You got out, didn't you?
Dipper smiled and threw himself over his uncle. "Uncle Seb, we did it! You're okay!" He hugged him tightly and the man laughed.
"Are we good now?"
"Yeah, we're good" Dipper nodded so his uncle grinned devishly.
"Oh, come here you little sapling!" The blond caught the boy and started attacking him with kisses all over his face.
"No! Stop!" Dipper shouted and managed to escape from his hold to go behind him. "Choke hold!"
Mabel and Soos laughed as Dipper chocked the blond and Seb made funny faces with his tongue out.
Dipper let him go with a smug smile and Seb gasped for air and put a hand over his neck, but smiled proudly at him anyway.
"Not bad, kid. Not bad"
Mabel sighed in relief. "I'm just glad Gideon didn't get into the safe. I really love this shack!"
"Group hug!" Soos exclaimed and the three Pines looked at him with raised eyebrows. "No? I never know the right time!"
Suddenly, the Shack started to shake and Dipper frowned. "Hey, do you guys feel-?" Before Dipper could finish his sentence, an explosion from behind them send them flying to the floor a few meters away.
Seb and his charges groaned and crawled from under the walls that crushed them just to see a white-haired boy come from the hole on the wall.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Pines family. Did I wake you?" He asked with mocking worry.
Seb glared at the little imp as Dipper asked confused.
"But...We defeated Bill!"
"Are you ok, sweetie?" Seb asked softly at his niece who was clutching her arm.
"Ye-Yeah..."
"Bill failed me!" Gideon shouted. "So I switched to plan B: dynamite!"
Seb frowned and looked at him. He realized just then that the little fucker made a deal with Bill! How did he even know about him?!
"What?! Dynamite!? What are you talking about?!"
Gideon grinned at his enemy. "Spoiler alert, Sebastian! I've got the deed!" He showed them the paper with a malicious grin. "The Mystery Shack belongs to me! So get out of my property!" He shouted at them. He pulled out a walkie talkie and said, still grinning. "Daddy? Bring it around the front..."
Everyone stood up and watched Gideon leave the Shack by the huge hole he left on the wall.
"Don't worry, guys!" Dipper said with a nervous smile. " It's just part of the dream! We're gonna wake up any second now! Right? Right?"
The ground started shaking and Seb saw Bud driving a crane with a wrecking ball directly towards the Mystery Shack.
"Out! Everyone out!" He ordered and the four of them ran out, just in time to see the sign of the Shack getting smashed.
The twins hugged each other and everyone screamed in shock. This couldn't be happening! No, it couldn't be happening!
"Someone pinch me, dude..." Soos mumbled as a piece of broken sign fell in front of them.
Sebastian couldn't breathe, he was gasping for air because his lungs weren't getting filled with the dumb oxygen they needed. Gideon had the deed, Gideon had the Shack! Everyone was going to find the deed was fake! He was going to lose his brother's house! Gideon was going to find about the basement! The portal! His brothers! He was never bringing back now! What was he going to do with the twins?! Where would they stay?! What was he going to do! He fucked up! He fucked up!
I can't breathe, I can't breathe, I CAN'T BREATHE!
'Kid! Kid! Calm down!'
"Uncle Sebastian!" The twins scream was the last thing the blond heard before rolling his eye backwards and falling to the floor unconscious.
|
.
Bucky woke like he always did when leaving Cryo. Like life had suddenly returned to him or like he’d been shaken from a ridiculously long nap. Usually however, Friday would be there to give him instructions, calming methods if he woke too abruptly, or Tony would come to get him sometimes as well.
Right now, though, the first face he saw through the glass was Steve’s. He blinked and then blinked again, watching as the screen lifted and as his oldest friend pulled him free from the straps.
“Hey,” He sounded rough so cleared his throat, “What’s going on? Is there an attack?”
Steve shook his head, his face grim even if the Avengers weren’t being assembled, “No.”
“It’s not been 17 weeks already then, has it? Feels like I just got – ”
“I’m waking you up early, Buck.” Steve cut him off. Curtly too.
“Okay.” Bucky frowned at him; checking, “But we’re not under attack?”
Steve looked at him, matching his frown, “Did you sleep with Tony?”
For a moment, it was as though the room had become still and quiet, but then he realised it had only been the Cryo-tube shutting down and getting rid of the background noise he hadn’t noticed at first. His pause was enough however and Steve’s face darkened.
“I asked you flat out.” He bit, alluding to a conversation they’d had before.
“And I lied.” Bucky snapped, “’Cause to be honest Steve, it’s not any of your business. And if Tony didn’t want you to know, then I wasn’t going to – ”
“He’s pregnant.” Bucky froze, “Did you know that? ‘Cause he’s sure as hell not planning on telling you.”
“How – ?” He swallowed, leaning back against the Cryo-tube, “How do you know?”
“He told me. Said he needed to take time from the team because of it.” Steve scoffed, turning away for a moment, “Which is exactly why I warned you about him. I warned you that what happened to you before could be a problem and then with Serbia – ”
“Did you tell him?” Bucky stepped forward, “Did you tell him about before?”
Steve didn’t move and they squared each other off, “I haven’t spoken to him since. Not since I realised it must have been you.” After a moment, he relaxed and sighed, “Bucky. I can’t – I can’t believe you. You’re not strong enough to start thinking about relationships yet, you know that. You’re still going through B.A.R.F’s – ”
“But I’m ready for combat?” Bucky stopped him, “I was approved for combat but not for relationships?”
“That’s different.” Steve snapped, “And you know it. Combat won’t affect you in the long-run, you’d heal. But emotions – ”
“You never get PTSD Steve? Combat affects me quite a bit. Why’d you think I’d rather go through 17 more weeks of Cryo than jump at the chance to do a mission?”
“Then why get into a relationship with Tony Stark?”
“We’re not in a relationship!”
“Well he’s fucking pregnant Bucky! And he’s keeping it! Back in our day, that meant marriage.”
“Well we’re not in our day anymore.” Bucky reminded him, “And if he doesn’t wanna tell me, then fine. I can live with that.”
“God knows if he can.” Steve muttered.
He stiffened, “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”
“We’ve got Super Serum in our blood, Buck. What’d you think a baby with some of that’s going to do to someone like Tony’s body?”
“It – ”
“And then there’s your history. He’s going to know you’re the father and he’s going to guess you’d know too. Even if he doesn’t tell you himself outright, he knows you’re not stupid.” Steve ran a hand through his hair, “And I know Tony. He won’t react well when he finds out he was a Hit.”
The energy sapped from him, Bucky slumped back, “What do you mean?”
“Tony’s headstrong. And stubborn. If he thinks he’s been wronged, he’ll overreact or make a scene, and those tend to ruin people’s careers or their work.”
“That’s not what I’ve seen.”
“Well I’ve known him longer. And I’ve known you for a pretty long time too. You’re not exactly the best for getting into relationships. And now, with Hydra in the background?” He shook his head.
“And what? You think all this would come out if Tony knows he was a Hit?”
“I’m saying maybe.”
Bucky stared at him, looking exhausted, “ … then he doesn’t find out.”
Steve looked at him, “I’d think you of all people would know that keeping secrets from Tony doesn’t end well.”
“Well there’s not a video of it out there for him to find this time.” He turned to the tube, “Now put me back under.”
Steve frowned, “What are you going to do about the baby?”
“I’ll handle it.”
“Which means?”
Bucky sighed, “How long have I been in this thing already?” He asked, patting the tube.
Steve shrugged, “Not long. About two weeks.”
“Then I’ve got about 15 more to think it over, haven’t I.”
.
Tony switched the video off, swinging a hand to the side so the screen was flung straight into his holographic recycle bin.
He stared at the empty space where it had been for a long while after that. A Hit. He knew what that meant and he knew more than what Steve probably assumed it meant too.
He didn’t care that Hydra had ordered him dead, he’d assumed it anyway, but he knew that that was what Steve had wanted him to know. That it was official.
He swallowed past a tight throat, mulling it over, because what was actually affecting him was something else entirely.
There’s not a video of it out there for him to find this time.
He scoffed to himself, standing; there’s always evidence James. Always.
Shock entered his system, followed immediately by heartbreak, anger and then just absolute disgust with himself. Clenching a hand into a fist, he punched the nearest thing he could see and put his face in his hands, screaming into them.
.
It was a well-known fact that when faced with something emotionally jarring, Tony retreated into himself. He was aware of it, fully, but that didn’t stop him from doing it. Normal people reached out to friends, or tried to get to the bottom of what was affecting them so much, but Tony avoided the issue, and the world entirely, and festered alone with his thoughts until they were as dark as his mood.
After he’d watched the video, he’d cancelled his and James’ sessions and had avoided him, not even bothering to make an excuse and just trying his hardest not to see him until he was ready. He wasn’t sure he ever would be anytime soon however, and would just sit in the dark and contemplate deleting the video and erasing it from his memory.
Try as he might though, he couldn’t do it. Even in his sleep, his dreams began to be plagued by nightmares that twisted these thoughts even further. He’d be in bed, lying in James’ arms, and then that arm would snake up until it was around his neck and he couldn’t breathe. He’d fight, struggle as hard as he could, and then wake up gasping.
The longer this went on, the more snappish he became too. He cut people off, ignoring messages and when he called, he was rude. Eventually it came to a point where Pepper came down to his lab and locked herself in with him.
She slammed a folder down to let him know that she was there and as it wasn’t one of his, he wondered if she’d brought the heaviest thing she had just to make him jump.
He blinked up at her, “Uh. Hey Pep.”
“Don’t ‘hey’ me,” She snapped, “This is the third time you’ve hung up on me this week. And today I was in a meeting.” Her hair was wild, like she’d tied it back without really caring in the rush to drive up here, “I shouldn’t even answer you but you’re pregnant, so I assume every time that it’s medical, but then you – ”
He put a hand up, placatingly, “I didn’t know you were in a meeting.” She glared at him, “I didn’t. You never answer in meetings normally so I – ”
“Like I said, you’re pregnant. So I check.”
Tony winced, knowing exactly what kind of tone he’d spoken to her with and he knew Pepper. Whenever she felt that someone was being unfair to her or if she was embarrassed, her skin pinkened almost immediately. And if that had happened in a meeting, too, she probably felt much worse.
“Sorry,” He mumbled, biting his lip, “I didn’t – think.”
“Obviously. And there’s only so much I can blame on hormones.”
“I know. Don’t be mad, I’ll work on it.”
“I’m not mad, Tony. I’m annoyed.”
“And … what’s the difference?” He raised an eyebrow.
“The difference, smartass, is that me being annoyed is for your benefit.” She pulled a chair out and sat in front of him, “Because I know something’s going on.” Her frown softened then and she leant forward, “Is it the baby?”
Tony sighed, “No. Baby’s fine.” He put a hand to his stomach.
She nodded, “So it’s Rogers then.”
“Pepper – ”
“I really cannot stand it when you shut me out Tony. I may not be a superhero or an agent but I can damn well help if I need to, so if it’s Rogers or anyone else, then just tell me.”
Tony pressed his lips together, meeting her gaze, “It’s not that I think you can’t help. I just – I cope better keeping things to myself.”
“No you don’t.”
He bristled, “I think I know how to take care of my own – !” He stopped himself, shutting his eyes and breathing out slowly to calm down, “I’m just tired, okay? I’m tired and cranky.”
Pepper gave him a long look at that before pushing herself to her feet and gathering the folder into her arms, “Well whatever it is you won’t say, you’re not going to get much sleep unless you deal with it.”
Stupidly, he put a hand to the skin under his eyes and she frowned, “I’m sleeping fine.” He lied, despite her already having noticed.
“Okay,” She nodded, “I only say it because it’s not only you, you have to worry about now. And if it’s not me, then find someone to talk to when you’re like this because it’s not healthy. And if you want to be a parent, you can’t go on doing this.”
Tony straightened, blinking sharply, “You think I’d just shut myself off from my own kid?”
“No,” She put a hand out, “That is not what I meant. At all. I meant that if you needed help for your child but won’t ask, you’ll retreat back. And I want you to remember that we’re here. Rhodey, Happy and I are always here.”
“I know that.” He snapped.
“Do you?” She snapped back and he recoiled.
“Look it’s just a thing okay!” He turned away from her, “People have their own problems, I don’t like putting mine on and giving them more – ”
“You not telling us anything about you makes it a problem for us, don’t you get that? It’s worse to not tell us because then we worry. We know when something’s going on. And we assume the worse when you keep quiet.” She put a hand to her fringe, pushing it back, “Look. Okay. I’m going about this all wrong, I’m just trying to tell you that you – I don’t know.”
“That I’m an idiot?”
“No.” She scowled, “Well yes. But that’s not new, is it.”
“If you think I’m upset, how is insulting me supposed to help?”
“So you are upset.”
“I didn’t say that. I said if.”
Pepper propped the folder over her chest, digging her fingers into it, “Fine. If.” She no longer sounded so angry however and stepped forward to put a hand over his head. It was an alpha thing to do, a gesture of comfort for an omega or a child, and she very rarely did it. Tony never allowed it either and only ever from Rhodey if he did, but he stayed still for her right now.
Her fingers were strong over his hair and when she bent them, sifting them through his hair to his scalp, he closed his eyes at the sensation.
“Whatever it is Tony,” She murmured, “You’ll do the right thing. You’ll figure it out.” She continued to pet him, “You always do.”
With that, she dropped her hand and turned to leave. Tony watched her go and pressed his lips together, taking out the copy of his ultrasound from his wallet and staring down at it.
Just a week ago, he’d been ecstatic. Now he was hiding. And Pepper was right. It was a dumb habit and he needed to get out of it if he was going to be the best parent he could be. He needed to be stronger.
“Pepper’s ‘Pep’ talk worked, then.” He muttered to himself, smiling at the bad pun despite his mood. He put the photo away and stood, bolstered by the reminder that he had people in his corner no matter what he did.
Because if he was honest, when he got into these moods, he did tend to forget that. Or tried to convince himself he didn’t deserve it.
According to Friday James was in his room, and the Common Area was empty when he crossed it for the elevator, refusing to talk himself down before he arrived. He almost did turn away however but reached the room before he could and knocked once. He heard a ‘come in’ and stepped inside, turning the corner to see James sat on his sofa reading a book.
He looked up when he saw him but then turned back to his book like his presence didn’t interest him.
“Hey.” Tony tried and James reacted with faux-shock.
“Oh you’re here for me?” He asked, “So I exist again?”
Stung, Tony refused to take that bait. He had been avoiding him after all, it made sense that James would notice and get upset. Instead, he decided to rip the bandaid off and ask what he’d come to ask flat-out.
“Was I a Hit?” He asked. James paused; his eyes frozen on a single page. “Hydra. Did they order you to kill me, at some point?”
Still not looking at him, James shut the book and put it aside, “Not to kill.” He said, soft. Almost ashamed.
And he should be, Tony thought viciously. “To steal then.” He guessed and finally, James met his gaze.
“Who told you?”
“What did they get you to steal?” He continued to ask his own questions, ignoring James’. “Because you obviously got it, if you hid this from me.”
There was a pause. “Plans.” No denial, “Helicarrier ones and arc-reactor technology.”
Tony nodded slowly, having assumed as much, “For the algorithm. That Rogers stopped.” James nodded, “How did you get them?”
“I caused a fire. Blended in with employees when they were let back in and stole a reader. Hydra had a decrypter. Their security was Shield’s security so,” He shrugged, “It was easy.”
“And then you just … handed them over.”
“And what?” James’ eyes flashed, “This is news to you? I was brainwashed, remember.”
“I remember.”
“But you don’t understand anymore?” He looked at him, both hurt and angry, “I was under their control. I was – ” He scoffed, “He said you’d react this way but I didn’t – ”
“Who said? Steve?” Tony laughed without humour, “Steve doesn’t know a thing about me.” And suddenly, he was angry too, “I don’t care that I was a Hit. I care that you didn’t tell me! I care that you were planning on lying to me, on the fact that my technology was taken and that you were told to steal from me. After everything’s that’s happened, honesty is all I need.”
“I wasn’t planning on – ”
“I heard you.” Tony cut him off, “I saw a video, I heard you tell Rogers when he woke you up early.”
“A video? … and you watched it?” James stood, staring at him, “What the hell gave you that right?”
Despite everything, Tony was unwilling to throw Rogers under the bus, “I was clearing my cache.” He lied, “And I – I wanted to know how you reacted. To me. To the pregnancy. I didn’t expect to find – ”
“Find what?” In his space now, James crowded him against the wall behind, “Evidence that I stole from you? That I didn’t want you to know because it would hurt you? That I’m guilty of trying to protect you from knowing?”
“My technology is my life!” Tony yelled, “And protecting me doesn’t involve lying! God I’m sick of that line, you were only protecting yourself from this conversation! Because you didn’t just steal from the drives, did you.” He glared up at him, “Not everything was in those files, I don’t keep them all together.”
James glanced away, “Yeah. I know.”
“So how did you get the rest?”
James stared into his eyes and they were bright, shiny, shame still evident in them. “I think you know how.”
And Tony did. He remembered a night where a man from one of his Stark Industries Galas had approached him and they’d talked, they’d clicked for the hours they’d been together. He remembered letting him in to penthouse, and he remembered what had followed.
Looking back, the disguise had been effective but there were tells and now that he had the hindsight, he knew what they were. He knew that that man had been James.
“So they did to me what they did to Anita Mard.” He choked, “They told you all my favourite things, made sure I’d let you in my bed. God.” He felt like crying, his voice hitching, “And then you – I don’t remember you leaving. I didn’t wake up. Did you – ?” He stopped, trembling.
“Did I what?” James snapped, “Rape you? Drug you? What the hell are you asking me here, you think I’d do that, know I did that and not tell you? It was consensual okay, it was all consensual and you didn’t wake up because you took a pill.”
“And I’m supposed to what, take your word on this?” Tony pushed him back, dismayed when he barely moved, “You were going to hide this from me. Hide that you – that you used me like that.”
“I didn’t – ! Hydra had – ” James stepped back, away from him, running a hand through his hair, “I didn’t use you, it wasn’t exactly something I thought of doing, I was made to. And I – yes. I wasn’t going to tell you, I didn’t know how to have that conversation. I still don’t fucking know.”
“Was any of this real?” Tony asked, his eyes warm and he let himself sob, “Are all the methods Hydra gave you for getting me into bed still in you?”
“No. God, it was just – just stuff to say. And do. You were different back then, even if I’d tried it now you’d have shut me down.”
“Different back then? Different as in easy?”
“No – ”
“I didn’t realise I dropped my pants so quickly at a few choice words, that even Nazis could fucking guess what to do!”
“That isn’t even – what the hell’s going on with you? Why are you acting like this? If you remember that night, then you know I didn’t drug you. What do you want from me?”
“I want you to stay away from me,” Tony wiped at his face, “And from this baby.”
James stiffened, “No. No, you can’t make me want something and then just take it away like that.”
“Well I am.” He wrapped his arms around his stomach, backing away, “I can’t be near you. I don’t trust you, right now, I can’t.”
“Tony – ”
“No. Stop. You know how fragile trust has been for me, how I’ve tried to get past everything! And you were going to lie anyway!”
James had tears in his own eyes now as well and he was breathing faster, panicked, “Wait.” He stepped toward him, pleading, “Don’t – just wait. I’m sorry, I know I should have told you. I just – I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want this.”
“You only got this because you didn’t tell me. And you weren’t planning on telling me either.”
“I didn’t – ”
“I heard you. ‘There isn’t a video for him to find this time’?” He shook his head, “This time. Like what happened last time was so trivial.”
“That isn’t what I meant. Please, believe me. What can I do?” He looked distraught. “What can I do to prove it wasn’t like that? Tell me what to do.”
Tony pressed his lips together, “You can’t. You’ve proven you were willing to lie over something so huge. I can’t have that in my life, I can’t. I need trust to go both ways.”
“It does.” James insisted, “I do trust you. I’ve told you more than I’ve ever told anyone else. I would have told you this, I swear. I was waiting for the right moment.”
His heart faltered. “… that’s exactly what Rogers said to me.” Tony whispered.
James froze. “Tony – ”
“I’m sorry. I need to go.”
“Wait!” He practically fled at that, but then – “I love you.” It was barely a murmur, but it made Tony freeze nonetheless. He stared at the door, his tears spilling fast down his cheeks.
Without another word, he opened it and ran out, almost colliding right into Rogers himself. He staggered back and looked up to see him looking shocked at the state he was in, but then there was also something akin to guilt in his eyes.
He’d heard.
“Enjoy the show?” Tony asked him, his face burning and wet, “Get what you wanted?”
“Tony – no. I didn’t want this,” Rogers said, earnestly, “I just – wanted you to know why I told Bucky about the baby.”
“Well congratulations,” Sobbing, Tony pushed past him, “Now I know.” He ran for his own room, shutting himself in and diving for the bed, curling under the covers and letting himself cry until he was too exhausted to do anything else.
.
For the first time in a long time, Tony was pissed at Pepper. Her talk with him wasn’t to blame in any way for how things had gone but his brain didn’t seem to want to rationalise that thought. He ignored her calls over the next few days and sat alone in his room in a depressive state.
And the thing was, he felt conflicted still. James had been under Hydra’s control at the time, he hadn’t had a choice in who he stole from and how. He was blameless for that. But Tony felt used nonetheless, if only by the act and by Hydra themselves.
And then there was the fact that James had been willing to lie about it, that he’d used the example of Rogers’ mistake and hadn’t learned from it in a way that meant he’d be honest, but that he wouldn’t leave evidence for it.
He felt betrayed by that and every time he remembered, he would get teary-eyed and called Nathan to ask whether hormones could be supressed during a pregnancy. Unfortunately not, obviously, but he felt productive in asking.
Four days after he and James ‘broke-up’ he was sitting and staring at the wall when a knock on his door woke him up from that, and he opened it to find Happy stood there, with a paper bag in one hand and a folder in the other.
“Hey boss.” He greeting, smiling, “Want to go for a drive?”
Tony dubiously took the bag and opened it to find a cheeseburger, along with a note that said, ‘if you want to eat this, you need to agree to what I say’. He squinted up at Happy.
“You know I could just buy one myself.” He told him and Happy shrugged.
“Yeah but you’ve got one in your hands right now.” He had to admit, it was hard to fault that logic, which was how he ended up in the passenger seat of one of his cars as Happy drove them out of the garage and down toward the city.
The folder was filled with a contract and as he read it, he started to feel apprehensive over what it meant.
“Happy, what the hell is this?”
“Prenatal classes.” They turned a corner, “I saw a poster for one of them a while back and got to thinking. You’re almost 5 months now, right?” He was. “So I asked Miss Potts and we wrote up a contract for one of the best classes we could find, that they’d be sworn to secrecy if you attended. We’re on our way there now.”
“And what? I didn’t get a say in this?”
“You needed to get out of that compound,” Happy told him, “And I know you’re happy to go anyway.”
He was admittedly, but he wasn’t about to say it aloud, “You know this is kidnapping in some people’s eyes.”
“I’m your bodyguard and your driver,” Happy said, “And I know first-hand what happens to people who do kidnap you, so. No. I wouldn’t ever try.”
Tony smiled, looking out the window as they pulled up to what looked like a college. Happy led the way up to an elevator and then to the 3rd floor where several pregnant omegas were milling about inside a small hall. Most had their alphas, or an alpha, with them but Happy was a solid presence behind him and he didn’t feel as though he was missing something.
Still, there was a pang as he thought of James not being here for this, but he pushed that away for now and watched as a woman approached him.
“Hi. Mr Stark?” He nodded, “Wow. Hi. It’s – well. It’s pretty cool to meet you to be honest, I’ll get that right out of the way for you now.”
“Thanks,” He smiled and she practically beamed in return.
“That’s all the Avenger-slash-Iron-Man talk I’ll give you while you’re here, I promise,” Leading him in with a hand on his back, she gestured to the class, “Welcome to my birthing antenatal class. As explained in my info-sheets, the first few classes are here to discuss birthing methods and positions.”
“Right.” He glanced back to note that Happy was surveying the room, looking the bodyguard part perfectly. He wished he’d followed him however, standing behind him every step.
“Of course today, we’re just introducing ourselves. If you want to join the circle?” He nodded, lowering himself down to sit with the rest of the participants. The alphas sat behind and Happy joined them when Tony looked at him again, giving him puppy dog eyes until he gave in. Most of the others here openly stared at him for the first few minutes then and he felt uncomfortable, shifting around and trying not to let his discomfort show, but he knew it was probably obvious.
The class was short anyway, they went around a circle and told their names and how they got pregnant or whatever else they really wanted to say. There weren’t many oversharers in the group so most of it was pretty snappish. He made his quite so as well, not bothering to introduce himself because there wasn’t anyone here who didn’t know who he was.
He didn’t say who the alpha was either and he didn’t imply who it might be, but he knew that most of them probably assumed that it was either someone high-profile or one of the Avengers. As long as they didn’t gossip to tabloids, he didn’t care what they thought however, and he followed Happy back out of the building once it was over.
The woman in charge, who introduced herself as Michelle, promised that they’d start with birthing positions in the next class, if they wanted to come back in two weeks. But in all honesty, he didn’t really want to. He felt too on show out here and though the group was a nice gesture; he could tell Happy knew he hadn’t enjoyed it.
“You want to drive around a little longer, boss?” He asked once they were back in the car, “I can put the top down.”
Tony smiled, shutting his eyes and leaning back, “Yeah why not.”
After he was dropped back off at the compound and his car was parked, Tony waved Happy off and went back to his lab. Regardless of how low he felt, the incursions were still an issue and he hadn’t had the chance to work through his latest breakthrough on it at all since discovering it.
Friday had been monitoring the victims in Haiti anyway and there hadn’t been any more change than what he’d already found but when he checked the Cornwall site, he noticed a spike in temperature in the area. He remembered feeling hot when he’d landed in the UK too and had wondered if that had been due to global warming. Now though, he supposed that it may also be because of the incursions instead.
Whatever was doing this to the planet was helping the environment but could also be making it unliveable for wildlife, which was quite a theory, but it was at least something to work with. With that theory however, he pushed any aspects away from the damage and toward what had been healed or mutated.
All this time he’d been thinking that this was an offensive attack but maybe it wasn’t. Maybe the offence was a by-product.
“Friday. Are there any creatures, mythological or not, that feed on the Earth?”
“There are thousands of results for that, boss, you want to narrow it down?”
He frowned, “Any creatures that could possibly have been sighted. By an official source.”
She paused, but then, “Nothing like that in Shield’s old database, sir. Or the dark-net.”
“I said official.”
“Agent Romanov has admitted before that a lot of agents use the dark-net to push information they want no one to believe.” Friday told him and he raised an eyebrow.
“Oh. Okay, fine. And how do you know that?”
“She mentioned it in the Common Area a few months ago.”
“Okay.” Sighing, Tony sat back, “Any other databases we can break into? To cross-check?”
“Your timing couldn’t be more perfect,” Friday said, “One of Agent Fury’s satellites is above us right this moment. I have a chance to link. Inside are sections for Shield, the Avengers Initiative, The Council and Sword.”
That last one sounded new. “What’s Sword?”
“Accessing it now. Give me a second.”
“Okay. Sorry.” He inspected his nails as he waited.
“Sword.” After a few seconds, Friday pulled up a few screens for him to look at, “A.k.a, the Sentient World Observation and Response Department. Founded in 1996 to observe and track alien life. Notable species in the database are: Skrulls. Hybrids. The Kree. Asgardians. Dark Elves.”
“Hang on, Asgardians?” He sat forward, “Is there a way in there to contact Thor?”
“Not in the database, sir. I can check but I should warn you that I am being pushed out of it bit-by-bit right now.”
“Okay. Download whatever you’ve got and leave. No point in riling them up.”
“Will do, sir.” A moment later, the screens flickered as mounds of information poured into them and he waited for it to stop, looking through it all as Friday left the satellite.
Most of the stuff was from New York 2012, but there were a few notable events from before. Thor’s first appearance, for example, was on there. And his brother’s. Then there were the events from afterward that took up a little less space. Strange lights in the sky, recordings in languages not from Earth.
He read through them all, frowning, before finding a transmission that seemed to repeat itself every two weeks on the same wave that Sword worked on. It sounded like gibberish to him and if the top minds in Shield, or Sword, had tried to translate it, then it was possible he wouldn’t have much luck.
Then again, he had someone they didn’t. Or at least, someone who trusted him and not them.
“Friday?”
“Yes boss?”
“Call Jane Foster.”
.
The video link wasn’t the best but considering that Foster was in the middle of the Amazon Rainforest right now, it was pretty workable. She was in an old temple some agents of Shield had discovered a few years ago that had once housed what had to have been alien technology. As a physics and Einstein-Rosen expert, Foster had gone to try and figure out how in the hell it had gotten there in the first place, and she hadn’t seemed too happy to take a break. At least until he’d told her why.
“And you think this transmission might give you a clue about why these, what are you calling them? Incursions are happening?”
“Hopefully,” He nodded, before adding, “What are you calling them?”
“I don’t know. Catastrophic events. Holes-in-the-Ground? The end of the world.” He raised an eyebrow and she smiled, “That one’s from Darcy.”
“Right. Well anyway, considering the fact that you have texts from Asgard, do you think you could try to figure out what this transmission says?”
“I could.” She shrugged, “Though I’m pretty swamped and it’s basic translation if you find the right text. I could just send you copies of the pages and you can do it yourself?”
“You’re turning down a chance to save the world?”
She rolled her eyes, “I’ve had my fair share at that, don’t worry. And it’s too hot out here to even try and concentrate on translating something that might not even be translatable.” She pushed something into the side of her laptop, out of his view, “I’ll send you what I have.”
“Fine,” He muttered, “I’d probably have double-checked it anyway.”
“I know you would have. Which is why I’m not going to bother.” She smiled, “Alright, that’s sent. You should get it once the connection stabilises.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem. And good luck.” She switched the link off just as the files came through. Friday sorted it all for him automatically, placing the pages with the correct book that they’d originally come from, and just like that he had thousands of languages at his grasp from Asgard’s library.
Thank God for Jane Foster’s curiosity. As the only human he knew who had gone to Asgard, she hadn’t wasted her trip and had taken as much information back with her as she could have.
“Okay Friday. Time to find out which language this transmission is coming in.”
“Cross-checking for a match now, Mr Stark.”
Tony let her get on with it and instead, chose a book at random and began to read it for any other information that he could use for this. Most of it was history however, his least favourite subject, and most of that was just wars upon wars. Odin had been quite the blood-thirsty ruler and his ancestors weren’t much better. He wondered how Thor might have turned out, if he’d never come to Earth.
As he read, he tapped at his stomach absent-mindedly, but then it grumbled, loudly, and he winced; starving now that he thought about it.
“Friday, I’ll be in the kitchen.”
He prayed it was empty as he left his lab, if only because he needed to have a proper meal these days and his mini kitchen in the lab would not be adequate enough, but if someone else was there he didn’t want to handle the conversation. Luckily, for once, his prayers came true.
When he opened the fridge, however, he was a loss.
“Friday, what’s a good idea for me to eat when pregnant?”
“Plenty of foods are healthy for a pregnant body boss,” She said, “Lean meat, lentils, dairy and salmon are highly recommended for your current trimester.”
If he smelt meat right now, he thought he’d puke. “Order some salmon would you. Somewhere with good reviews and, you know, all the rest of it.”
“Will do, sir.” He nodded and sat at the counter, slumping forward to put his head in his arms, but then a moment later, she spoke again, “Sir. I have a call for you on a private line.”
“Who is it?” He mumbled into his sleeve.
“It’s private.” She repeated, sarcastically. He rose his head to glare up at the ceiling, “I’ll put it through now.”
“You do that. Before I rewire your personality.”
A second later, he heard Fury’s voice over the speakers and stiffened, “Tell me exactly why I have reports of you hacking into one of my satellites.”
“Nick,” Tony sat up, “What happened to laying low?”
“It got boring. But as usual, one of my strays pulls me out of it.”
“Well in all honesty, if you didn’t keep so many secrets, I wouldn’t have to break in all the time,” He said, “In case you haven’t noticed, Earth’s in a bit of a crisis. And the information you have could help.”
“What information?” He could practically hear Fury’s frown, “Sword handles anything alien. You think this attack could be from space?”
“I’m not even sure it’s an attack.” He admitted, “But this transmission you’ve been getting could be linked. I’m working on translating it.”
“I was under the impression you were on maternity leave.”
Tony paused, just for a second, “Well unfortunately the world doesn’t go on hold for a break. And I’m not exactly running around in my suit anyway, I’m at the compound in the kitchen. And speaking of maternity leave, I’ve got something for you. Let me know when you can pop over, if you’re not already on the way that is.”
For a moment, he thought the line disconnected, but then he heard Fury sigh and almost immediately spotted an incoming helicopter on the monitoring screens on the wall. He disconnected it himself then and stood, leaving the kitchen for the hanger outside just as the helicopter landed and Fury stepped off.
“Sometimes I think you’ll grow out of being a pain-in-my-ass,” Was his greeting and he only smiled and led Fury into the compound, “You’re not waddling yet.”
“I’m only five months.”
“Well. Congratulations.” He sounded grumpy but Tony knew better; he sat at the counter, taking his wallet out with the last ultrasound copy that he’d gotten, and he handed it over slowly. Fury took it, his one eye focusing on what he’d been given as though he’d expected anything but.
“Closest thing I’ve got to a past relation, right now.” Tony explained, watching his reaction, “Figured. You know. That you ....” He shrugged.
Fury looked up at him and smiled, softly, but then handed it back a second later, “Keep it. Someone finds that on me, someone not on our side? It’s not a risk you should take. Anything can happen with a picture.”
Tony looked at him, taking the photograph without breaking his gaze. “The world knows I’m pregnant, already.” He said.
“It’s not the world I’m worried about. You and I both know there are things out there your science can’t explain.” He reached over, tapping the photo with a finger, “And this is the kind of thing you keep safe.” He sat back, “I do want one thing though. If I don’t get a picture.”
Tony tucked the photo back into his wallet, “And what’s that?”
“The name of the father.”
He blinked, “Natasha didn’t tell you?”
“Natasha knows?” Fury raised an eyebrow, looking more amused than anything else.
“Well.” He winced, “Why’d you want to know?”
“Well if it’s Rogers, there’s a whole wreath of issues there and I’d rather not have to get you fools a babysitter.”
“It’s not Rogers.” Tony said, hating that he knew why Fury would have assumed it was. Maybe, in some other moment, it could have been. But not now. “And it’s not your business past that.”
“Thought I was the closest thing to a relation you had.”
“You are. But tough shit, that’s all you’re getting. I offered you a photo, you turned it down.” He shrugged, “Sorry.”
Fury nodded slowly, “Fair enough. Back to saving the world, then?” Tony nodded back, “Want to tell me why you think this could be alien?”
“I’m working on a theory. I don’t think it’s alien, I think it could be alien.
“And you don’t think it’s an attack?”
“Take a look at this.” He lifted a hand and one of his holographic screens followed, “These are comparative pictures of before the Avengers visited an incursion site and after they’d left. This same kind of expediated growth and mutation has shown in victims that were near an event when it occurred too. But it hasn’t hurt them. It’s – changed them, yes. But only in a way that’s helped them grow. Improve even.”
“So this thing, whatever it is, could be improving the earth. Not destroying it?”
“I’m not sure. But it is harming us as well as improving parts. The destruction seems more of a by-product than a definitive purpose though.”
“Which explains why you think that transmission might be a link.”
“I don’t know,” Tony sighed, “I’ll admit, this is all a shot-in-the-dark. I could be chasing a red herring for all I know but something is causing this. It’s engineered, not natural. And until we find out what, it’s going to keep happening, and sooner or later people will die.”
“Sir,” Friday spoke up, “Translation match found within Asgardian texts. A language called acoxiya.”
“Bring it up.” The screens were filled with pages from the book she’d used and he wrinkled his nose at the sight. The language was made up of symbols and images, like a twisted version of hieroglyphics, and it would probably take hours to try and accurately use it to translate the transmission. “Shit.”
“Well.” Fury stood, putting a hand on his shoulder, “You’ve got this then.”
“You’re leaving?” Tony turned to him, “You just got here.”
“I’ve got some things to take care of. I only popped in because I was in the neighbourhood and I wanted to see if pregnancy changed you.”
Tony smiled, raising an eyebrow, “And?”
Fury smiled back, “You look healthy. That’s all I see.” He waved a hand and walked away. Tony watched him leave, looking away only when he saw dust being kicked up from the helicopter’s blades, and returning to the books.
“Okay Friday. Let’s get cracking.”
“Of course sir. Oh and, your salmon is here.”
“Perfect.”
Two salmon meals, a few yogurts and a croissant later, Tony was halfway through translating the damn transmission. What he had so far however, was enough to cause concern.
Repeat. Warning. Life in danger. Coming.
It was ominous and gave him plenty of motivation, but he couldn’t keep working at the pace he was going without getting some rest as well. His eyes were beginning to get blurry from staring at the screens so intently and he felt as though he knew the transmission’s words by heart. Even if he probably couldn’t repeat it aloud.
What was even more infuriating, was that he was sure the last part of the transmission was a single word, but nothing he could come up with seemed to fit. Which led him to believe that it was a name, but that only then made it harder to translate.
After a while, he sat back and put his hands on his stomach, a habit he was gradually getting into doing. He tapped and felt a thrum of excitement run through him when his baby suddenly tapped back. He dropped the stylus he was using and rolled his seat back a little, giving him some room to pull his shirt up and see his stomach in the flesh.
It was smooth, just as it had been during his ultrasound, but his stretchmarks had multiplied. He tapped again and felt the baby copy him, his eyes warming at the sensation.
He’s copying me, James had said before. He’d been so in awe.
Putting a hand to his mouth, Tony shut his eyes, trying to push that memory away. Day-by-day it was getting harder to convince himself that he’d done the right thing in shutting James out of his life. He didn’t want liars around him and yet, everything else that James had done to him and for him, seemed to speak so differently. And the sheer difference between him and Rogers was obvious enough that they may as well have been black-and-white.
People made mistakes and said things they didn’t mean but he was getting tired of handing out second-chances to those who probably didn’t deserve it. But then –
I love you.
He’d done as asked too. He’d stayed away, he hadn’t approached him, he hadn’t told anyone else what had happened either. Only Rogers was probably aware, and Pepper knew that they’d ‘broken up’ because he’d called her afterward to yell at her.
Still, he couldn’t quite get over how easily James had decided to just not tell him about the Hit.
He bit his lip, taking a sip of his smoothie and pulling himself toward the desk again. Cracking this word was as good a distraction as any.
However, as though he'd wanted to disprove what Tony had literally just thought about him, Friday let him know that someone was waiting at the door. He turned and saw a tired James standing behind the glass, a worn looking hard-drive in one hand.
His heart faltered at the sight of him, despite it having only been around a week since, and he swallowed.
“Sir?” Friday checked with him and he straightened.
“Let him in.”
Slowly, as though she wasn’t too sure about it herself, Friday unlocked the door and James stepped inside. He didn't hesitate and crossed the lab toward his table, dropped the drive onto it without so much as a ‘hello’, and then just stood there, not saying a word, until Tony had to break the silence himself.
“Um. Is this some sort of premature baby shower gift?” He asked him, priding himself on keeping calm.
James, however, looked like hell, “This is everything Hydra ever made me steal.” He said, his voice rough, “Information that’s been stored into their secure mainframe.”
Tony stared at the drive and then up at him, “And you got this, how?”
James took his jacket off, revealing the mangled remains of his metal arm. “I found the address inside a chip, right by my shoulder. T’challa’s sister, Shuri, helped me with it.”
Standing, Tony gaped at the mess of electronics, “Oh my God. What the hell did you do?” He lifted the arm, watching as the hand flopped uselessly, a few threadbare wires all that was keeping it attached, “Jesus.”
“I had to get to the chip. This was the quickest way.”
“No. The quickest way was to ask me to do it.”
“I didn’t want to disturb you.” Tony met his gaze, thrown by how dark his eyes seemed, “You asked me to stay away.”
Blinking a few times, Tony let him go and turned back to the drive, “Okay. So – all that’s on this? It’s – ”
“Everything to do with me. Not all of Hydra’s information, obviously. But all I stole for them is on here.” He reached down and pulled the lifeless hand off of his arm, tossing it aside. “I don’t – I don’t know if there’s anything in there you’d want to know. But it’s all there is. All my secrets. All my Hits. Everything.” He reached over, tapping a finger over the drive, “That’s me.”
Tony shut his eyes for a moment, biting the inside of his cheeks hard until they throbbed when he released them. He wanted to yell at him, tell him to get out, maybe even strangle him. But another part of him wanted to hug or hold him as well.
Instead, he did neither and just spoke.
“That isn’t you.” He corrected, looking up to meet James’ eyes, “It’s what you were made to do. And I understand that. I do. It isn’t why I was angry.”
“I know.” James nodded, “I just – I wanted to – ” He pressed his lips together, “To give you everything I might have once tried to hide. Because I don’t want to. Not to you.”
His heart beating ridiculously fast, Tony couldn’t speak. At least, not for a solid minute, but then he forced himself to look away and remember what he was doing, “I can’t. I’m – there’s this transmission. I need to work on it.” He said, “I’m busy.”
He felt like an absolute ass for saying that the second he did but James didn’t leave. Instead, he pulled up a chair and sat beside him.
“What transmission?”
Relaxing a little, and ignoring how flushed he was becoming, Tony summarised what he’d discovered as quickly and succinctly as he could, right from the moment he’d discovered the sudden growth in plant life in the incursion areas.
James listened to it all, staring up at the screens, “So this is an alien language?”
“Apparently.” Tony nodded.
“And you’re stuck on the one word?” He nodded again and James grinned, “What do I get if I translate it for you?”
Startled that he’d gotten into a joking mood all of a sudden, Tony raised an eyebrow, “The new arm I’ve had locked away for you?” He gestured to the mangled version, “Seeing as you’ll be needing it.”
“Alright.” James sat back, folding his arms across his chest, “Then I’ll tell you that I’ve seen that word before. Just once, though. But I know what it means.” He looked at him, “Devourer.”
“Devourer?” Tony repeated, sceptically, glancing back at what he’d translated already. “Repeat. Warning. Life in danger. Coming. Devourer.”
“That doesn’t sound too good does it.”
Tony almost rolled his eyes but then he checked the translation again, looking at his previous attempts to work out what the word might mean, and paused, “How accurate’s your translation?” He asked instead.
“It’s not my translation,” James shifted, looking uncomfortable, “It’s Hydra’s.”
Tony sat back, “Any chance I’ll find information on it in this drive you got me?”
“Probably not.”
He shut his eyes. “Of course.”
“I might know where to find some, though.” Turning in his seat, Tony raised an eyebrow at him, “My head. There are a lot of memories in it that have been locked away.”
Straightening, Tony glared at him, “I don't think so."
"It's not like they're not in my head all the time."
"Yes, but to access them, you have to fall back into the soldier that they made you become.” He snapped, “And after all we’ve worked through, with B.A.R.F and everything, that’s not an option.”
Calm, James shrugged, “You got a better idea? These things are getting worse, aren’t they? Cornwall was a shitstorm.”
“This – Devourer – might not even be what’s causing this. We could subject you to Hydra’s control for absolutely no reason – you could – !”
His hands were grabbed and put together, brought up and pressed against James’ lips. He froze, staring, “We were going to test it anyway.” He was reminded and he swallowed past a tight throat.
“Not like this, we weren’t. You weren’t going to give in to the control, you were going to fight it.”
“I will fight it,” James promised, “After we get what we need.”
Tony shook his head slowly, his eyes wide, “You don’t have to do this. You don’t have to try to convince me that you – ”
“Yes I do.” He let go of him and stood, “I'm not doing this to force you to forgive me. Just trust me enough to know that I will fight it off when I have to.”
Tony pressed his lips together, his eyes warming like they seemed to like doing so much these days. “And if it doesn’t work? If you stay stuck as the soldier?”
“Then you call the Avengers down here for this. And when that happens, take me out.”
“No.” Tony stood, shaking his head, “No, I’m not doing that. Not for something that might ultimately be useless. I’m not killing you.”
James smiled, “Who said anything about killing?” He asked, “Just knock me out. Gas me. Whatever it takes, if I break out, you take me down.” He put a hand beneath Tony’s chin and lifted his face up just a little higher, “I’m not planning on dying, don’t worry. I want to be a present father. I want to do it right this time.”
Enamoured by that, Tony almost let his eyes slide shut, almost leant forward to kiss him. But then he remembered the reason they’d broken apart in the first place and stopped himself, sliding his face back and away from James’ hand.
“Okay then,” He folded his arms across his chest, “Uh. Let’s – let’s get you prepped.”
.
|
I am Selene. I rule the night.
I am the Goddess of the Moon, who steers it through the night sky and gives it my own cold light. My brother Helios is more powerful than I, but even he cannot go where I rule. I can be in his sky, where I am pale and weak, but he can never be in mine. He must quit the sky for a space, and then the sky is mine, and I can be as bright or as pale, and show as little or as much of myself as I please.
The sunflowers follow my brother's path, and the creatures that walk the earth bask in his warmth. He determines the seasons, and the growing things ripen and die at his command. But the tides of the ocean are in my sway, and rise and fall at my command. And every woman capable of giving birth is in my sway. Their own tides of blood rise and fall with me. I am Selene.
And I am hungry.
When I am hungry, I know where to go. I find the shepherd who sleeps in the cave. I saw him once, and fell in love with his beauty. So I bade Zeus to cast a spell over him, that he may sleep forever, and be mine.
Zeus is powerful god, and even has some powers that I lack, but I do not bow before him. I was Selene when he was a stripling god, long before he overthrew the Old Gods. He could not overthrow me. He has no power over me at all, and he has come to realize it over the years. His power grows, but mine does not wane. He claims that he has given his daughter Artemis my domain, but she is there only at my sufferance, and she knows it, and he knows it, too. So I let her hunt in my light, and watch her as she runs naked in the moonlight in pursuit of game. She carries only a great bow, a quiver, and a short sword. I enjoy her presence, her lithe frame, her unwavering will, and her fierce independence. Her flat muscles and small bosom remind me of the body of a young man at the threshold of his puberty, although her form is unquestionably feminine. She stirs the blood of men and women alike, but she permits no man to touch her. Once, she took a man as a lover, but when he proved false to her, she slew him. Hera claims that she deceived Artemis into doing that, but Hera tells that lie only to enhance her own glory. I know the truth, because I was there, and I saw the deed. And I resolved that I would never be held in thrall by a man's lust.
But when I saw the shepherd for the first time, my resolve began to crumble. I felt his life-force, and I yearned to possess it. How well I remember that day! He was tall, muscled like a god himself. His hair fell to his shoulders in a wave of dark curls. His beard was short, and did not hide the fullest lips I had ever seen. His eyes were brown and heavy-lidded, like a satyr's, but where a satyr's eyes show only lust, his showed warmth and humor and compassion. He wore a woolen tunic with a belt, and sandals, and played on the reed pipe as he watched his flock settling down for the night, playing them a lullaby on the reed pipes. I, who am so cold, could feel his warmth. I smelled his scent, and I heard his music, and I wanted him. Not once, but for all time.
Every evening before sunset, I visited him. I beheld his beauty, cherished it, drank it like wine. I looked at his body, shining in my light. The long legs, the large hands, the muscular chest with its thin fur. I listened to the light easy laugh. He was so beautiful. I wanted to possess not only his body but his mind.
So when he slept, I entered his dream. I murmured sweet words in his ear. He did not wake, but he stirred. I blew on his body, and saw the hairs rise. I gave him visions of shapely women, and his penis began to lengthen and thicken. I held him in my mind that way for a long time.
Each evening, I stayed there longer and longer before I left him to resume my circuit in the sky. The mortals noticed that I would rise later and later, and they were afraid. There were times when I did not appear at all. These were the nights I spent with my lover.
It pleased him to have the dreams that made his penis hard, and it pleased me to give him those dreams. So I made them more intense, until he moaned and tossed and turned. And one night, when I could not restrain myself, I surrendered completely to his lust and flooded him with the full force of my love for him. And his penis spat out his seed onto his belly, and softened.
I was trembling -- I, a Goddess! The experience shook me to the core, and I was left helpless. I had, for the first time, tasted lust, and I needed more. And I needed him to give it to me, forever and exclusively.
So I asked Zeus for him. Zeus is a pig. He ruts with any female, mortal or divine. He changes shape to lure them in ... a bull, a swan, a horse, whichever form is most likely to please or surprise or terrify the object of his lust. He breeds gods and demigods as a tomcat breeds kittens. But like any male, he can be seduced, and I seduced him to gain his favor. In the heat of his lust, he promised me one favor, and so I coupled with him. I took the shape of a human female, and he took the shape of a male lion, all gold mane and yellow eyes and great long fangs and a tongue that rasped. Together, we rutted. I took no joy from the union, although I pretended to, to flatter him and make him do my bidding. My only satisfaction was that the son and daughter I would conceive from our tryst would put him deeply in my debt.
Goddesses do not gestate and give birth like mortal women do, not having the impediment of a body made of flesh, and the process is over in a matter of weeks. And I gave him his twins, a female baby and a male lion cub, and reminded him of his vow. He might have done my bidding even without the vow, because it pleased him to think himself powerful and to demonstrate that power, and it was no large task to grant my wish. But I wished to be sure, and so I reminded him of that vow, and he acceded.
And so Endymion fell into a sound sleep, there on the hill surrounded by his flock. I picked him up, and I carried him to the high cave where no men go. The sheep I left, to wander at will until other men came to claim them.
I set him down inside the cave, and removed the sandals and the belt and the tunic. I looked upon his nude form as he lay in the light of my earthly form. He continued to sleep, his breathing soft and easy. He would breathe like that forever. He could not feel hunger, he could not feel pain, he could not die. But he could still dream, and I could enter that dream, and make it mine.
And so I did. I returned to him every month and spent the day and night with him, my shepherd. I gave myself a body shaped like that of a mortal female, a body made of cold mist and moonbeams. I entered his mind and fanned the flame of lust. I went further and further each time. As his phallus hardened, I would slip it inside my half-substantial form, the better to feel his warmth. I told him to disregard the coldness of my sheath, far colder than any living woman's. Soon he relaxed, and I could feel his heat once more suffusing my cold form. I poured into his mind visions of women with legs spread in lust, with bosoms full and smooth, with lips as dark and sweet as new wine, with voices as soft as the cooing dove. I was rewarded with thrusts from his body that left me rocking like a boat in rough water, rising and falling with him. My own mind was flooded with images from his own dream, and with the sensations of his body. I smelled the musk of his sweat. I felt hands clutching at my thighs, and the rasp of his chest hair on my teats, and his lips locked onto mine, and I heard his groans and cries.
And then, when the boat had pitched to its highest arc, I felt the wave break, and the flow of his life-giving seed into the receptacle I had created from empty air. I felt myself rising now, toward some ecstatic joy I had never felt before. It was as if honey was flowing everywhere, rich and warm and sweet, overflowing first my body, then my mind, then my soul. Away I swept, over some precipice into some chasm where I fell for miles, never hitting bottom, until the sides of the chasm faded away and I was myself again, with my lover once again beneath me.
And then he fell into a deeper sleep, where I could not follow, I kissed his lips, but there was no response. So I bathed him with my tears, and combed his hair and beard. I kissed him once more, and I left him there.
I conceived. And I gave birth, to a daughter. And the months passed, and the hunger grew in me once more, and at last I surrendered to the hunger and I visited Endymion again.
And, again, I flooded his mind with pictures of me, as I would have looked to a mortal. I gave myself every desirable trait he could have found in a woman, every curve, every recess, every soft touch and hard kiss that he could have desired. And again we coupled and he spent his life-force in me, and again he drifted off to where I could not go, as I gasped and shook and found another life growing within me.
And so it has continued. Each time I visit him, the lust and the hunger increases. And also the guilt. I am a Goddess, who should feel no guilt for anything she does. And yet I wonder what Endymion would be like if the curse was lifted. Have I done him harm by consigning him to an endless life of endless sleep? Would he rather have waking life, and the company of men, and the old age he would eventually succumb to? I give him daughters that he will never see, never kiss, never watch as they grow to maturity. For me, he has become only a fountain from which I drink to slake my thirst, to replenish my creative power. Do I have the right to keep him as he is, in eternal stupor, dreaming his dreams of lust as I use his body to quench my own lust?
And I wonder if Zeus, for whom lust is second nature, saw the craving I had for the shepherd, and saw this as a way to torment me, whom he otherwise had no power over. Did he grant my wish to serve my pleasure, or his own?
I do not know. I only know that when the hunger comes, the shepherd is my only means of satisfying it. And I must go to him, and take another portion of his life, and conceive yet another daughter.
I am Selene, and I am the Goddess of the Moon, and I am hungry.
|
He pauses at the entrance to his room, closing the door slowly behind him.
Harry raises her head, meeting his gaze across the room, bare, stretched out and resting on her palms behind her.
“Where is Nagini?” he demands warily, knowing even before she looks towards the bathroom, blood pooling dark and vicious from beneath the wooden door.
His oldest companion, dead, her murderer spreading her legs in invitation, a challenge in her green eyes, lidded and dangerous where they rest upon him.
He steps out of his shoes and socks, removes the heavy cloak and lets it pool on the floor, undoing the cuffs of his shirt and rolling the hems up to his elbows with a snap of his wrist.
“Turn around,” he tells her quietly and she meets his eyes, wariness settling into her gaze at his eerie calm, but she obeys – slowly turning, settling flat on her belly, tensing as his hand brushes down her flank.
He opens the drawer beside them, pulling out the massage oil there, closing it with a soft click and placing the lid aside and pouring it over his fingers - allowing it to drip over her back as he settles across the back of her thighs.
He draws a line down her spine, down between her cheeks, but he doesn’t press inside of her, simply allows his fingers to slide back up again, a second hand joining, thumbs digging into knotted muscles near her hips, circling gently to sooth as she twitches with a noise of discomfort.
He digs the heels of his palms into her, dragging them slowly up, shoulders tensing involuntarily before she breathes out in relief.
He repeats the motion, rubbing thumbs gently down, taking care at her shoulder blades, the knotted muscles slowly relaxing beneath his touch until she’s practically boneless, fingers circling the back of her neck in slow circles.
“Tom-“ she groans his name, hips shifting beneath him as he drags his attention down to her cheeks, kneading the flesh in hard firm motions, reaching for more oil and spreading her open as he pours, watching the way her rosebud flexes beneath the golden shimmer.
He pushes a finger into her, slipping in easily with the oil, joined by a second and then a third to a whine and hitch of her breath as he forces her to spread around his knuckles, shoulders bunching tight beneath him as he dribbles more oil onto her, watching as it oozes down between the crease of her buttocks and into her.
He pushes a fourth fingers against the tight ring and her fist curls into the sheets. “Tom-“ she begs in mounting panic, spread too far wide too fast but unable to clench down on him without hurting herself as her toes dig into bed with a quiver. “Tom-“
He slides his fingers down to the beginning of the palm of his hand, folding his thumb up as she bites down on his pillow with a strained groan of pain, body tense as a bow string, the tight ring of muscles stretching obscenely around the knuckle of his thumb before it swallows him up with one last push, sliding down to settle around his wrist with a jerk of shock.
She doesn’t move, frozen in place, and he studies the puckered skin in fascination as it tenses around his pale wrist with a whine of pain.
"No, no, no-“ her body does a little twitch, as if to jerk away from him, but there’s nowhere to go, his weight heavy on the back of her thighs, up to his wrist inside of her. “Tom- it’s too much, please-“ He does an experimental flex of his fingers and she claws into the sheets, quivering as he slowly drags his wrist back, watching her pucker stretch around his wrist before swallowing him back up into her with a push.
“You should see yourself,” he says as she curls her fingers into the sheets, trying to pull away as he strokes his fingers up into her with a choked gasp and desperate shake of her head, breath hitching and hips jerking as he curls his fingers into a tight fist and pushes into her. “You spread so prettily around me.”
Her back bows in pain and shock as he starts to slowly fuck her, pouring more oil down his wrist as her hips stutter, pressed nearly flat against the mattress, involuntarily only making it tighter in her attempt to escape the drag of his wrist, and he isn’t surprised at the sound of a ragged sob as he spreads his fingers, pushing up against her walls as he slowly drags his wrist back, stretching her wide before his hand slips out of her with a wet noise.
She's left gaping and her hips jerks as he bends down and strokes his tongue broadly over it, as if to soothe as she quivers.
He reaches down, undoing his pants and freeing himself, her body stilling as she nudges the fluttering opening with the head of his cock. “Tom- no, that’s – Tom- “ She reaches blindly behind her but he merely pins her wrist down against her back as he angles his hips and pushes into her and she cries out, jerking as the sensitive walls are forcefully dragged up his cock as he bottoms out into her depth.
Her eyes are wide, tears leaking from them as he draws back and pushes into her with a stuttered hitch of her breath and a jerk of her hips still pinned in place beneath his weigh as he rocks into her, taking his time to fuck her slow and painful until he comes with a small shudder as he spills into her and finally pulls out.
She flinches when he reaches for her but he hushes her, drawing her up and into his arms and carrying her to the bathroom, settling her down into the bathtub and turning on the water.
Strokes a finger down the head of his decapitated companion before allowing her to fade away, blood scrubbed clean, leaving nothing in her wake but a glitter of magic that slowly fades.
In the bathtub Harry shivers and he rucks up his pants before stepping and settling on the ledge behind her, feet on either side of her hips, knees by her ears, and he nudges her to lean back against him with a painful grimace.
He washes her body off the oil, taking care to brush long fingers into her to get her clean despite her protests before feeding her a healing potion and wrapping her up in a soft towel, stroking wet limp strands away from her face as he settles down in the cleaned bed with her in his arms.
“That was too much,” she whispers against his lips before he slants his mouth over her in a gentle brush.
“I know,” he says but he does not apologize and she presses her head against his chest, arms slowly coming up around her, pulling her against him, tucking her head beneath his chin.
It doesn’t take long before she hesitantly spreads her legs, allowing her knees to slide down and settle on either side of his hips, shifting experimentally to grind herself carefully against the front of his pants to a tightening of his fingers against her shoulder.
She does it again, pressing her forehead against him as she angles her hips with a rise and press against him as his fingerrs flexes against her. “I am not gentle,” he warns her.
“I know,” she breathes against his lips and his arms tightens around her, grinding her down hard against him with the next movement to a stutter of her hips as the rough fabric drags over her clit, mashing the sensitive nerves between them.
His cock is growing hard beneath her and he brushes a hand below the towel, gripping at her bare hip, angling her and pushing down her entrance against the press of the head of his cock tenting the fabric.
“Good girl,” he murmurs into her ear, head bending to mouth against her neck, and he pushes the towel off her as his hands glides up, over her breasts, palming them roughly as she rises and falls against him, grinding down, cock straining to breach her through the fabric. “Just like that.”
He mouths against her wind pipe, her back arching as her head tilts back and he tightens his grip on her, one hand carding through the hair at the back of her head, gripping it tight and forcing her head back even further as he drags his teeth down her her throat to a stutter of her hips.
His free hand clamps down on her hip, forcing her to grind hard against him with a jerk of her hips, a breathy gasp and a swallow he feels through his teeth before he gently loosens his hold, allowing her to drop back against him with a little shiver.
He nudges her off him, limbs slipping slowly down until she’s kneeling on the floor between his spread legs.
She leans forward, opening her mouth to drag her tongue over his clothed erection, mouthing against the fabric, her breath warm against him as he watches her intently.
His free hand pushes through her hair, still wet, tilting her head to rub against her cheek as she watches him with lidded eyes, tongue darting out to press against him with the movement, his fingers tightening and then slowly relaxing.
He reaches out, freeing himself, her mouth already opening wide as he pushes up against her lips, and he presses against the back of her head until she’s taken him down to the root, throat working around him, tongue pressing flat and slick and warm against the underside of his cock.
He holds her there for a long moment before slowly guiding her back, lips straining around his thickness, and she draws air through her nose, chest expanding almost as if in a sigh, before he pushes back into her.
He drags her all the way off him and then reaches down, hauling her up, legs settling around his waist, trapping his erection flat against his stomach, sliding between her wet folds as he moves her to the desk at the corner of the room, banishing the papers upon it with a brush of his fingers before he pushes her flat against it.
He presses a kiss to her belly, mouthing the skin while dragging her rump to rest at the very end of it, curling two fingers into her with a breathy gasp, her hips jerking up, heels pressing down against his shoulders for leverage as she whines, hips canting up to take him deeper into her.
He pulls them out of her, straightening, pushing her legs together and bending them back over her, rump rising from the table, knees pressed almost all the way to her nose as he swipes a broad tongue flat over her clit with a stuttered jerk.
He pushes her cheeks apart, dragging his tongue over the puckered hole and up over her slit, stroking his tongue into the dips of her folds and suckling on her clit as she grasps onto the table, white-knuckled, moaning low as he dips into her, dragging his tongue up her sensitive walls before slowly lowering her back down.
He hitches her legs up with his left arm, grasping his cock with the other and guiding himself into her while pulling her legs towards him, forcing the head into her with a low groan, hilting himself to the root as he drags her thighs flush back against him.
She whines, split wide on his cock, walls pushed tight with her legs clamped tight together as he drags back and slams into her hard, bending over her, holding her hips locked in place as he pushes himself deep, grinding himself against the entrance to her womb with a desperation that makes her clench down tight to drag him deeper into her.
He pulls himself out of her and she finds herself yanked up and bent back down over the table, nipples pebbling against the cold wood as he spreads her open and pushes his cock back inside of her to a sharp rise of her hips at the feeling and new depth as he forces her to take all of him in a single harsh thrust, grinding hard against her cervix.
“Tom-“ she gasps his name, her nipples dragging against the cold wood as he sets a punishing force and she cries out, rising up on her toes and arching her hips before he tightens his grip on her waist and pushes her down flat against the desk and fucks her down into it.
She comes, hard, gasping from the suddenness of it as her hips jerks sharply forward into the wood, and he doesn’t pause – doesn’t relent for a moment even as her hands pushes against the table, trying to arch out and back from him with a whine of protest as his fingers finds her clit, grinding it hard with the palm of his hand with a shocked widening of her eyes as she tries to jerk away.
But his free hand pushes down against her back, keeping her flat and forcing her fast and painfully into a second orgasm.
“Tom-“ He hilts into her, sack slapping against her, her walls clenching and unclenching desperately around him, unable to keep up, raw and too sensitive as he groans. “Tom- please, I can’t –“ She squeezes her eyes shut, nipples jerking against the cold wood, cheek pressed flat, panic coiling thick and dangerous through her as too much tips over the edge to something terrifying and painful as her hips keeps rocking up against the wood. “Tom- no no no, Tom-“
She twists, attempting to dislodge him, to pull him out of it, but instead she finds herself yanked up, his cock slipping out of her as he pushes her down on the bed and she barely has time to note that the oil was gone, sheets changed, before he was settling over her hips, forcing her face down on the bed as he slips right back into her with a shocked jerk of her hips as he spreads her oversensitive walls wide.
“Fuck-“ Her elbow pushes against the sheets, back arching as he murmurs a soft praise into her neck, her walls clenching down hard before she can think twice about it, his cock dragging tight as she whines out.
He hilts himself, the head of his cock pushed tight against her cervix as he comes hard to a choked gasp and a stutter of her hips as she pushes her rump up against him, knees straining to push him as tight as physically possible, reaching back to grasp blindly at his thigh to keep him in place as he fills her up.
He slowly relaxes against her, cock softening, but he doesn’t pull up as he nudges her around, pulling her hips up flush to rest elevated on his thighs, palm brushing over her flat belly.
She watches him through lidded eyes, a shiver of excitement making her clench down, as if urging it deeper into her as she settles her hand over his, pressing him tight against the skin.
“I didn’t take the potion.”
He stills, red eyes rising to meet green.
“He always makes me a potion – Snape. It’s supposed to be taken at the beginning of each month but. I didn’t take it.”
“You didn’t take it,” he echoes and she groans as she feels him harden inside of her, spreading her wide on his erection as he tightens his grip on her possessively, dragging her up flush against his hips. “You didn’t take it,” he repeats, almost reverently, and her hips stutters as he pushes down hard against her cervix, biting down on the inside of her cheek to keep herself from crying out from the pain.
He fucks her roughly and without care, dragging her hips back, making sure to keep her angled up and she tries to relax as she sucks a sharp breath as his cock pushes hard and deep as she grasps desperately at the sheet, canting her hip to find an angle that didn’t make it hurt only to find herself clamped still in place.
“Tom-“ she barely gets his name out of her mouth before he pushes into her, angling to get the head of his cock flush against her womb as he comes, filling her up before breathing out, palm brushing reverently over her belly.
“Tom…” she murmurs his name, walls clenching down weekly around him as he bends over her, tongue dragging flat against her nipple before sucking hard, drawing a groan of discomfort and confused arousal as she tries to twist away from the feeling. “Tom-“ she protests when he pushes her back but her eyes widen because she can feel him hardening, blood rushing to fill his cock, spreading her painfully even at half-mast as he rocks experimentally into her.
She chokes, struggling to get back, but he tightens his grip and she realises how badly she’d miscalculated as he snaps his hips into hers, forcing his semen deeper inside of her. “Fuck – no Tom, I can’t – It’s too much – you don’t need, please – “ She pushes her feet against his shoulders but he knocks them impatiently aside, hitching her up, forcing her legs to spread almost obscenely around his waist, her hips jerking up in a shocking mix of pain and pleasure as he grounds his palm against her clit.
“No-“ She tries to brush him aside, away from her, but he doesn’t relent, setting a hard pace as he bends over her and sucks her nipple back into his mouth. “T-om, it’s enough, Tom- I’m, no, no-“
“You’re doing so good,” he cuts her off and a confused sort of sob escapes her as her back arches, caught between pleasure and pain as her walls clenches down at the praise. “So good, so good – my good girl.” She whines in pain as she tightens obscenely around him with a wet suctioning noise as she comes, tearing a gasp from him as his hips stutter, grinding against the opening to her womb, his teeth catching and dragging against her nipple before he locks his lips back around it, worrying it with his tongue as her hands pushes weakly against his head.
When he comes it’s with a sharp gasp, dragging her up and tight against him, head once against pressing tight against her womb as he fills her up, murmuring his appreciation as he slowly slips out of her, fingers brushing against her before he presses a kiss against her folds.
He keeps her high and elevated, tracing the path from her opening to her womb, spreading his palm flat against belly as her hips twitches up towards him with a weak groan.
-
He wakes her up in the middle of the night, groaning as he pushes into her, disorientated but opening her legs up to take him deeper as he tightens his grip on her, pulling her back flush against his chest as he pushes into her depth.
She murmurs his name as his hips smacks against hers and she realises with a confused start that he’s as naked as her from the slap of their flash as he spreads her wide on his cock, her breath stuttering as he hilts himself deep into her, feeling his bare thighs against her own, the stickiness and warmth of his sweaty chest in the dark as he fucks her.
She tugs at him until she’s on her belly, raising her hips up, pushing against his heavy weight as she takes him deep with a slick slide and gentle praise as his hand strokes beneath her, over her belly, lips pressing against the arch of her back as he comes with a shudder inside of her.
She grimaces at the strange feeling of sticky fullness but he soothes her gently, pulling her up against him and curling around her and it doesn’t take long before she’s once again asleep.
-
It doesn’t take her long, once back at Hogwarts, to realise what he’d done as her vagina clenches and pulses without anything spilling out of her.
She trembles as she curls fingers into her, feeling the globs of sticky semen, the brush of magic with his imprint as she presses a hand against her lower belly.
Her walls clenches down, hard – the feeling strange, alien, as it churns inside of her and the slightest brush against her clit makes her hips jerk forward, chasing the feeling because he’d-
She clasps a hand over her mouth to stifle the sound of her filthy groan, her arousal painful as she sinks down on the bathroom floor, shuddering beneath the cold water and fumbling for the last of Hermione’s body wash, scrubbing herself clean and wrapping herself up impatiently in her towel as she stumbles into the sleeping area, yanking the drawers open with a clutter of bottles.
She finds nothing on her side, crawling over Hermione’s bed to yank hers open next, finding the potion given to all sixth years just in case.
She collapses back on the bed, chest rising and falling as she stares down at it.
-
“You have a strange look upon your face,” Draco tells her at the eve of the last battle where he’s watching her.
There’s a damning lack of teenagers in the once full halls, an emptiness that prevents grimness or joy to settle fully into the large stretch of space as anticipation slowly builds in corners between those remaining.
Her eyes linger on Tonks who is clutching a small child with blue hair, trailing over the space where Draco's parents should have been had they not chosen cause before love.
She looks back to him and he raises an eyebrow at her.
“What will you do at the end of this?” she asks him. “When there’s no more fighting.”
He gives her a long strange look, edged with suspicion. “Probably the opposite of whatever the Saviour of the Wizarding World is doing,” he says eventually. “Sev and I was talking about travelling,” he relents when she keeps staring at him expectantly.
Snape appears as if summoned, dodging away from McGonagall with an impatient air as he sidles up beside them, noticeably harrowed but with a grim set of his mouth as he shoved a bottle of potion each into their hands.
“It’s fast acting but it only gets the worst of it,” he tells them, sparing a particularly pressing look at her.
“Snape?”
“Professor Snape,” he corrects her out of habit before grimacing, because there hadn’t been any lessons in Hogwarts for almost two years now. “Just call me Severus,” he says tiredly.
“Severus,” she relents slowly. “What would it take to make someone disappear?”
Draco and Severus gives her identical looks of suspicion and she keeps her look bland.
“And you need to know this on the eve of the battle because…?”
“You could say I have a studious interest in the matter.”
He looks at her, eyes unfathomable as he searches her gaze. “Does this have anything to do with your secret lover?”
Draco inhales sharply and chokes on nothing, wheezing out as he grasps desperately at the hem of her sweater.
“Her what now?”
“Maybe,” she allows and Draco makes a noise akin to dying at her confirmation.
Snape breathes out. “For the right sum and the right contacts even someone like you could be whisked away to secrecy.”
“Sev,” Draco exclaims aghast. “We can’t make the Girl-Who-Lived disappear.”
“If I survive,” she reminds him and he gives her a filthy look. “Draco,” she softens her voice, allows some of her exhaustion to bleed through, settling heavily on her shoulder. “I’ll never be allowed anything close to normalcy if I remain here.”
He bites down on his lip, clearly struggling, and it aches because they had once been enemies but now they were all that remained from their year group and it had forced kinship when there had been none.
“I want visiting rights,” he relents. “Sev too. We can be your weird uncle and cousin to whatever strange creature decided to bump bits with you.” He gives her a challenging look.
“Alright,” she agrees simply.
-
When she is sixteen-years-old the Dark Lord makes her kneel with a single command and it starts something between them that she hesitates to name even at twenty-four as she stares at him across the field, grass withering and turning to ash beneath her bare feet.
He’d torn the world around her apart while keeping her together and they were never destined to bring anything but ruin to each other.
It’s a circle sealed and bound by his actions and her survival.
For neither can live while the other survives.
|
Stepping into the spacious hall, Oliver glanced at his watch and smiled. He knew that it had been a good idea to walk those three blocks from City Hall to Queen Inc. On his way, he had been able to stretch his legs and clear his head. He was more than read to completely focus on this big press conference now.
Oliver caught the gaze of the man working behind the reception. His name, is Oliver wasn’t mistaken, was Arthur Simmons. He knew that this man, who was in his mid-fifties now, had worked in this company from the very start. He had started small, doing some much-needed mini jobs. Through the years, he had worked his way up until Felicity had trusted him with the position at the head of the reception at the beginning of the year.
Oliver knew all of that because Felicity had told him. They had both figured that this was one of the stories to give hope. People could actually achieve something if they worked for it, and if they were given a chance. Often, those people in charge forgot about that second part.
“Good morning, Mr. Queen,” Arthur Simmons called out. “The executive elevator is available for you.”
“Good Morning, Mr. Simmons,” Oliver replied and saw the proud smile on the man’s face as he realized that his boss’ husband knew his name. “And thank you.”
Those last years, Oliver had noticed that small acts of kindness could have a meaningful effect. People appreciated when others knew their names and noticed them. It had taken Oliver a couple of years to get that because he had been used to being acknowledged from the very beginning. As the son of Robert and Moira Queen, almost everyone had known who he was, no matter where he had been.
Smiling at the feeling that he had done a tiny bit good today, he stepped into the elevator and pushed the button for the executive floor. He had the inspiring feeling that today was going to be a very good day.
As soon as the elevator doors opened at the topmost floor of the building, Oliver stepped out. Within two seconds, he got himself an overview of the floor. Some reporters were waiting in the lobby, talking on their phones or working on their notebooks. Most of the reporters that had been invited were occupied with the buffet that had been set up at the back of the conference room where the press conference was supposed to be held soon. Meanwhile, Felicity and Bruce were in her office, taking care of the last preparations it seemed.
Quickly, Oliver turned towards Felicity’s office. Some reporters had already noticed him, but they didn’t seem to be too interested in taking a photo or making a big deal out of his presence here. Oliver guessed that meant that they weren’t local reporters.
Stepping into the open door to Felicity’s door, he listened to how they were going through the details of their statement once more. It was obvious that they were absolutely in synch when it came to their work. They both seemed utterly comfortable and very close to each other.
Oliver took in a deep breath, smiling softly. There had been a time that this would have unsettled him. He hadn’t trusted himself, so he hadn’t thought that he could possibly be enough for Felicity. He would have understood if she had left him to be with someone else, someone who made it easier to be with. Luckily, those times were long over.
Lifting his hand, Oliver knocked at the glass door quietly. Immediately, Felicity and Bruce lifted their gazes from the papers they had been studying and looked at him.
“Oliver.”
Felicity couldn’t hide the surprise in her voice or on her face. Looking him up and down briefly, she handed Bruce the papers they had been reading in and got up from the couch. With a smile on her lips, she approached him.
“Oliver,” she said not less surprised. “You’re already here.”
Oliver perked up his eyebrows, glancing at his watch.
“It’s ten forty-two. The press conference starts at eleven. Since I wanted a chance to talk to you for a second, so I could wish you good luck – not that you need it – and give you a kiss, I figured that I have to be absolutely in time.”
“Well, for someone with your reputation of always being late, I thought that meant you’d show up at ten fifty-nine and make me come late to the press conference.”
“Do I already have a reputation of making you be late to things?”
“Sometimes.”
Oliver and Felicity looked at each other intensely for a long moment. They were holding each other’s gaze, both thinking about the times Oliver had indeed caused Felicity to be late. A lot of times, it had started with his sudden desire to save water and the following suggestion that they should just take a shower together.
Their lips widened into a smile at the same time. Oliver chuckled, unable not to be amused by their teasing. He wrapped his arms around Felicity’s body and bend her back to capture her lips in a gentle kiss.
He knew that Felicity didn’t really think that he would have been late to this. While he couldn’t deny that he had a reputation of being late there were things that he would never dare to be late for. This press conference today was one of them as it had been in the making for almost five years now. Today was a big day, and there was no way he was going to miss it.
As flashlights were hailing down on them, they broke their kiss and turned their heads over to the glass walls where reporters had lined up and were taking photos of them. He guessed the big news they had been promised to get today would be enriched with some love story details in the articles. Love stories never got tired, even if there wasn’t really anything new to tell about them.
When Oliver straightened back up, pulling Felicity into an upright position with him, she put her hands to his shoulders. The quiet smile on her lips told him that she was happy that he was here, but she still got some work to do. She was nervous like she always was before something like this. No matter how much she deserved to be in the spotlight for all the good she was contributing to this world, she hadn’t gotten used it yet.
“I have to talk to Bruce for a moment longer,” she said, nodding back towards the seating area where Bruce was enjoying a mug of coffee. “Only a couple of minutes longer.”
“Of course.” Oliver nodded, stroking his hands up and down her shoulders. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
Felicity glanced towards the conference room and nodded her head in that direction. “You could maybe take care of them.”
Oliver puckered his lips, looking towards the reporters. He did see some familiar faces as a lot of Starling City reporters had been invited to the conference. He did have quite the history with reporters as he had even beaten up one or the other. When he had been young, he just hadn’t known how to deal with them. Later, he had had too many secrets to feel comfortable around them. Although he still had those secrets, he was feeling a lot more comfortable talking to them now because there was also so much official he could talk about.
“I’ll take care of them,” he promised Felicity and pecked her lips. “Good luck.”
He headed towards the conference room, greeting Bruce with a nod of his head on his way. Bruce angled his head in response. He flashed him a brief smile before he focused on Felicity as she sat back down next to him.
Oliver took in a deep breath and straightened his shoulders before he opened the door and stepped into the conference room. The door hadn’t yet fallen shut when flashlights were already hailing down on them. He was bombarded with questions, most of them about recent political questions concerning him as mayor.
“Mayor Queen, the jobless rate increased by almost 2% compared to last month. What are you planning to do to stop this tendency?”
“Mayor Queen, according to my sources in the SCPD, the Vertigo Gang has formed back together and is currently working on a new generation of their drug. Can you confirm that the SCPD is looking into the case?”
“Mayor Queen, how do you plan to finance the recently announced investments in alternative energies?”
“Mayor Queen, during your last visit at the reopened Rebecca Merlyn Safe Haven Clinic that offers medical and psychological treatment for people who aren’t insured and cannot afford it, including illegal immigrants, you mentioned your plans to declare Starling City a Sanctuary State. Do you still stand by that?”
“Mayor Queen, a-“
Chuckling quietly, Oliver lifted his hand. He would never understand why reporters thought it was a good idea to talk across each other like this. There were at least fifty more questions thrown at him. Thanks to his extraordinary senses and focus, he could follow the chaos of voices, but he doubted that that applied to many others.
It took a moment until everyone got it, but the mob of reporters fell quiet eventually. Oliver waited a little longer, taking some time to look into the faces or the reporters. He guessed that most of the reporters here were well-disposed towards him.
“I am sorry to inform you that Mayor Queen could not make it here today because of the occurrence of some doubly duty. He decided so step back in favor for Oliver Jonas Smoak, dedicated husband and father.” Everyone chuckled, making Oliver raise his hands. “Sorry, Guys.”
There had been a time, back when the vigilantes had still been seen as some sort of danger for the safety of the city, that Oliver’s private life hadn’t been of interest for the press anymore. It had lasted a couple of years until Felicity’s work at Queen Incorporated had raised more and more attention and he had first entered the mayoral race. That had dragged him back into the spotlight and that hadn’t stopped when he had decided to lay down his candidature.
For long time, once his marriage with Felicity had become interesting to the media, they had made up stories about mutual cheating and other problems. He had still been so very insecure back then that some of the articles had actually hit him right in the heart. Those times were long over now though. He and Felicity could laugh about those articles now because he knew that there was not even a spark of truth in them.
“No, seriously,” Oliver said and cleared his throat. “Today is all about the amazing work Bruce Wayne and Felicity Queen have done. These two minds combined have the power to change this world to the better, and that should never be underestimated. You can ask me a lot of questions about my wife and I will do my best to answer them all. I love talking about her.”
Again, some reporters chuckled. After some short hesitation, the first lifted their hands to ask their questions.
“You just introduced yourself as Oliver Smoak,” a young woman with long black hair stated. “Have you officially taken on your wife’s maiden name?”
“No, I haven’t but I will forever regret that. Felicity is a wonderful human-being, and I would have been so proud to carry her name.” He smiled, feeling his chest warm the way it always did when he talked about Felicity. “Just think about all the missed chances that name would have offered. Mayor Handsome is a nice nickname. I have really taken kindly to it. Still, that nickname would have bene so much more powerful with all the jokes about how smoaking hot I am if you get what I mean.”
Once more, some of the reporters chuckled.
“You and your wife are both busy with your jobs,” another reporter stated the obvious although he didn’t even know all the ways he and Felicity’s lives were busy. “How do you balance your work lives and private lives?”
“It’s not easy,” Oliver replied honestly, “but Felicity and I support each other’s career the way people that love each other should do. We sit down and go through our schedules together regularly to make sure that we can make it all work. For us, our jobs have always been important. We always wanted to make it work, so we did. It takes a lot of openness and a lot of structure, but it can work.”
Another reporter wanted to ask a question, but the door from the office opened in that moment. Bruce and Felicity stepped out side by side. They looked like a powerful couple, something a lot of media would certainly point out in their articles about this conference, but Oliver didn’t mind. Bruce and Felicity were like work-husband and work-wife, and he didn’t mind that at all. He was glad that Felicity had found someone who challenged her intellectually in a work area that was her pure passion. He also watched out for her if she was overworking or taken failures too close to her heart.
Once everyone had taken their seats, Felicity and Bruce stepped to the podium that had been set up. Oliver sat in the first row of course, taking a seat right next to his former and Felicity’s current EA Emily.
“Big day,” he said.
Emily smiled. “Five years in the making.”
“Welcome to Queen Incorporated, everyone,” Felicity said. “Bruce Wayne and I are happy that you followed our invitation to this press conference today.”
Oliver could see that Felicity was nervous. As soon as her eyes found his, he smiled at her softly. Immediately, the nervousness in Felicity’s eyes faded. She took in a deep breath and focused. Knowing that he believed in her, she knew that she could do this. Oliver knew because it was always the same way for her.
“Queen Incorporated and Wayne Enterprise proudly present the QIWE Bio-Stimulant, the product of five years full of work.” Felicity made a brief pause as she lifted the glass case that held the three versions of the bio stimulant it had taken to finally get the result that they had wanted for it. “It has finally completed the clinic trial, and is officially registered as an official treatment for nerve damages, especially in connection to spine injuries.”
The shower of flashlights hailing down on Bruce and Felicity was immediately followed by loud applause that Oliver tuned into. The invention of the bio-stimulants alone had been a miracle, but they had continued working on them to make them even better and to make them available for the wide mass of people was even bigger than that. In those few years that Felicity had been the head of this company, she had done more good with it than all the people who had been in her position before together.
Just like when Oliver had stepped into the room before, all the reporters were speaking across to ask questions again. He chuckled quietly about the fact that the seemed unable to learn and shook his head.
“You know, if you just asked your questions one by one, I am sure we could answer them,” Felicity said softly, a charming smile in her lips, and the room fell silent instantly. Oliver smiled proudly, and he saw Bruce doing the same. “Yes, please.”
The first reporter said his name and named the magazine he was writing for. “Are insurances going to take the costs of the treatment?”
“That is something we cannot answer yet as the decision hasn’t been made so far. There might be restrictions to the cost coverage, but-“
Felicity was interrupted by the questions of the reporters that were now shot at her again. She took in a deep breath, obviously not happy about this development. She was just as short on patience when it came to reporters as Oliver was too.
“To help people of all social-economic backgrounds to be able to afford the bio-stimulant, Queen Incorporated and Wayne Enterprise are launching a new charity project,” Felicity just explained with quiet voice. “That charity project will sponsor the costs of the treatment. At the same time, our companies are continuing to progress our product and try to make it more affordable for everyone.”
The press conference went on as Felicity and Bruce continued to answer questions about the bio-stimulant. Oliver could see that they were both absolutely in their element. He barely understood everything that was said since he wasn’t that fluent in Nerdish, but he didn’t mind. He was proud nonetheless, and just watching Felicity talk about something she loved so much made him happy.
“Are further collaborations between Queen Incorporated and Wayne Enterprise planned for the future?”
“Absolutely.”
Bruce and Felicity had talked at the same time. They looked at each other and both chuckled happily. With a gesture of his hand, he gave the floor to her.
“Mr. Wayne and I know very well that companies like ours hold the key to promising inventions that open doors in the future that haven been closed for very long. During our work on the bio-stimulant, we agreed that-“
Felicity stopped. He eyes flashed to the transom windows on her backwall of the conference room. A glimpse of nervousness was showing on her face. Bruce’s gaze had followed Felicity’s. He was looking in the same direction, his jaws tensed.
Quickly, Oliver turned his head back and tried to find what was unsettling the two of them, but there was nothing to be seen. Everything looked normal. He couldn’t find any threats here.
When Oliver turned back around, Felicity caught his gaze briefly. She took in a breath and put on a smile. Opening her mouth, she wanted to go on with her answer. Before a single sound fell from her lips, the glass of the transom windows burst though.
“Everyone down!” Oliver shouted instinctively. “Down!”
Covering Emily with his body and pressing her down, Oliver glanced towards Felicity. Bruce had closed the distance towards her. Just like Oliver did for Emily, Bruce covered Felicity’s body and pressed her head down gently.
Oliver looked towards the transom windows, but everything was quiet there. There was nothing to be seen other than the blue sky. Only one of the windowpanes had burst. The shattered pieces lay on the floor.
“Is anyone hurt?” Bruce asked eventually and got up. “Anyone hurt?”
Nobody answered him. Everyone started talking though. They whispered, all in shock about what had happened it seemed.
“We apologize for the disturbance. The windowpane probably overheated.” Bruce’s smile seemed to be enough to calm the nervousness of the people here. “I suggest to get over the shock, you go down the street to Manhattan, a small bar where you can take a drink on my costs.”
The idea to be invited to a drink by Bruce Wayne seemed to be liked by a lot of people. They packed their stuff quickly and headed towards the elevator. While Felicity talked to some of the reporters, who wanted to talk to her personally, Bruce turned away and made a phone call, probably telling the owner of that bar about his plan.
“Do you really think it was an overheated windowpane?” Emily asked Oliver and looked at the transom windows. “Because I don’t know.”
“I am actually sure it wasn’t an overheated windowpane,” Oliver whispered. “Call the police please.”
Emily nodded and drew back unobtrusively. Oliver watched after her for a moment before he turned towards Felicity, who was already approaching him too as the last reporters had now left. He wrapped his arms around her quickly and kissed her cheek.
“Are you alright?” he asked, tightening his arms around her. “Are you okay?”
Felicity leaned against him fully and pressed her nose against the side of Oliver’s neck, breathing him in.
“I’m fine,” she told him. “Shaken, but fine.”
Oliver pushed her back carefully. With his hands on her shoulders, he looked her up and down. She didn’t look hurt, but her face showed that she might be a little dizzy.
„What happened before the pane burst?” Olive asked, keeping a hand on her elbow to make sure that she had some hold in case her legs would give in. “You and Bruce saw something.”
“There was a glimpse of light. I don’t know what it was, but it was weird and-“
When Felicity suddenly threatened to fall forward and right against him, Oliver quickly tightened his hold on her. He looked at her intensely, trying to build eye contact, but Felicity was completely unfocused. She was barely on her feet anymore.
“Oliver,” Bruce said urgently as he stepped towards them. “Look.”
He gestured towards Felicity’s back, and Oliver felt his heart tighten when he saw the syringe that was stuck in her back. Wrapping an arm around Felicity’s waist to hold her against him, he pulled that syringe out of her back.
“What’s that?” Felicity asked, her voice slurred. “What was that?”
Oliver already had an idea what it could be. He lifted the syringe to his nose and dropped the last drop of liquid that was in there onto the back of his hand. He smelled at it and sighed.
“Vertigo,” he explained. “Always Vertigo.”
|
“Zanpakuto Talking”
“Mental Talking/Parseltongue”
“Kido/Zanpakuto/spells”
‘Thoughts’
“Hollow/wraith/horcrux Talking”
After the attempted break in on the Gryffindor Tower, the castle had been placed on high alert with Aurors making regular patrols and security checks throughout the corridors. The Fat Lady could not be coaxed back into her frame and so a new Painting was forced to take the job of guarding the entrance to the tower. Dumbledore had suggested the portrait of Sir Cadogan, a painting of a Knight from the days of the Arthurian legends, but several teachers shot him down, saying that the Knight’s personality would be a bad match for guarding the entrance to the Gryffindor Tower, and as such, the Fat Lady’s portrait was replaced with the portrait of the Gryffindor Ghost, Nicholas de Mimsy-Porpington, the painting of the Gryffindor Ghost becoming rather popular with many of the House of the Lion.
While all of this was happening, a certain Hufflepuff was pondering over a perplexing contradiction while sitting awake in bed. If Peeves’ testimony was to he held as correct, then then it was indeed Sirius Black that had tried to forcibly gain entry to the Gryffindor Dorms…but that didn’t make sense. The general consensus was that Black had betrayed the Potters to Voldemort and, now that his master was defeated by their only son, he had escaped Azkaban to find him and finish the job. But it was common knowledge that Harry Potter was a member of the Hufflepuff house, the newspapers seemingly having a source that had allowed them to publish an article about it not long after the start of his First Year (an act that had Harry nearly canceling his subscription), so why did Black suddenly attack the Gryffindor dorms when his supposed target was supposed to have been sleeping in the Hufflepuff dorms?
“You seem rather troubled Harry,” said Ryuge as he interrupted the teen’s musings.
“Yeah,” sighed Harry, “something about all of this just doesn’t feel right.”
“Would you like to talk?” asked his Zanpakuto, “It has been some time since we have spoken face to face.”
Harry nodded and closed his eyes, allowing himself to enter his Inner World, but when he opened his eyes to see his mindscape, he was surprised to see that the crystal forest that usually depicted his inner soul looked to have received damage. Looking around, he saw that several of the crystals that jutted from the ground were a dull, sickly color, and many of them were cracked in several places as well.
“It is good to see you again, Harry,” said Ryuge, causing the young Visored to turn and see his draconic Zanpakuto spirit standing behind him.
“What happened here?” asked Harry as he looked around at his sickly Inner World, “I don’t remember my Inner World looking like this.”
“What you see here, is the result of your encounter with those vile shadow demons,” explained Ryuge as he looked around the damaged mindscape.
“The Dementors?” asked Harry, “They did all of this?”
“Indeed,” said Ryuge, “those demons of shadows attempted to devour your very soul when they attacked you, and because of that, your soul was damaged as a result and it reflects in your Inner World. I am currently working to repair the damage. Now, you were pondering something important?”
“Right,” sighed Harry, “you’ve probably been watching, so you know about the problem with the recent attack.”
The massive dragon nodded its head, “Yes, it is strange that one who has placed such a priority on ending your life would overlook such an obvious fact, especially since it was in the Newspaper that had both the information of your dorm, and the motivation for Black to escape.”
“I just don’t get it,” said Harry, “this whole situation doesn’t fit. If Black was going to put in enough effort to escape Azkaban to kill me, wouldn’t he have wanted to make sure he got the target right? And the news that the Dementors are after me is all over the school, so why doesn’t he just let them finish me off instead of risking capture to kill me himself? Something doesn’t fit.”
“Well Harry,” said Ryuge as he regarded the boy, “perhaps you should take some of the advice Urahara has given you?”
“You mean, ‘if they don’t catch you, it’s not cheating?’” asked Harry.
“…no,” sighed Ryuge.
“Then maybe, ‘always have an ace up your sleeve and a good poker face?’” Harry tried again.
“…perhaps you should refrain from spending too much time with him,” muttered Ryuge as a sweat drop formed on the dragon’s head, “I was speaking of his advice on entering unknown territory in life.”
“‘The best way to avoid disaster is to have all the facts before you react,’” quoted Harry, “so I should learn everything I can about Black?”
“Indeed,” said Ryuge with a nod, “if you are curious about the contradictions, then find out as much as you can so you do not act unprepared. Urahara has told you the origins of the Visored and how he should have planned better. Do not make the same mistake.”
xXsceneXx
The next day, classes began again as usual except with a slight change. Due to the attempted attack on the Gryffindor Dorms, security had been increased even further. Aurors now guarded the halls 24/7 and checkpoints were established where students were subjected to scans to detect disguising elements like Polyjuice or glamors. The Aurors knew that Black couldn’t have gotten past their perimeter guards or the Dementors without an inside hand, so they weren’t taking any chances.
After passing a checkpoint where his group was checked for any signs of controlling or disguising potions or spells, Harry found himself back in the DADA classroom for his next lesson, but instead of the tired form of Professor Lupin, Serverus Snape swept into the room, his black robes trailing behind him.
“Please sit down,” said Snape as he moved to the front of the room, “take out your textbooks and turn to page 394.”
“What happened to Professor Lupin?” asked a random Hufflepuff, before shrinking back as Snape looked down at him with an irritated glance.
“Professor Lupin will be occupied by personal matters for the next few days, so I shall be standing in for him,” said Snape, “now, as I was saying before being interrupted, please turn to page 394 and begin reading the chapter on Werewolves.”
The class was confused, as they had a ways to go before the year’s syllabus said they would cover the subject of Werewolves, but the students opened their book anyway, not wanting to incur the wrath of the Head of Slytherin House. As class ended, without incident thankfully, the students departed with a three-page essay on lycanthropy, but Harry remained behind to talk to the Professor.
“Professor Snape,” Harry said as he walked up to the Potion’s Master, “since you attended school with my Parents, did you know Sirius Black?”
“Black,” muttered Snape, “I remember him well. He was a troublemaker that always hung out with a group of friends that called themselves the Marauders. For the longest time, your Mother couldn’t stand him, and I could understand why.”
“He was a bully?” asked Harry.
“Your Father and his friends were a menace,” said Snape, “though I must reluctantly admit that your father matured over the years.”
“My Father and Black were friends?” asked Harry.
Snape raised an eyebrow, “Potter, I believe you have a class to get to?”
Seeing as he wasn’t going to get any more information out of the Potions Master, Harry hurried on his way. He hadn’t received a lot of information, but he had a start, and he knew the next best place to look, and the best person to help him.
xXsceneXx
“So, your father was friends with Sirius Black?” asked Hermione as she placed a stack of books down on a desk in the library.
“That’s what Professor Snape told me,” said Harry as he skimmed through a school yearbook, “I was hoping you could help me gather more information.”
“You make it sound like a military task,” chuckled Hermione, “but sure. It’s always good to go in with both eyes open. So why are you looking into this?”
“Well,” said Harry as he continued to search the yearbook from his Parents’ Fifth Year, “something about this whole situation doesn’t feel right. Sirius Black should have known that I wouldn’t be in the Gryffindor Dorm, so why did he attack? It got me curious, so I started digging into Black’s past, and according to Professor Snape, he was a close friend of my Father when they were in school, so I wanted to look into that to verify.”
Just as he said that, he turned a page to a class photo of the Gryffindor House and his eyes widened as he recognized several figures, “Here!”
Ignoring an irritated ‘shush’ from Madame Pince Harry began to read the class roster from the photo, “James Potter,” he said, “and next to him, is Sirius Black! They were in Gryffindor together.”
“Listen to this Harry,” said Hermione as she looked through a passage in a book of newspaper clippings, “Potter and Black do it again. The unstoppable duo has put more targets behind bars than any other team of Aurors in the DMLE. When asked about his future, James Potter said that he would be retiring to a desk job, as his firstborn son was to be expected in a few months, and he didn’t want him to have a father that went out with his godfather looking for trouble.”
“My father was an Auror?” said Harry in surprise, “And Sirius Black was his partner?”
“So Black did know your father,” said Hermione.
“But why would he betray my father if they were so close?” exclaimed Harry, getting another ‘shush’ from Madame Pince, “none of this makes sense.”
“Well,” said Hermione as she pointed to a third name in the yearbook Harry was reading, “I know someone we can ask.”
Remus J. Lupin.
|
Seven years ago...
It's okay, you don't have to be scared anymore.
You don't have to fear people.
I'm here.
I'll be there for you since nobody else will.
I'm so sorry this was what you were born into. You must think it's your fate to be like this. It isn't. I'll make sure that it isn't.
I don't know what's come over me, but the voice in my head, it's way too loud to ignore. It's telling me this is what I should be doing. This is what I was put here for. This is what I was meant to do.
I almost broke down after seeing you for the first time. I gave you a hug while I made a promise to myself, and after I left, I went to be alone and I cried. I couldn't even imagine what it must be like to be you. For this to be all that you know. I'll do whatever it takes to stop this madness. These people in this place are all insane.
I'll help you and when I do, the first thing I want to do is...
The hand in his tightened its grip.
Sandals lay back in the sand. The sound of the dying waves crashing against the shore were incredibly loud to the boy.
Makoto Hyuga looked over, giving a gentle nudge, "It's okay. I know you've read about it before, but I wanted you to see it with your own eyes. There's a lot to take in, I know. I'm not originally from this city, but this was my first experience when I came here. I wanted to see the ocean with my own eyes."
Kaworu was looking out at the horizon, feeling the sand beneath his bare feet, listening to the sound of the water, the birds, feeling the wind.
Together, they walked towards the water. Stopping at damp sand and waiting for the water to come back and reach them.
Makoto could feel the grip get even tighter, "You don't have to be nervous. It'll be good. I promise."
The grip loosened.
Whenever he'd ended something he said with those two words, it seemed to calm Kaworu down. After all, those words became extremely precious to him.
"I'll get you out of here. I promise."
So that's what a promise was. He'd actually kept something like that.
"You made me a promise. I want to make you a promise."
Makoto widened his eyes, "Oh yeah?"
Kaworu nodded, "I overheard the scientists. They don't trust you since you've been coming here so much. They want to erase you."
Makoto suddenly became extremely nervous, starting to panic.
"I'll make sure that doesn't happen. I promise. I don't want them to know this but...I have more power than they think I do. I can protect you."
"Why are you hiding it from them?"
Kaworu frowned, "Because any time I do something...they take more from me. They make me do more tests. I don't like it."
"I know you don't...that's why I'm going to do my best. No matter what it takes."
Kaworu nearly jumped, "It's cold!"
Makoto laughed, "Ahahaha! It sure is! But isn't it refreshing? You'll get used to it in a minute!"
"Um...Hyuga..."
"Please, just call me Makoto! It's totally fine!"
"I was thinking about something..."
"What is it?"
"I once read about families and...", he actually was starting to blush a little, "I was wondering if I could call you dad."
Makoto Hyuga once again had to suppress everything in him to not weep on the spot. Now he held the hand in his tighter, "Yes, you absolutely can. It makes me really happy to hear you say that."
"There are so many new things I have felt in these last few days. I am a little sad to finally leave that place because it's all I knew, but I am even more relieved to be out here with you. I don't know why I feel this way."
"Like a little bird, you've left the nest to come out and explore the world. There's so much to see, so much to discover! Can you tell me, what do you think of the ocean?"
"It feels good. The smell is a bit strong. But the water feels...it feels great." He turned to look at Makoto, "Can we go into the water more?"
"You don't know how to swim, I don't advise it. Like the way you protect me, I'll protect you. I may not have an A.T field, but I'll do my best!"
"That's not true. You have one."
"I do!?"
"It's just...you can't do what I can with it. Yours is on the inside, mine is on the outside. Think of it this way. Yours makes you who you are. Can I tell you something...dad?"
"You can tell me anything."
"You are the first person who has been so kind to me."
Makoto just had to turn and hug this boy, "That'll change. There are more kind and understanding people in this world. You'll see! Just...we'll stay together. It's just you and me. Maybe Kaji off and on, but mostly just you and me. I can do this. We can do this. I'll take care of you. I always wanted a kid someday. I actually wanted a daughter haha, but it's fine! It doesn't even matter anymore! I'll make sure you'll be just fine. I'm going to give you a normal life if it's the last thing I do! You'll be able to see what life really has to offer, make friends, eat lots of good food. The ocean is just the start. Life can actually be really beautiful and I want to watch you grow and experience all sorts of things. Let's start with food! What were they feeding you at Seele? What's your favorite dish?"
Kaworu thought for a moment, "Just nutrients."
"Excuse me!?"
"I eat powdered nutrients. It gives me all the sustenance I need."
Makoto stepped back a bit, grabbing his shoulders, "THEY DIDN'T FEED YOU REAL FOOD!? NOT EVEN RICE!?"
Kaworu shrugged, "I don't know what you mean."
"We're going right now to get you some real food! Yikes! You don't know what you're missing out on. I'm so sorry! Let's start off with yakisoba! I know a great place!"
When heading to the restaurant, Kaworu immediately grabbed Makoto's jacket, making him stop in his tracks.
"What is it?"
Kaworu lowered his voice, "We should go somewhere else. They're going to try to poison you here."
"H-how do you know that?"
"I am surprised you do not sense their bloodlust from here."
Makoto nodded, "W-Why don't you show me where you want to go then? Since you can tell what's safe and what isn't..."
He was relieved they ended up at a shop he'd never been to, and ended up settling for yakitori as his first food the outside world had to offer.
Looking at his reaction to eating the skewered and grilled meat, he'd just smiled and felt that all of his actions were worth it. This is what it was all about. Getting this poor, honestly trafficked child the chance to get to live a normal life.
He'd felt heartbroken the first time he'd watched this tragic boy have a psychotic episode. He'd freaked out and called Kaji, unsure of what to do.
A lot of raising Kaworu was trial and error. That was okay. No matter what ups or downs they'd faced, they always had each other. He did all the groundwork of actually teaching and raising him, being there for him in times of need, getting him adjusted to human life. Kaji did the work behind the scenes. Getting them funds if they needed it, supplying them medication, only asking to run a test if it was absolutely necessary. It was a pretty efficient system, almost suspiciously so. Junior high had to be remote entirely, but he'd wanted him to really work on his social skills if he was going to survive in the world, and had enrolled him in a local high school when the time came.
"You see, my son is quite ill, so I hope it is alright if on days he isn't feeling well, he can learn remotely."
The principal nodded, agreeing to his proposition.
Makoto had a big smile. Those junior high school years were the roughest, but high school wouldn't be that bad, right? His own experiences weren't that bad from what he'd remembered.
Boy was he wrong. How the hell did he ever think something like high school nowadays would be something easy? On top of that, his schizophrenia was going even more haywire. He'd started painting. He couldn't get to him due to the A.T. field, and he'd watched in horror as his son no longer seemed like himself. Hunched over a canvas and creating something so unexplainably non-human. He covered his mouth in shock as he'd watched him add his own blood with the paints from a cut.
He'd looked at the painting and felt sick. When Kaworu came to, he was panicked, confused, and stressed out. He didn't know how he was going to do this alone anymore. The more it went on, the more it was starting to wear him down. He felt horrible, because he knew it wasn't Kaworu's fault. No one asked to be born how they were, with the conditions they had.
Again, it was Kaji with the solution. The new medication seemed to calm these things down. But they stared at the painting and wondered what to do.
"Do we take it to Seele?"
"Maybe. They might need to analyze it for any special properties. If it happens again, let me know right away. In the meantime, just keep tabs on how his new meds are doing for him."
"He's a bit calmer right now."
Kaworu was doing school a bit more remotely after the painting incident. Yet he was diligent, he wanted to be normal. He'd do anything to be normal like the other kids. To get the chance to be around them and interact with them more, even if he didn't get along with everyone. He'd heard from classmates about how fun it would be to go to the arcade, to try karaoke, to just hang out, to read a magazine, to play games, to share meals. He'd certainly spent a lot more time online than ever before in his spare time when they weren't spending family time together.
He fixed his glasses, "Who the hell are you!?"
"WHY ARE YOU MY AGE? WHO EVEN ARE YOU?"
Makoto had no idea how meeting Shigeru Aoba that hospital day would change their lives forever.
"Oh yeah, he told me about his condition already. I saw his arm, man that's gotta be rough. Don't worry about it. Hey, how about we go on a trip!?"
"Uh...a trip?"
"If you're busy with work, I'll take him! It's no problem! I'll treat him out!"
Makoto frowned, "And what will you do if he has any symptoms?"
Shigeru shrugged, "We'll just carry the meds on us just in case! He can take a pill and we keep it moving."
"That sounds a bit reckless..."
"Trust me, you can't keep a young guy all cooped in a house with another guy all the time! Let him get some air! See some sights!"
Kaworu seemed so much happier with Shigeru around and frankly, so was he. He didn't trust him at first, but what really solidified that trust was a big hallucination night. Shigeru hadn't even been there, but they'd been talking through the blog. Makoto heard a loud gasp and ran into his son's room. Kaworu was looking over at a wall in absolute terror. Looking, Makoto didn't see anything. It took no time for Shigeru to arrive. A quick look and the last messages exchanged were Kaworu telling him he didn't feel well. That was all it took to send Shigeru running to help out.
"I'm glad I got here so soon. Don't worry about it, he took his meds already right?"
"H-he did, but it's still happening. It's...not like before, but this is pretty bad..."
Shigeru knelt before Kaworu, "Can you hear me? Can you hear the sound of my voice?"
A slow nod.
Makoto did the same on the other side, " Do you know who I am?"
They'd somehow been able to calm Kaworu down until it passed. He'd buried his face in his hands while sitting down in a corner of the room. They sat on either side of him. Shigeru just reached and put an arm around him, motioning for Makoto to do the same from the other side. He did. Hugs make everything better. They stayed like that until Kaworu brought his hands down. With a low sob, he'd whispered, "Thank you both so much..."
After making sure Kaworu was in his bed resting, that was when Shigeru closed the door and asked to sit in the kitchen together. He wanted to talk.
"Hey man, how are you doing?"
"W-what?"
"I asked how you're doing."
No one had really asked him that before. It made him emotional. His own emotions were pent up because it wasn't about him anymore. Not since he'd taken in Kaworu. He had to put so much aside, including his own needs and wants. Someone was asking him...about him for once. He let out an exasperated sigh, looking over at Shigeru in a new light from that day forward.
Present day...
"A bunch of stuff from years back is rushing through my head. I knew things were kinda weird about him, but that's still a bit of a stretch, haha."
Makoto sighed, "I'm glad that of all people, at least you're able to accept the truth."
Shigeru nodded, "Well yeah. I said it before and I'll say it again, it doesn't change anything for me."
"How can it not though?"
He looked over at him, "Cause I mean, you guys have been awesome. I told you before, we'd been talking a lot since he went away with that Kaji guy."
Makoto wondered, "How...have you been talking to him? He's off the grid."
Shigeru snickered, "No grid is completely off. He's still in the city. Nowadays, even kitchen appliances can be hacked. All types of shit runs online nowadays. I was lucky they picked a place with those kinds of appliances."
"What have the two of you been talking about?"
"The past. Good times, bad times. I told him about how I started finding stuff out about him. Talking about Shinji too. Glad I found him, cause our boy has been feeling pretty alone lately. I wanted to fix that. Hell, both those guys needed some pick me ups, so I put them back in contact with each other. I did it in a way that shouldn't get Shinji in any trouble. As long as they keep following my instructions, they won't get caught."
Makoto nodded, "You're a lot more amazing than I thought you were."
"I told you! Jack of all trades! I can do anything!"
Reaching, he'd taken Shigeru's hand, "I shouldn't get in contact with Kaworu myself, but can you send him a message for me? I just want you to tell him: We'll fix this, I promise."
"We'll fix it huh? I'm thinking of a way we can. I'll think of something. Just give me some time."
Makoto laid back on the bed, looking up at the ceiling, "I'm...so tired. So tired of a lot of things. I got tired of living a double life. Of not saying anything, of keeping so much bottled up inside. I didn't realize how exhausting it was until I met you."
Shigeru laid back next to him, "Oh yeah? It's like that? Well now that you don't have to do that anymore, anything else you want to tell me that you didn't feel like telling those chicks?"
He sighed, "I can't even think about anything else right now. I'm just a bit terrified of what Kaworu must be going through. He's not here to defend himself. I really hope that no one turns on him once they know. I think I'm afraid of that as much as he is."
"He's planning on telling Shinji himself, you know."
"I want to be there for him if he needs his dad, you know? It's always been us, but now with him expanding so much, like I always wanted him to, I want to really be there for him when things go south. For when life hurts. I promised him he'd never have to deal with that alone since I took him in."
"Yeah, but this is his love life you're talking about. He's gotta handle that all on his own. If things go south, we just gotta offer support when he needs it. Can't force it, ya know?"
"Mmmm I guess so." He blushed, "So uh...about us...you really meant the things you said back there or were you saying that to throw off the detectives?"
"You know me better than that, I meant every word. Come here."
They were hugging, he'd closed his eyes and decided to just bask in the comforting feeling of Shigeru holding him close.
"Shigeru...there is something I want to tell you. I wanted to ask you something personal."
He hugged Makoto tighter, "What's that?"
"When I'd look at Kaworu's angel paintings, I get this weird feeling inside. I'd have these bizarre dreams after seeing them. Have you ever had anything like that happen?"
"How weird are we talkin?"
"I'd see myself in the mirror, in a uniform. I'd see myself at a setup in front of multiple screens. I'd see you with me when I wasn't so focused on doing my part."
"Is that so? Was I just as handsome as I am now?"
"You still looked like you. Every time I had those dreams, I'd wake up and can't tell the difference between what's even real and what isn't. It must be how Kaworu feels all the time. It's an awful feeling. I used to wonder sometimes if maybe I did something to make him like that. Like, taking him out of Seele caused him to have these bad reactions and they know something that I don't and were just keeping it from me. There's still so much that I just don't know. I...I want to do what's best for him. Those detectives must think I'm a crazy person for doing what I did years back. For...taking Kaworu out of containment just because I felt bad for him. But Shigeru," he started to weep while holding onto him as tight as he could, "It was more than that. It wasn't just that I saw Kaworu and I felt bad. No one can really understand what happened when I first saw him. The feelings that welled up inside me were so, so strong. Like it wasn't even me. I heard voices that day, very loud voices, and they were screaming at me, compelling me to do it. They wouldn't stop and the only time it stopped was when I just...was when I gave him a hug. When I held onto Kaworu, all the bad feelings stopped. It was terrifying, agonizing, it was so strange. But I got the message. I sometimes wonder to myself if that was Kaworu himself reaching out to me, but I don't remember if it was his voice or not. Is that weird? I did feel awful for him the instant I saw him. I wanted to help him, but for an instant, I thought I was going mad. When Kaworu made his first angel painting, my head felt like static. I don't really know how else to describe it. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry that I kept all of this from you. I kept so much from you. Please forgive me. Please please, I need you! I'm so fucking happy that you're being so understanding about all of this. I really don't know how you are. Ever since you asked me how I was doing six years ago, I think that's when I was starting to fall in love with you. It made my world pause. No one had asked me that, not even Kaji. No one asked me if I was okay after I was almost killed so many times, and Kaworu had to save me. No one asked me if I was okay when I just wanted to take Kaworu clothes shopping, and he had to tell me we couldn't go the way I knew because Seele had a sniper waiting. No one asked me if I was fucking okay when I had to constantly check my own apartment top to bottom for spying bugs. When I had to tell my own family that everything was fine, that I was okay, that I was just busy all the time, but don't worry. I'm just fine, sure I'll send you some money for the others. I can do that, because I'm making all this money at the big company out in the city. No one asked me if I was okay after watching this poor boy lose his mind every now and then and I felt so heartbroken over and over again having to do nothing but watch almost every single time. No one asked me if I was okay...until you did..."
Shigeru frowned, "Let it all out. I'm here for you. I'm here for the both of you no matter what."
"Why!? Why are you even?"
"Because I love you guys. Simple as that. I don't need a big complicated reason. I'm not that kinda guy. Deep breaths babe."
"It's been so tiring to keep everything on my shoulders alone. I chose this. I chose to bear the brunt of it all. But if I didn't choose this, what would have happened? I would have had to throw away my morals for people who tried to kill me. I would have lived in fear no matter what. I don't want to be so scared any more. I don't want to feel so alone anymore."
"I'm here. I won't let you feel like that anymore. Not on my watch. I knew something was going on, but I never wanted to ask, I thought maybe one day you'd just tell me. Took you long enough. Look at me."
"I don't wanna..."
"Makoto, look at me."
They made eye contact.
"You don't have to do it by yourself. I was there because I wanted to be and I still am. I want to be here. We'll see this thing through wherever it takes us, okay?"
He put a hand over his mouth, closed his eyes, and nodded, crying harder.
"Jeeze, you know what I think? I think that back then, you did the right thing."
"I don't even know if I did or didn't. It felt like the right thing but all that's happened..."
"Kaworu told me that thanks to you, he knows what it's like to really live and love. Yeah, maybe I took him on trips, taught him guitar, got him into painting for a living, and the fun stuff, but the only reason he has anything at all is because of you. He knows how he should be treated by others because of you. That guy loves you to pieces, you know that right? You're dad to him. I know it's been difficult, but the risk was worth it. It was all worth it. You know, before I met him, I always walked around feeling hollow. Like I had this hole in my chest, and I had to always seek a way to fill it. You guys cured that, you know? It means everything to me, so that's why I'm willing to stay by your side. That's about as complicated as my reasoning gets though."
Makoto was sobbing uncontrollably, shaking.
Shigeru placed a kiss on his forehead, "Get some rest babe. Can you do that for me? Even if you're not that tired."
"I am so, so tired..."
"I'm right here, and I will be when you want to get back up. Hell, if you need me to give it to you nice and slow later, I can do that too if it helps you relax more."
Makoto hid his face and whispered, "I wasn't even drunk the second time..."
"Neither was I." He smiled, "But your buzzed face is really cute. We can talk more later. I want you to just chill out for now."
His chest felt a bit tight as he'd monitored Makoto, watching the guy practically cry himself to sleep.
When he was sure Makoto had passed out, Shigeru got up, pulling the business card out of his jacket pocket for Dr. Ritsuko Akagi. He walked out of his bedroom to call the number. Saying when she'd answered, "I got an idea."
"Oh? I thought you said you wouldn't work for me."
"Haha! I mean, I don't. But hear me out on this one. I think I know how, at the very least, we can get the boys back together in person."
"And why are you calling me and not the detectives?"
"Because I need to talk to somebody who knows as much as I do about how either of those boys are doing. Let me just tell you what I'm thinking and then we'll figure out what to tell the others."
Ritsuko responded, "What is your goal here? Is there something you expect to get out of all this?"
Shigeru looked back towards the room, simply saying, "My family."
"I'm listening."
Misato was hugging her knees against her chest, shaking.
These letters, holy fuck these letters.
Where to even begin with the things that she'd been reading all night long?
Shinji was...Kaworu was...
The tears wouldn't stop.
Makoto looked her in the eyes and said, "That's not why I took him in. Katsuragi, you weren't there that day. You didn't see what I saw."
The same thing she'd said to Ritsuko years ago when justifying why she'd adopted Shinji. He'd ironically told her those exact words when justifying why he'd taken in Kaworu. She'd been taken aback in the moment, and it showed, because Hyuga just kept pushing. It was that lawyer side of him, like a viper. Once he saw he had an opening to convince a person, he latched onto it and just kept striking with his own logic and reasoning.
Shinji oh my God...
Nevermind the fact that the first letter she'd read was...something...but the rest of these, the majority of them. She wanted to be there for him as a mother, to know what his relationship was like. To know that the person he'd brought to her and introduced as his significant other wouldn't hurt or harm him. It was a constant worry since the people who were supposed to love him unconditionally in his life either couldn't or didn't.
Fuytsuki had to pull her aside, "Can we talk about your son?"
"Sure!"
Fuyutsuki was devastated when she'd told him about Gendo's treatment towards him. She was shocked to find out that Fuyutsuki knew both Gendo and Yui Ikari frankly, and quite well from the sounds of it.
"If I would have had my way, I would have taken him in. However, I'm glad that it turned out to be you of all people. You're a good person, Misato. I know you'll do right by him."
But what was right and what was wrong anymore?
Every time she blinked, everything got worse for this boy, the circumstances got worse, the dangers got worse. But these letters, this was something she'd never seen before. This was probably the closest thing to what true love was like. No wonder Shinji wanted to defend Kaworu so badly even though he didn't know anything. No wonder he'd raised his voice at her and called her out on how she was acting when she didn't even know everything. Yet that made her upset, a bit angry even, and her own inner viper came out with words.
"No, YOU don't understand. You're being manipulated and always have been. How long before the façade drops? How long before this guy turns on you? He may say that he loves you, but men will say that and the next moment either hurt you or leave you. He's going to turn on you and you'll end up another victim! Don't you see that?"
Shinji froze, narrowing his eyes, but his hands were fists, "Misato, you're not listening to me!"
"I am listening. You're only talking like this because he's already got you where he wants you."
"No, that's not what's going on!"
"Then maybe he filled you in on something I don't know. Where's he really from? What happened to these people who all had something to do with him? Why was he found with two dead bodies?"
Ritsuko had to chime in here, "Misato enough!"
Maya was listening, looking out to protect the house, but she was hanging onto every word.
She'd only kept going, accusing Nagisa Kaworu of anything her mind could draw a conclusion to based on incredibly incomplete information. But she had to turn Shinji against this guy if it was the last thing she did, for his own safety.
She wouldn't be surprised if Shinji never wanted to talk to her again. Holy fuck these letters painted such a different picture. She'd just projected her own insecurities into the situation while yelling at her son the night she'd dragged him out of that art gallery.
Shinji...he knew damn well what he was talking about all along. She'd chalked it up to...him being young, naïve, lovestruck. How could she have thought that his first relationship would be anything like this? She thought...Kaworu was just some guy. That stupid, fleeting feelings you got when you were young came and went. Maybe they'd be together now and think of each other like the best thing ever, but eventually they'd grow up and grow apart. Break up, move on to other people as life goes on.
Like her.
It was an absolute shock to find out that Nagisa Kaworu wasn't just some guy. She didn't even know what the fuck he was anymore. Makoto said he was human, but humans couldn't exactly stop bullets in midair with the wave of a hand, or do any of the other miraculous things that Makoto was talking about. And whose word did she take on the matter? Makoto who was raising this guy? Or Seele, who'd discovered him and said outright that he is not a human being? One of the opinions confirming that Kaworu was from space belonged to none other than her own father.
She had to process that not only was he something...different...but she had to process the true nature of his relationship with her son.
"He just wants a normal life. To experience the things that the rest of us take for granted."
"Katsuragi, I wanted to tell you, I haven't gotten to see our boys together that much, but I can tell they're really happy. I'm so glad they found each other. It's like they help each other and it's just so wholesome to hear how it plays out. I don't think I've seen Kaworu quite like how he is now. Confident, content, more social than ever, and out here enjoying his life."
Who was Makoto telling? She could have said the same exact thing about Shinji in that moment at the bar. At that time, she didn't know anything and it seemed like Hyuga knew everything there was to know.
She thought about the things she'd read in these letters. All of them had the same neat handwriting, so neat it looked like script.
'You are the light of my life. Never doubt this.'
'I could tell I had met someone special.'
'When we're in the café and I see how much better you've gotten at interacting with everyone else, it fills my heart with so much joy. You can smile at me without a problem, but the fact that you can smile at others warms my heart. You deserve it. You deserve to be happy with your friends. When you're done being with them for the day, I love knowing that you always come back to me to tell me everything that's been on your mind. Is it okay that I feel a sense of pride, seeing that the look you'd have for me is different from the look you'd have for them? It makes me feel special to you. I want to continue being someone special to you, because you are for me.'
'I miss the soft look you'd have for me right before you smiled your beautiful smile that lights up my world.'
That was not a manipulative person.
How could things have played out like this? This was all cruel. This...thing...this guy, she could feel the love of the words in these letters. Shinji had actually found someone like this, yet it was going to bring him nothing but more hurt and pain because it just so happened that the person who cherished him like this wasn't even a person.
She'd jumped when there was a rattling as the window was being opened from the outside, and she froze in shock when red eyes were looking at her.
"Oh...Shinji is not here it seems..."
"Rei!? What the HELL are you doing here!?"
Rei climbed in, turning to close the window behind her, "I wanted to see Shinji."
"So this is how he's been getting in and out...and apparently so have you..."
Rei looked, seeing that Misato had a letter in her hands. She immediately got off the bed, coming over to sit next to her, also hugging her knees against her chest, "So you found them. I see."
"You know about these letters!?"
Rei nodded, "I am their best friend. Of course I know."
Misato sighed, "What the hell is even going on anymore? I don't know what to think about anything. I just...I read some of these letters. Jeez, did you know about all this stuff being written about?"
"How long have you been here?"
Misato ran her fingers through her hair, dropping the letter in her hand, "All night. I've been reading these for so long I didn't even sleep. I've known Shinji for so long and yet I feel like I don't even know him at all."
Rei nodded, "But I have known him his whole life."
That was very true, and it got her thinking, "What...do you think about these two?"
Rei reached to grab for a letter, turning it over in her hands, but not actually reading it, "He's not what Shinji wanted at first, but turned out to be what he needed all along."
"The hell is that supposed to mean?"
"When Kaworu first came to the café, he seemed to zero in on Shinji specifically. I think because it was something like love at first sight. But Shinji wasn't in a good place and I think he was holding himself back because he didn't think he deserved it. He was like that with everyone. I see now that the difference between you and me versus Kaworu is that...he doesn't leave Shinji alone. He gently pushes him towards better things and he doesn't let up. Yet he does this in such a way that Shinji enjoys the whole process. So naturally, he was going to fall in love with this person who treated him nicely, wanted better for him, and knew how to navigate their feelings in such a way."
"Isn't that a red flag? Like he wants something from him in return?"
"Just like how Shinji wanted to be loved by someone, so does Kaworu. He did want something in return. Don't we all?"
"I don't."
Rei turned to look at her, "You shouldn't lie to me or to yourself. I know what I want from him."
Misato sneered, "And what's that?"
"I want him to continue to be happy. It's a bit indescribable to talk about seeing those two go from complete strangers to so happy together they're inseparable. It didn't just affect them either, it affected everyone around them too. Have you noticed the changes in Asuka?"
"Of course I have..."
"They're also because of Kaworu. He's changed almost everyone in the café just from being there. We shuffled about our daily lives before and finally, a light was switched on. Everyone can see much better and clearer. I hope you will be able to as well."
Misato sighed, chuckling a bit, "Who are you telling? You've changed too. I've never seen you be this talkative."
"I speak for my friends, so it is natural that I would speak up. If you've ever thought to yourself that Kaworu is not a good person, I will speak up for him."
"You don't even know half of what I know about him."
Rei again nodded, "Doesn't matter. I spent more time with him than you. I have seen him almost every single day for seven months. I am telling you. He is not a bad person."
Misato laughed a bit louder than she wanted to, "And what if he isn't even a person at all?"
"It doesn't erase all the good he's done."
Misato was a bit taken aback at how quickly she had an answer for..just about everything, "Have you been spending your time with lawyers lately?"
"No. I don't think I have. I don't mind watching them on TV though. But anyway, it is very simple for me. I love my friends. The times where everyone was able to have a sense of normalcy mean a lot to me and Kaworu is the source. We spent quite a lot of time together outside of the café as well just hanging out as friends."
"Why didn't you say all this when we questioned you?"
Rei looked back towards the letters scattered around, picking up another to collect them off the floor and stack them neatly, "I didn't know your intentions then."
"And you do now?"
"I have a pretty good idea. Seeing you like this, I'm glad I asked Asuka to leave first."
"The girl's emergency was a lie to get her out of the house so you could talk to Shinji alone?"
"It was. I wanted to talk to him. See how he is doing."
"So you don't know where he is either?"
Rei shook her head, "I do not. I'll just wait for him to come back. It's the least I can do."
"And what if...he doesn't come back?"
"He will. I know he will."
"I said some awful things to him. I even came into his room and read these without permission. I invaded his privacy. I doubt he'll want to even see my face for a while."
"I don't think that's true. Since we're here. Why don't I tell you about the times we've spent together? I can start with Kaworu and I."
"Yeah. Fill me in."
I mustn't run away.
"I mustn't run away."
I mustn't run away.
"I mustn't run away."
Deep breaths.
Shinji pulled out his phone, opening up his pictures, scrolling through to take one last look at the past. At what he did know about the person he loved. That smiling face was angelic. Those ruby eyes could be piercing or shine like jewels depending on the light source. He needed something to give him the strength to do this.
He had the files on the table.
Should I tell anyone that I am here?
For his birthday, he'd spent all morning talking to Kaworu. Not wanting to say goodbye. Eventually, his body gave out to tiredness, despite all he did to try to stay awake.
When he woke up, he didn't want to leave Kaworu's bed. He'd reached over, only to feel the other side was empty. No, it wasn't all some bad dream. He'd gotten a lot of texts, wishing him well.
He hoped no one planned anything for him. He'd actually had off on his birthday. Requesting it a long time ago, way before things got messy. Kaworu had some kind of plan, and he wouldn't even get to know what it was.
His birthday came and went and he'd decided the day afterwards, he'd finally do it. He'd read the files.
He didn't want to go home either.
The truth was right in front of him on the kitchen table and he was beyond nervous. The amount of pressure was starting to get overwhelming. But he finally opened it.
There was text, a lot of text.
He picked up the first page and began to read.
He knew Kaworu was found at the South Pole and that was weird...but...
N-n-NOT HUMAN!?
Extraterrestrial!?
He had to keep reading.
His breathing picked up. He was hyperventilating. Kaworu is not even human? Just what the hell IS he then!? Who have I been dating? WHAT have I been dating?
He'd thought perhaps there would be some logical explanation for him being born in such a place, but this ...
The sensation of his stomach dropping was imminent. He was seeing in his head all of their memories. All of their memories. He kept on reading.
Project Adam. Gendo Ikari. Dr. Katsuragi. Yui Ikari.
The Subject. Every reference to The Subject, that was him. Tests, tests, more tests. A.T. Field. Tests tests tests. Trying to figure out what he was. Where did he come from? Identical match of debris to moon dust?
He'd turned and looked at images. There was one of Kaworu and he looked like a small child. He was standing in a room. Is that the room he talked about? He said that he was raised in one room for years and years. That had to be the room. In this room, 2 people died as far as he knew.
Non-conclusive. Non-conclusive. Negative. Positive. Failed cognitive experiment. Successful A.T. Field experiment. The Subject having hallucinations, hearing voices, fear, disorientation, persecutory delusions, apathy, lack of appropriate emotional response, fatigue. The list of symptoms went on and on.
Surgeries?!
He grew ill. He didn't want to read more, but he couldn't stop. He put a hand over his mouth. He felt himself shaking.
Comparison of the E.T. Internal Anatomy to that of the Human Being Part 1 by Dr. Akagi Naoko.
Comparison of the E.T. Central Dogma Processes to that of Mankind by Ikari Gendo PhD, Ikari Yui PhD.
Slight differences in DNA.
The Psychological Processes of E.T. in Comparison to Homo Sapiens.
The Physics of the A.T. Field.
Papers by other Seele scientists.
Both of my parents were involved. Both of them.
The papers went on and on, until he found himself reaching the very end. He saw blood in an image that peaked out slightly and he had to close his eyes before taking a very deep breath. The image was time stamped.
The date was seven years ago. The murders in his room.
Seeing the first image of a body, he had to walk away. He couldn't take it. He sank down onto the floor, holding his head in his hands.
Whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck!?
Kaworu what....what is all this? What the hell is going on!? What are you?! You're not even human?! That's a pretty big fucking thing to keep to yourself!
"As long as...you don't change...in how you think of me. It's my one fear above all else."
He felt his eyes stinging.
Kaworu...that's TOO MUCH to ask of me! HOW THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO TAKE ALL THIS? WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT ME TO THINK?
He was shaking.
WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?
He promised to keep loving him no matter what but this, it was just too much to take. He could be understanding, he had been since the beginning. Since Kaworu had mentioned them becoming friends. Since Kaworu had made him smile. Since Kaworu had opened up to him just a bit more. Since Kaworu revealed he was Tabris from the poetry blog. Since Kaworu had revealed that he'd painted the angels he saw. Since Kaworu had asked him on a date and they'd crossed the line and were no longer just friends. Since Kaworu expanded his world. Since Kaworu talked to him about how beautiful life could be.
He clutched his short hair and screamed as loud as he possibly could.
Then WHAT the HELL is in the ART STUDIO!?
Through tears, through his chest feeling so tight he could pass out, through memories flashing before him, through trying to process everything that he'd just read, through the image of the first body torn to shreds coming back to the front of his mind, he snatched the keys to the art studio. He trudged over to it. He put the key in the lock, turned it.
Click.
He opened the door with a force he didn't even know he had, it swung open too easily. Him using too much force almost cost him his balance.
OH MY GOD!
The angels. The angels were everywhere. One after another, he looked on in horror, at these things that were clearly not human.
I'VE SEEN THESE BEFORE???? WHY DOES THIS LOOK FAMILIAR!?
His migraine was getting worse, the tears wouldn't stop. He widened his eyes.
A.T Field. Eva. What's an Eva? Pilot. Unit-01. I'm a pilot? Father. Mother. Misato. Asuka. Rei.
WHAT ARE THESE IMAGES IN MY HEAD!?
The pressure in his head was intense, he was starting to pass out.
And then he saw it...
The painting, the final painting. Kaworu. It was of Kaworu...
SO MUCH BLOOD…
HE DOESN'T HAVE A HEAD...
His eyes dilated, he wasn't in the room with the paintings anymore.
He was in the cockpit, he was sobbing uncontrollably. He was calling for Kaworu. He was clawing at a wall that wasn’t even visible. Desperate. In despair. He didn't understand the things that Kaworu was talking about.
"I'm sorry. This wasn't the happiness you desired."
"You just need to find peace and a place of your own. Fate will guide you."
"Don't look at me like that. We'll meet again, Shinji."
Everything went black.
|
He leads the way into his office. An office too big for just one man.
Floor-to-ceiling windows show the same stunning view of Seoul and the Han River. To the left is a black obelisk of a desk, on top of which a giant monitor resides. To the right of the office there is a kitchenette. And in the middle is a seating area—two couches facing each other, a long marble coffee table in the middle, and two arm chairs that face the door. Modern art hangs from the walls—soothing washes of blues and pinks and greens. Behind his desk is a showcase of some kind. Behind the glass, white and teal vases and jars that look like they‘re from another age, in all shapes and sizes.
“Are those celadon?” I can’t help but notice. “It’s so exquisitely crafted.” Celadon isn’t uncommon in Korea, but I’ve never seen it look so polished and thin. I step closer for a better look.
“That is a good eye you have there, Mr. Kim. This collection is actually from the Japanese ceramic artist Nakajima Hiroshi. But they are indeed made of celadon.” For some reason the tone of his voice makes me feel warm inside.
Apart from the curves of the celadon, the rest of the office is rigid and clinical, full of hard edges. It makes me wonder what kind of person the CEO is. If some core part of him is locked away in a gleaming showcase somewhere, behind a state-level security system. I bite my tongue. That’s no way to be thinking about the CEO of the second largest contract electronics supplier in the world. Totally, utterly inappropriate. I’m all thumbs as I fumble for the recorder app on my phone and take out my notebook and pencil. President Hwang says nothing, waiting patiently—it seems—as I grow increasingly clumsy and frustrated. When I finally gather the courage to look at him, he’s leaning forward, watching me. A smile plays around the edges of his lips. I think he’s trying not to laugh.
“Sorry. I‘m not.” Wait. What did I just say? And how does that even explain my behavior?
He laughs. “Take all the time you need, Mr. Kim.”
“Can I record you,” I say. When I’m nervous, I forget to inflect and my sentences come out like dead fish.
“I think that the recorder is already turned on.” Hwang says, pointing at my phone. Sure enough, my thumb has already pressed the red ‘record’ button.
Is he teasing me? I look at him. He blinks at me. The smile is still there. I’m pretty sure I’m gaping like a fish. He sighs, as if taking pity on me. “Go ahead. You can record this.”
“So, uh. Did Aaron, I mean, Kwak-sshi, did he explain what this interview was for?”
“As I understand it, this interview is for the graduation issue of the S-University magazine.”
“Yes,” I say, just to say anything. “And as you’ll be giving the speech at commencement, it would be good to keep—whatever you say in this interview—more or less, uh.” What was I going to say?
“Consistent?” He volunteers.
“Yes. Consistent.”
“I’ve been told I’m consistent,” he says, leveling me with an inscrutable gaze. “Apparently it’s one of my strengths.”
“That’s good. Very good,” I say. I shove my hair out of my face. “So. I have some questions.”
“Of course you do,” he says. He’s laughing at me. He’s not laughing out loud but he’s laughing at me. I sit up and square my shoulders because I will not be made a fool. I try to look like I know what I’m doing.
“You’re very young to have built such an empire. To what do you owe your success?”
He sits back. Am I imagining it, or does he look a little disappointed? “Business is about knowing how to pick and choose the right players, and about how to put the right forces into effect at the right time. I maintain an exceptional team around me. I reward people well. Success lies in knowing when to wait, and when to act. If you know these two things, then you can do anything well.”
“Are you sure it’s not just luck?”
His eyes widen in surprise. “There’s no such thing,” he says lightly. “We all make our own luck in the world.”
I’m no stranger to hard work. My parents owned a food stall in G up north. My weekends growing up were spent butchering and marinating meat for beachside tourists. Doing inventory for the cart. Waking up at the crack of dawn to pick up goods. My parents worked as hard as anybody did but they were still dirt poor. Not all of us had everything handed to us on a platter like Hwang Minhyun. How arrogant of him to say that hard work made luck.
“You studied philosophy and literature at university,” I say. Something reckless has possessed me and I want to drift from Aaron’s script. “Surely your parents didn’t approve of that?”
He smiles and leans forward. “An appreciation of the arts is essential for developing a well-rounded perspective on humanity. The world of business is the world of people. The more you can understand how people have operated, the more you can understand how they will operate.”
“So you think you understand people, do you?”
“There is, of course, always room for improvement,” he says. It’s not obvious if he’s talking about himself or directing an insult at me. “I do not claim omnipotence. But I do think I possess a nuanced understanding of what motivates, inspires, and—” his eyes flicker down to my belt— “influences people.”
“You sound like a manipulator.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
“I merely possess the ability to guide individuals to do better,” he says without a trace of humor in his smile. He holds my gaze steadily. My heartbeat quickens and I can feel my face flush again. “It’s a beautiful thing, to understand someone completely. To unlock someone’s potential. To have them try their hardest. To... encourage them to do their best.”
“How do you do that?”
“Understand well how people work, and they will work well for you.”
Why is he looking at me like this? Why am I flustered? I press my hands into my khakis. My palms are damp with sweat. I just hope he doesn’t notice, but if he’s as good a people person as he claims to be, then he probably already knows everything running through my head. Shit.
“What do you do outside work,” I ask, feeling increasingly heated under his gaze. His eyes are black with some wickedness and it puts me on edge. I can’t parse whether it’s a good feeling or a bad one.
“I do many things,” he says. “Among them, swimming and horseback riding. I have qualified for the Olympics before but my business engagements make it such that I am unable to compete. But I’m sure you already know that from your research on me.”
The nerve of this guy. “Do you have any more relatable hobbies?”
“Sure,” he says. “I cook. I read.”
“Business magazines?” I‘m almost roll my eyes.
“Poetry,” he says.
“Really.”
“Yes. Why, Mr. Kim. You look surprised. As if a capitalist couldn’t have sensitive hobbies.”
“What’s your favorite poem, then,” I ask.
“Actually—“ he shifts forward in his seat. Closes his eyes. Eyelashes a smatter on his cheeks. I stop breathing. He is beautiful. No one should be so good-looking and successful and wealthy. What would be left for the rest of us?
“Spring moon—
flower face
in mist."
Oh god. My knees go weak. It’s a good thing I’m already sitting.
“Can you believe there are people who think I don’t have a heart?” He opens his eyes and his gaze pierces me to the core.
I need to change the subject and go back on script. “What words do you have for the graduates of S-University this year,” I say.
“You might think the work stops after university. That after your last test, you’re free. You might think that you’ve done everything to get yourself to this point and now you are entering into a world where you are rewarded for your existence. But there’s more work for you. It does not stop. It only gets harder from here. The earlier you can embrace this mentality, the more success you will have in the future. It behooves you to start as early as possible.”
I gape. Not the answer I was expecting. “How do you balance your family life and your duties as a chief executive officer,” I say on autopilot.
“Phrase it as a question,” he narrows his eyes.
“Have you had to—” I hiccup. “Have you had to sacrifice your family life? In order to lead this company?”
“I don’t think of it that way.”
“So you plan to settle down? Get married?”
He narrows his eyes. “This is a family business. And my family is my staff.”
I laugh nervously. “What a PR thing to say.”
He exhales sharply and I cringe. Mortified. Crap, why do I keep mouthing off? What is it about Hwang Minhyun that throws all my sanity out of the window?
“If you really must know,” he says. His voice has gone cold. “I have a wonderful family. I have a brother and a sister and two loving parents. I run a workforce of forty thousand people. Without me, they would not have jobs. I consider the people here all my family. I serve them and they serve me.”
“You sound like a prince.” I’m aware that a part of me sounds and feels and looks resentful. Like a petulant kid who is just about to throw a tantrum. For the life of me, I can’t explain why.
“Jonghyun, I’m not a prince.” It’s the first time he’s used my name. He does not look pleased. “I run a business. A business that provides the highest quality electronic components to leading technology companies around the world. I am not interested in being lauded as anything other than what I am.”
I’ve pissed him off with all my badgering. I know I’m not being professional and that the interview has been shot to hell. I feel terribly to Aaron, whose career rides on this piece. “I’m sorry.”
“Tell me,” he gestures at the notebook on my lap, where I haven’t been taking any notes. “Have you actually been asking me any of the questions on your list?”
“No,” I mumble.
“Why?”
“I don’t know.” My head spins. “They’re not my questions.”
He leans back. “Are you actually on the S-University newspaper staff?”
His eyes burn into me and honesty beats at my chest, wanting to get out. I’ve never been a good liar. “I’m Aaron’s roommate.” My face is aflame. “I’m actually a graduate student in the engineering department. He’s sick today so that’s why I’m here.”
“That explains a lot,” the president murmurs. He stands up and walks over to his desk. I start to gather my things.
“Dino,” he says into the intercom. “Cancel my next meeting. Kim Jonghyun and I will be a while.”
“Sir,” Dino’s voice crackles, and the sound goes out. I balk. Wait. It’s not over?
“So,” he says, sitting back down. I’m frozen halfway between the couch and standing up. He makes a motion for me to sit back down. I do.
“Where were we, Mr. Kim?”
Oh. We’re back to Mr. Kim now.
“I don’t know,” I say. “I think I was telling you about why I’m here instead of Aaron. Mr. Kwak.”
“So you’re an engineering student. Tell me more about yourself. That’s fair, right?” His eyes are bright and interested. His tongue edges between his teeth in an expression of curiosity. I swallow.
“There’s not much about me to know.”
“Let’s start with the basics. Are you from the city?”
“No. My family is from G, up north.”
“And what do your parents do?”
I jut out my chin. “They ran a food stall. For tourists.”
Hwang-sshi’s eyes are positively glowing. I don’t know whether or not to be offended by his interest. “That sounds like hard work. Did you attend to the stand when you were growing up?”
“Yes. I was there every weekend until I went to university.“
His eyes flicker to my arms. I wonder why, and I wonder if he’s looking for a tan, evidence of hard labor on my hands. I squeeze my hands into fists and then curse myself for reacting so obviously.
“Your father must be especially proud of you.”
My mouth twitches and I try not to show any emotion. “He was.”
His eyes flicker up to mine. “I apologize. My condolences.”
“It’s okay,” I breathe a sigh. “He passed away two years ago.”
The silence stretches on between us and he takes his time to answer the next question. “So why did you want to pursue engineering?”
“It’s a good job. Making things, working with others. I was good at math and science. It comes easily to me.”
“If you like it so much, do you plan to pursue a postdoctorate in engineering?”
“No. My scholarship runs out after this year.”
“Scholarship?” His eyebrows shoot up.
“I’ve been on a full scholarship since I entered university,” I say, not without some pride. “I could go into the doctorate program, but I’m not an academic or a theoretician. I want to start earning after I graduate. My family has been supporting me for so long, I can’t burden them any longer. Especially since my mother runs the food stall alone now.”
“We have job openings for engineers, you know,” President Hwang says. “As the largest technology company in this country.”
Is he offering me a job? “Er—thank you very much. Except I don’t know if I would fit in here.”
“What makes you say that?” He smiles, as if he’s already figured out the answer.
I think about Dino, DK, Joshua, and the receptionist on the first floor. How smooth and polished everyone is. “Isn’t it obvious?” I look at myself, at my unmatching belt-and-shoes combination, my old blue cardigan that’s pilling something fierce.
“Last question. Do you have any relatable hobbies?” He’s turning my question back on me. My ears are on fire, I can feel them burn.
“I play video games,” I say. “And write.”
“Oh?” He leans in so close our knees almost touch. “And what do you write?”
I close my eyes in embarrassment. “Poems.”
“Tell me.” His gaze is intense, all humor gone.
“What?”
“You should tell me one of your poems.” My heart drops into my stomach. I have to get out of here. I stop the recording on my phone and put it in my pocket and straighten up.
“I’m sorry for taking up so much of your time,” I bluster. “You’re a very busy man, and I—I also have to get going.”
“Would you have time for a tour of the office?” He asks. I shake my head.
“No, I really do have to get back to S. I have office hours for the undergraduates and then I have to work.”
“Don’t be late.” He sounds almost stern. As if he’s ordering me.
I bristle and glow under the command. “Okay,” I say.
“Did you get everything you need?”
“I think I did. Thank you for the interview, President Hwang.” I pack my notebook in my backpack and make sure it’s firmly zipped up this time.
“Until we meet again,” he says.
But when would we meet again? It sounds like a challenge and an entreaty. I stand up and he holds out his hand. I shake it and a current zips through me like static electricity. Does he feel it too? I let go of his hand first but he doesn’t let go of mine, and then it’s just his grip, strong—steady—firm—against my limp noodle of a handshake. As if I couldn’t embarrass myself more. As I leave I make sure of my footing and keep my backpack close to me. I don’t want it exploding and sending corn chip fragments everywhere again.
He walks me out into the lobby. Dino and DK keep their heads down but they meet my eyes with some surprise. I guess it’s uncommon for the CEO to see people out this far. Dino grabs my coat from the closet and hands it to me. “Thank you for visiting Hwang Enterprises,” he says, eyes flickering back and forth between me and the CEO, searching me for clues. But I’m as lost as he is.
President Hwang regards me patiently as I shrug on my puffer jacket with way too much noise. He then pushes the button for the elevator. We listen to it approach at warp speed. When it arrives the doors open with a hydraulic slither.
“Jonghyun,” he says, by way of parting.
“Minhyun,” I say in return.
|
Over the next week, things only got worse. As Cas did schoolwork at his desk, Dean would lay in bed, staring blankly at the walls. Cas could hear him muttering to himself angrily under his breath. He would twitch, occasionally reaching up to brush something off himself.
The day before Dean's second appointment with the psychiatrist, Cas approached him about it before he left for school. He sat down next to Dean, placing his hand on his shoulder. "Dean, what's been going on? Can you talk to me?"
Dean rolled over and buried his face in Cas' hip. "It's getting worse," he mumbled.
Cas reached down and placed his hand on his head. "The voice?"
"It's not just a voice anymore..." Dean trailed off. "Different ones... Sensations," he said, a shudder running through him. "I don't know what's real anymore," he said quietly.
Cas was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "You need to tell your doctor about this tomorrow. Are you feeling better at all on the medication?"
He could feel Dean shrugging.
"I'm going to stay home with you today."
"No," Dean said quickly. "You have finals coming up. Go to school."
"Dean..."
"Go," Dean repeated.
Cas stood up, letting his hand fall off of Dean's head. "Okay," he said quietly. "I'll be back at three, okay? I'll take the bus."
"Take the car," he suggested. He was ashamed to admit it, but he didn't even want to drive with these hallucinations.
Later in the day, it wasn't getting better. He was beginning to worry about what the doctor would say about the medications not working after four weeks. Was he a lost cause? His phone went off repeatedly with a few worried texts from Cas that he hadn't checked. Finally, he responded he'd been sleeping, got dressed, and dialed Crowley.
"Squirrel?!" Crowley sounded happy to hear from him. "I thought you'd died."
"I feel like I did," he responded. "Can I come over?"
"See you shortly." He hung up.
Dean shoved his phone into his jacket pocket and stood up, letting out a long sigh. Just one more time, he told himself. He needed some silence today until his appointment tomorrow, when he could hopefully figure something out with the psychiatrist.
Crowley opened the door with a smile, something Dean wasn't used to. "Squirrel!" He took a step back, swinging the door open. "Come in, come in."
Dean brushed past him, raising an eyebrow. "What's going on, Crowley?"
Crowley closed the door and walked over to the table. He took a seat and placed his fingers to his chin, looking at Dean innocently. "What ever do you mean?"
"Why are you being so cheerful?" he asked flatly.
Crowley shrugged. "Just glad to see you're alive." He paused. "I really shouldn't be giving this to you, you know."
"You shouldn't be giving it to anybody," Dean snapped.
He scoffed. "Your little friend chewed me out last time he picked up his green," Crowley explained. "I would've kicked his ass for thinking I give a damn, if I didn't think his love for you was just sooooo adorable." He fluttered his eyelashes mockingly.
"Shut the hell up, Crowley," Dean hissed. "Just give me my damn bag."
"Yeah, yeah," Crowley said, waving his hand dismissively, then turning it upside down and holding it in mid-air. "Give me the money."
Dean slammed a crumpled five dollar bill into Crowley's hand.
Crowley looked up at him, his face breaking into a wide grin. When Dean didn't laugh, his face fell. "You're serious."
"Yes. I only want a little." He paused. "This is a one time thing."
Crowley just stared at him like a deer in the headlights for a few seconds, before bursting into laughter. He held his stomach, buckling over in the chair, before straightening up and wiping a mock tear from his eye. "That's the funniest thing I've heard all year."
"Yeah, my life is just one long fucking comedy. Now give me the bag."
"Tsk, tsk, so bossy." He placed the bag on the table, sliding it across. Dean snatched it up, turning to leave. As he grabbed the door handle, he could hear Crowley sing, "See you again soooon!"
Dean slammed the door behind him and started walking back to the house. Once inside, he dug around his bag for the needles he hadn't used in... he tried to think back. Five months? He couldn't even remember. He found one and headed to the bathroom. He began mixing it with water. He could feel his heart beating harder as he swirled it around and it began to dissolve.
You are such a fucking idiot. This is why you deserve this crap. You get away from it, and you go crawling right back.
"How else can I get you to stop?" he asked, pushing the plunger down. The last thing he heard, was I will never stop, before he nodded out.
He awoke to banging on the bathroom door. "Dean!"
He opened his eyes, looking around. How long was he out for? He must've underestimated his tolerance. But at least he was alive.
"Dean!" He sat up and the door flung open, smacking him in the back. He must have been blocking it with the way he was laying.
Cas rushed in, and before he could even say anything, Dean was crying and apologizing. "I'm sorry, I just wanted it to stop, it wouldn't stop." I will never stop.
He helped Dean back to the bedroom and as Dean laid down, Cas collapsed into his desk chair. Dean looked over at him and saw he was crying. "God dammit, Dean," he whispered.
"I..." He stopped himself. He wanted to say he was sorry, but he realized it was no use. How many times had he said it in the past eight months they had been together? How many more times was he going to have to say it before he stopped hurting Cas?
"Dean..." Cas started, but he didn't finish speaking either.
You're never going to stop hurting him, because that's what Winchesters do. They hurt people.
They were quiet for what seemed like forever, until Dean stood up and walked out without a word. Cas followed him. "Where are you going?"
Dean didn't respond, opening the medicine cabinet. Then he closed it and went back into the bedroom, opening Cas' dresser drawers.
"What are you looking for?" Cas asked quietly, standing in the center of the room.
"Your pills," Dean responded.
"...What? Why?" Cas asked, his voice cracking.
"I'm going to take them all," Dean said calmly.
"Are you crazy? No!" Cas yelled. "Why?"
"Because I'm done, Cas." He turned away from the desk, letting his hands fall limply at his sides. "Why am I even here? To suffer?" He walked past Cas, who stood speechless, and started rummaging through the stuff on the floor of the closet. "And now I'm dragging you into it, hurting you..." He sat back on his knees, staring into the closet. "I can't. I'm done."
Cas walked towards him and stood next to the closet door. "Dean, stop," he said. "I want you here. Stop talking like this."
Dean stood up and spun around. "You want me here? What about what I want? I'm telling you, I cant. Fucking. Do this anymore!" he yelled.
"You're not thinking rationally," he said quickly. "Please, just-"
Dean lunged forward and grabbed Cas by the front of his trench coat, slamming him up against the wall. "Dammit Cas, can't you see that I'm fucking hurting you? That's all I'm fucking good for. I will ruin you!" he yelled in his face.
Cas swallowed, shaking a little. "Dean, you're scaring me."
Dean glared at him for another second before his face softened, and he let go of his trench coat, his hands shaking as he took a step back. "I... Fuck. Fuck, I'm sorry." He started crying. "Shit, Cas, I'm so sorry." He turned away.
Cas started to lean forward and reach out towards him. "Dean, it's-"
Dean jerked his arm away. "Would you stop saying it's okay?" he screamed. "It's not fucking okay! I just fucking hurt you!" He paused for a moment. "I knew I would end up just like him, I fucking knew it." He started breathing heavily. "I knew it. I knew it," he repeated. When he brought his hands up to his ears, Cas knew Dean was beginning to hallucinate again.
"Dean, calm down," he said slowly.
"I can't," he said shakily. "I can't hurt you, Cas. I- I have to go."
"No!" Cas yelled out. "You aren't going anywhere Dean. You are going to sit right here until you calm down."
"No," Dean echoed him. "No."
"Dean I swear to god if you try to walk out that door I will have you admitted," Cas growled, staring him down.
Dean started backing towards the door, his hands still over his ears.
"Dean." He pulled out his cellphone.
"Don't you do it, Cas," he warned, his hands coming off his ears as he inched closer to the door.
"Try me."
Dean turned and ran and Cas bolted after him, chasing him down the hallway and down the stairs. He tackled him just before the front door, straddling his back, pinning Dean's arms beneath his legs.
"Let me go!" Dean struggled, lying on his stomach. "It's for your own good, dammit!"
"No, this is for your own good," Cas said, holding the phone up to his ear. In his other hand he had Dean's hair twisted between his fingers, holding his head down.
"911, what is your emergency?"
"Yeah, my friend is mentally ill and suicidal, can you please send someone over here? I need him admitted."
"Fuck you, Cas!" he spat, his face squished into the carpet. "Fuckyoufuckyoufuckyou." He flailed around, pissed off that he couldn't get up.
Cas closed his eyes, trying to listen to the dispatcher, telling himself Dean didn't mean it. He was going through so much shit, on top of adjusting to medication that apparently wasn't working, or at least not yet. He wasn't in his right mind.
"You might want to send police, he's violent and I don't think the EMT's are prepared to deal with that," Cas said on the phone.
"No! No cops!" Dean yelled. Cas ignored him, hanging up the phone.
"Dean, please, calm down," he pleaded. "If you fight these cops, you will be charged."
Dean finally stilled. "I don't fucking care," he muttered.
Cas sighed and remained on top of Dean. It was less than ten minutes before the cops arrived. They knocked on the door, and Cas yelled for them to come in.
"Sir, we would really rather not," came the call from the other side of the door.
Cas knew what they were concerned about. Ambush. "You're safe, but I can't come to the door. I'm holding him down," he called back.
The door creaked open and an officer popped his head in to assess the situation, before entering. Two more followed. Two of them kneeled down and one restrained Dean so Cas could get up, and the other officer cuffed him. Dean didn't fight or speak. He just glared at Cas. They then hauled him to his feet, leading him outside, where an ambulance was waiting.
"Can I come?" Cas asked the EMT.
"Are you immediate family?" the paramedic asked, leaning out of the back of the ambulance, her hand on the door handle.
"Y- I..." He hesitated, unsure of what to say. "He's my boyfriend." He then realized that was the first time he had said that. Eight months together, and it was the first time.
She pursed her lips. "I'm sorry, immediate family only." She paused, seemingly feeling bad about the look of defeat on Cas' face. She told him where they were taking him, but that Dean probably couldn't have any visitors during his first seventy-two hours.
Cas nodded. She closed the door, and as the ambulance pulled off, he felt a twinge of regret for calling, even though he knew he'd done the right thing.
|
November 1st Morning
Jews abroad accuse Germany!
Salzburg Herald, November 1st
Is there any length to which the Jew, wherever he finds himself, will not stretch in order to inflict suffering? In the following days since Germany’s bold efforts to rid herself of those Jews which threatened such an economical strain and such a burden on her proud shoulders, undue censure from parties abroad - from the Eifel tower all the way to the shores of the Americas – have been heaped upon her. She is accused of inhumane acts, and blamed for the disastrous economic conditions beyond the borders of Poland – even as she is denied many of her ancestral rights to these lands, now governed by the very men who wish to be praised for foisting their lowest citizens upon her back.
These slanderers, motivated undoubtedly by a desire to subdue fair Germany and interfere in German affairs, are primarily Jews, who feel a kinship with their Polish kin. They cry “How Unfair!” – But the good German stands resolute. In the words of Herr Joseph Goebbels, “We stand ready to defend the honor of our great nation by whatever means necessary. We shall not be intimidated by this Jewish coalition!”
-
It was snowing. Light fluffy tufts of the stuff drifting down from the sky past the windows of his bedroom. In the mountains it had snowed constantly. Steve could almost have grown to like it for the quiet stillness it brought, and the deceptive spell of warmth that it settled around their shoulders. But there were so many dangers that came with the snow. The loss of visibility and the chance that you might not see your enemy sneaking up on you. And always, lurking at the back of all of their minds, was the fear of when it stopped. When everything turned to ice and the temperature plummeted so low their breaths froze in their lungs. The lucky ones fell asleep while the snow was still falling and simply didn’t wake. Dying after the ice had set was slow, the minutes sluggishly sliding past while your mind left you and your heart slowed.
Steve was bone tired, but he’d woken just as the sun began to brighten the sky the same way he did every morning, and he set about dressing for his morning exercise regime with the same steadiness. He could not afford to be dissuaded, even by the weather. The war would come regardless of whether or not he was training with his men.
He’d not rested well. Tony had spent the previous night in his workshop instead of coming to Steve’s room, claiming to be behind in his work on the boat. Steve had offered to stay with him while he worked, but Tony had begged off, urging Steve to try and catch up on the sleep he’d missed the last couple of days.
He could tell that Tony wanted to concentrate on his work and could even understand why he did not want Steve hovering around… but he had neither the courage nor the words to tell him that he didn’t know how he could possibly sleep without him there. He’d gone to bed alone because it was the sensible thing to do and because it was not Tony’s job to mother him like a babe. A grown man should be able to manage a few hours of sleep on his own. Nightmares or no.
Steve was spending his waking hours split between the visits and meetings that Schmidt had organized in the wake of the critical response pouring in from abroad after the mass deportation of the Polish Jews. He was also trying his best to discreetly gather information in order to discern what might be coming in the future.
Because something was coming. He could feel it, the same way his grand da, Ian, used to be able to feel a storm approaching.
Steve went downstairs to find Virginia.
Perhaps he should get an early breakfast prepared and brought up to Tony?
He should probably try and eat something himself before he went to fetch Charlotte, who was returning from Vienna on the morning train, but he didn’t have the stomach for it that morning. He’d been forced to go without enough times to know his body’s limits. Tony on the other hand was revealing a worrisome propensity to forget his bodily needs entirely in favor of his work in the workshop.
He found Virginia and Julia setting the table in the dining room just as he expected, but Herr Hammer was the real surprise. The butler was in his uniform, looking polished and pressed as he had every morning of the past decade, save the two days previous.
Hammer’s sympathies with the Nazi Party were not a secret, and had certainly put a strain on their relationship over the past year; but Steve had resisted letting him go on those grounds alone. The butler had served his family diligently and faithfully all these years, and took an uncanny amount of pride in his position. Hammer had talked so proudly of the long line of fine butlers in his family when Steve had first hired him. In truth he and Peggy had few options, after the scandal of her pregnancy and her engagement to a nobody from nowhere had made her the black sheep of Austrian high society. Hammer had been one of the only men they’d interviewed who didn’t seem bothered by Steve’s low social standing.
“If our boys can get their legs blown off so she can buy another pretty hat, the least she can do is give a fellow a bit of thanks. Right Captain?”
They did not always see eye to eye he and Hammer, but Steve tried to keep in mind that the world wasn’t split between people you enjoyed and bad people.
Even so, he’d taken a terrible risk ripping that flag in front of Hammer. But it was done now and if his loyalty to the family could not be counted on, Steve counted on the man’s good sense to know that it would be his word against the rest of the house if he went to the authorities.
That might not be enough a fearful voice needled at him, but he pushed it down, because if he gave into the fear, then he’d never have the strength to take aim and pull the trigger again.
“Jürgen.”
Hammer jerked at the unexpected sound of Steve’s voice, but pretended as if he hadn’t. He made a point of finishing the place setting he was working on, even as Virginia and Julia both paused to great him with brief respectful nods. When he was satisfied with his work the butler finally turned to look at him.
“Major?”
Steve grit his teeth. There was a tone to the way Hammer spoke his title now, a subtle jeer as if he were smirking behind his teeth.
“It’s good to have you with us this morning. We were beginning to wonder if you were ever coming back.”
“I’ve devoted my life here for near sixteen years Captain. It’s more my home than my own house isn’t it? I simply did not want to risk making the journey until things settled down.” The butler explained with ease. “My apologies if you suffered in my absence.”
“It’s fine.” Steve responded even though it wasn’t. Hammer seemed the picture of apologetic now, and he wondered if he’d only imagined the tone he’d thought he’d heard.
“I won’t dock your pay, just ring with word next time.” He scolded, unwilling to just let it go. “We worried when you just disappeared.”
“Of course, Major.”
That issue handled for the time being, Steve turned to his head house maid.
“Julia, could you have Willamina prepare a tray for Herr Stark and have it brought to his room? He’s not feeling well enough to come down to breakfast.”
In truth Tony probably felt fine besides the lack of sleep, but waking him up to eat breakfast with the children wasn’t going to fix that particular problem.
Virginia’s brow puckered with worry as Julia nodded and quickly disappeared through the serving door and into the kitchen to relay the request.
“She already prepared a tray of soup for the Klein boys.” Virginia clucked. “Natacha was down here earlier, says the poor lambs have been sick. It’s all this terrible stress.”
“Did you look in on them?” Steve asked, concerned. Cameron and Daniel had been through a lot over the past few days. They didn’t need to be ill on top of things.
“Down one maid and Cameron recuperating, I’ve not had the time. Natacha offered to keep an eye on them, bless her.” Pepper sighed. "Should we expect you for breakfast this morning Captain?"
"No, I’m going for my exercise in the garden, and then I have a morning meeting in town. Don't have the children wait."
"Yes Captain."
Virginia nodded and got back to her work. Stefen exited the dining room through the service door and walked down the long narrow hall to the kitchen. He was not surprised to find the kitchen busy, but he raised his eyebrows in question when he saw that Natacha and Ian were both up, sitting at the table with cups of warm coco.
Natacha was already dressed for the day, hair perfectly pleated, and Ian was noticeably in his clothes meant for exercise and play.
"Good morning Da," he called out hopefully as Steve entered, taking a hasty sip from his mug as he pushed back his chair. "I couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd start my routine early this morning… with you. Natacha said you wouldn’t mind."
Steve had the fleeting thought that Ian tagging along meant he wouldn't be able to push himself as hard as he would like, and he’d been rather desperately looking forward to pushing himself until he sweat the thoughts right out of his head, but he let the it go, not willing to deny him when it was still sitting so fresh on his mind how easily a man could find his family torn from him.
"That sounds alright" he agreed, laying an arm over Ian's shoulder when the boy came to stand beside him. If he held on a little too tight Ian didn’t say anything about it.
"How are Cameron and Daniel?" he asked his daughter, who was watching them closely from where she sat, primly drinking from her mug.
"They’ve been retching all morning. They’re likely contagious if they both fell ill so quickly. No one must go near them, clearly, but still somebody must. Virginia can’t afford to be down anymore staff. So I suppose that leaves playing nurse to me." she answered, sounding very proper and grown up. It startled him, how much like Peggy she’d just sounded. It was like he'd just walked into the kitchen three years in the past, to find his wife sipping her morning tea and taking the rare moment to rest her feet while she chatted with the cook.
A familiar sort of longing panged in his chest, the way he suspected it always would when he thought of his late wife, but the feeling was not as sharp or as suffocating as it had once been.
"I appreciate that Natacha," he was sure to tell her, so incredibly fond in that moment he had a hard time figuring out how to tell her, besides to smile and hope she knew. “But don’t risk your health. Short visits, and if they need anything longer or show signs of worsening you fetch Virginia immediately. You hear me?”
“Yes Father.” She agreed easily. Too easily. Steve narrowed his eyes at her.
“Alright. What are you hiding?”
She choked a little as she swallowed her coco, and Steve was gratified to know he hadn’t completely lost the ability to read his daughter. Strange and new womanly wiles or no.
“Hiding?”
“Yes. You’re trying to hide something.” Steve was certain. “What is it?”
Ian stared curiously between them both as Natacha clutched her cup, staring at him with the guilelessness of a lamb but Steve knew that just meant she was trying to think up some way to avoid answering him.
He felt a small smile forming as he leaned toward her, making a show of looming as he crossed his arms imperiously and waited.
“Oh alright, if you must know.” She sagged in her chair with frustrated snap. “Péter is gone.”
Steve’s smile slipped away.
“Gone where?” he demanded to know. The deportations were finished for the time being and most of the looting contained, but it could still be dangerous this far out in the country, what with escapees on the run and patrols searching for them. They’d roped the local HJ chapters into helping them in their search for runaways. As soon as he thought it Steve realized where Péter must have gone. Where did he always go when he snuck out, thinking Steve wouldn’t notice?
“He’s gone to see Harry hasn’t he?”
Natacha blinked slowly, possibly still hoping to think of a way to avoid snitching on her brother before she nodded.
“Yes… you know how he and Harry are. Péter only has a few days left at home. He’d want to see Harry as much as he can.”
Steve was anxious, and irritated that Péter was still pulling these childish bouts of rebellion, but he did what he could to let it go. He’d have a talk with him when he got home. Truthfully, Steve was hurt that Péter hadn’t just asked him. He’d hoped that things had changed between them enough that Péter would trust him enough to know he wouldn’t refuse to let him see Harry anymore.
Even if Steve thought the other boy was a bad influence, he knew how much their friendship meant to Péter. He trusted Péter to know his own mind. But more importantly he realized, even if Péter hadn’t yet, that the friendship between the two boys had a time limit, and the clock was only ticking downward.
~*~
Steve could not shake the feeling of unease that had plagued him all morning. Something was coming. He was certain of it, though he was not sure from what direction. He had not survived this long as a soldier by ignoring his instincts. He dropped Tony and the children off at the Festival hall in the city, so that they could have their practice with Nigel and argued quietly once more with Tony about the wisdom of allowing the children to perform in the winter concert.
He knew Tony was right, that allowing the children to sing wasn't going to put them in any more danger than they were already, being forced as they were to accompany him all over Germany and perform at the parties of prominent Nazi party members. He even agreed with Tony's line of thinking that if the children were going to be forced to perform for the entertainment of the Nazis, that they may as well get some pleasure out of performing for their neighbor. But Steve couldn't help his nerves. He had that itch on his skin, the one that said duck, and he'd learned to trust it over the years.
Steve had just finished his morning meeting and had a few hours before Charlotte's train was due to arrive. There were any number of tasks he had to perform that could fill the time meantime… but Steve followed his instincts and found himself making a detour to visit an old friend.
The small alpine town of Siegsdorf was about an hours drive from Salzburg. He took the same old familiar route he’d taken so many times during the early days – just after the Great War had ended. It was driving through these mountains that had made him so certain he wanted to build his home in the country in the first place.
General Phillips had retired here to the small understated lodge he’d inherited from his brother who had passed in a mining accident many years ago.
He’d been in charge of the mountain men during the war, and he was not one of those pencil pushing Generals who never left their desk and handled the men like they were just dots on a map. He was a good man and a good leader.
Steve still remembered back to his first day of training camp. How he’d had tried to make himself blend in with the others, but Phillips had taken one look at him and known he was too young to be there.
He'd pulled Steve aside before he could even complete a full day of training and tried to send him home.
“Go back to your mother Rogers. I need men. Not some half pint too skinny to withstand a stiff breeze.”
Phillips had been gruff. Impatient even. But under the growl, Steve had seen the compassion that made it impossible for the man to look the other way when all the others had.
Steve was far from the only boy to lie about his age in order to serve, or to give an impassioned speech for why they should stay. Bucky had lied just as much as Steve had and nobody even questioned him. But then again Bucky had been bigger, and older.
Steve had never been able to figure out why Phillips had changed his mind. The General had listened to his impassioned plea that day in the tent - about wanting to serve his country even though he'd never really been allowed to feel a part of it, and about needing to help others - and he hadn't sent Steve home.
He'd warned him plenty however, about how he likely wouldn't even make it past training camp and how the other men would wipe the floor with him.
“I’m not gonna clean you up. I’m not your mama, Son.”
Steve chuckled at the old memory. Phillips always said that, and he almost always didn't keep his word. No mistaking, he left Steve to defend himself and fight for his right to be there same as anyone else, but it wasn’t coincidence that Steve’s unit was usually better stocked on food and bandages either.
Yes, he was a good man Philips. The best Steve had ever served under. He’d stuck his neck out for Steve time and time again, and Steve had always returned the favor on the battlefield.
Phillips never considered them even, because Steve had saved his life the day he’d rescued his unit and held back the advance of the enemy. The same day he’d become known as the lion of Austria. Philips liked to grumble that he’d be a hundred and ten, still waiting for the opportunity to save Steve’s life so he could go out with a clean slate.
Steve switched off the engine of the car just as the front door of the house opened, the General stepping out onto the front step without a jacket despite the snow, a pipe clenched between his lips. He watched silently as Steve stepped from his automobile and closed the door behind him. Feet crunching quietly in the freshly fallen snow.
“Sir.” Steve greeted him, not advancing out of respect. They were comrades, but Philips was a friend first. Phillips had fought his battles and served his time. Steve would never presume to place him in any more danger than he volunteered for.
“Horrible morning for a drive.” Philips replied, his breath pluming out in front of him. “A body could freeze out here.”
Steve shrugged, tilting his mouth in a smirk.
“Been colder Sir.”
Philips barked a dry laugh, the wrinkles deepening on his face. He turned to amble his way back inside, but turned his head to call over his shoulder, “Get your skinny ass in here Rogers. You’re letting all my heat out.”
~*~
“You’re late.” Charlotte commented when Steve had closed the door behind himself, reaching to turn the key in the ignition. He winced, even though her tone was only mildly disapproving.
“I went to see Carl.”
“How is the General?” she asked with genuine concern and Steve smiled, taking his eyes briefly off the road to meet her gaze.
“He’s fine. I’m sure he’s going to outlive us all.”
Charlotte looked down. Though she chuckled softly, her gloved hands clenched tightly in her lap.
“I do worry you might be right.”
Steve’s gut clenched.
“How is your aunt?” he asked. The aging woman had come from abroad to mind Charlotte’s home after she’d been forced to leave on such short notice. Steve suspected the greater reason for it was to try and convince her niece to make the journey to England. Charlotte was a single woman, alone, with most of her remaining family scattered abroad. Her ties to the rest of her kin in Vienna were pleasant but impersonal. Her early decision not to shun Peggy for the disadvantageous match she’d made, and Charlotte’s own political activism with the suffragettes made sure that most of her remaining relations kept a polite distance. She said she preferred it that way, but still Steve thought it must get lonely.
“On her way back to England. I’m grateful she came all this way, but my place is here with you and the children.” Charlotte answered.
“You told her about the engagement?” Steve didn’t know why the thought filled him with such discomfort.
“I had to give her a good enough reason to stay, didn’t I?” Charlotte replied, gazing out the window but eyes not really focusing on anything present. “She doesn’t approve, you know.”
Steve tensed and Charlotte turned her head from the window as if sensing it and offered him a slightly amused half smile.
“Oh, it’s not your character.” Charlotte waved her hand as if to wave away his concern. “But your grief was so heavy, after poor Margit left us… She worries, that you will never love me as you loved her. Of course, I told her that was ridiculous. That neither one of us was silly enough to think that our union was based on love, or that it needs to be.”
“What did she say to that?” Steve wondered, because hearing Charlotte say it like that, all prim and cool, it just made the whole thing sound so cold blooded.
“She told me I sounded very English, and that I would fit right in at home.” Charlotte chuckled sadly. “In a way, I’m glad for all the upset. She’s so stubborn I don’t know that I could have held up against her much longer.”
Steve laid his hand over hers. She wouldn’t say it, but he suspected that deep down she was torn over whether she’d made the right choice, throwing her lot in with him. The women in Charlotte’s family had a reputation for strong wills. May Parker notwithstanding.
“She couldn’t possibly have lingered, what with everything going on, but she’s heartbroken. You must know she didn’t just come for me.” Charlotte raised her eyes, their soft blue holding his. “She had hoped to see the children.”
Steve had met Peggy’s aunt May only once. She’d managed to make the trip after Péter was born, adamant that she be there for her niece when she knew Peggy’s mother would not be. But then again, May had understood Peggy better than her mother ever had, since she herself had traded the life of an affluent young woman for a love match with a poor Englishman.
The woman had written Peggy often over the years, always eager to know how she was getting on and to hear about Péter and the rest as they came along. She’d written to Steve as well, after Peggy fell ill… but there was a depression on then, and no money to make a voyage. And after Peggy had died, Steve had found it too difficult to even look his own children in the eye, let alone pen letters to a woman he hardly knew.
That guilt, and the fact that May and her husband had neither the space nor the means to care for seven children were big reasons Steve had never considered sending the children to her.
Charlotte reached inside her clutch and pulled out a small envelope with delicate spidery writing on the front. Her mouth quirked upward in a little smile as she tucked it in his lap.
“She insisted I give this to you, and buy you a decent pen. Since it seems you’ve had trouble finding one the last three years.”
“I’m sure I’m in for it.” Steve winced and Charlotte chuckled, patting his arm.
“I’m sure you are.”
~*~
The children had already finished dinner by the time that Steve and Charlotte made it back to the villa. The pair found them all in the sitting room with Bucky, the television playing a news reel on low while the children played or read quietly around him.
All except Péter, Steve immediately noticed. He was old enough to keep his own hours but Steve did not like the thought of him making his way home after dark right now. The snow had finally let up, but it was bitterly cold out now that the sun had gone down.
“Poland’s still got the Jews holed up in internment camps – won’t let them leave the border towns.” Bucky announced, lifting his eyes up from the news cast as they walked in, eyes locking with Steve. “They’re starving, and the Germans are shooting anyone desperate enough try and escape back this way. The Brits are down there, trying to feed the poor bastards. Though to hear the Reich tell it, they’re all actors.”
“I can’t even imagine what they must be going through. I’m only glad word got to British parliament. There’s been so many conflicting reports, I was worried no one would help.” Charlotte murmured, her eyes locked on the news reel as she claimed the open seat on Bucky’s left side, she did not even bother to scold him for his language in front of the children.
He and Bucky shared a look, thinking the same thing. It had surprised them both, how quickly British parliament had rallied to lend aid to the refugees and get people on the ground in Poland. Almost unheard of. Monty and Hill did everything they could to work with the intelligence Steve and his team provided for them, but bureaucracy often tied their hands. It was frustrating when everything in Steve’s body screamed that they should be doing more to help.
“Is Péter home yet?” Steve turned to Natacha who was sitting on Bucky’s other side, pretending to still be reading a book. She closed it gently, lowering it slowly in a way that made him think she was bracing herself.
Steve’s heart began to sink into his stomach, a very bad feeling beginning to crawl over his skin. Natacha was too still. Too scared. Something was wrong.
“Natacha!” Steve snapped, demanding an answer and she flinched. Charlotte jumped, shocked at his loud bark and Ian felt the eyes of the other children all turning to them, the tension palpable in the room.
“Where is he?” Steve asked, never taking his eyes off his daughter.
“Jesus, Steve, he’s with Harry. Calm down.” Bucky ordered him, placing a hand on Natacha’s arm as she began to shrink beneath Steve’s stare. He was giving Steve a look like he’d lost his mind. “Péter’s old enough to take care of himself. Why are you shouting at her?”
“He’s not.” Natacha admitted quietly, her voice wavering. She bunched her skirt up between her fists as everybody’s focus shifted to her in bafflement. She still sounded subdued, like she’d gotten walked out onto the ice and knew the ground was about to give out under her, but she straightened her spine and pulled her head up anyway.
“He’s not with Harry. He’s with the Klein boys.”
Steve’s eyes flew up toward the ceiling even as Bucky was asking her, face clouded with confusion, “So he is home then?”
No. No he wasn’t. Steve knew it in his gut. He’d known it all day he realized. Péter was with the Klein boys, who no one had seen all day besides Natacha. Because they’d fallen ill. Because Natacha knew he was busy (too busy to check in right away) and Virginia couldn’t afford to risk the maids when they were so short staffed. They’d gone. The way Steve had suspected they would eventually. The way he would have himself were he in their shoes. They were gone and Péter was with them.
“No.” Natacha admitted with a slight shake of her head even though Steve didn’t need her to. “They left to find their family. I only said they were sick to give them time.”
Her eyes met his and Steve saw that there were unshed tears in them.
“I’m sorry.” She said, as if that was good enough. As if that would save her brother from a bullet if he got caught sneaking around the border in an active conflict zone.
“You should be.” Steve had never wanted to shake someone so badly, but he shut out the rage and the fear – the whole storm of emotions – shut out everything but how to get Péter back. He turned away sharply, striding from the room as he pulled the whistle from his pocket and whistled sharply for Virginia.
“Stark!” he hollered, dropped the whistle, his feet turning towards the workshop almost ahead of his thoughts.
“Stark!” he called again, when he’d reach the closed door. He paused only to confirm the muffled sound of an engines roar behind it, before he hammered his fist against the metal, calling, “Tony!”
He was considering kicking the damned thing down when the noise inside abruptly cut and a moment later Tony swung the door open, his mouth set in an irritated scowl and his tone snapping with impatience as he glowered, “What! Stefen I’-”
“Péter’s gone!” Steve rode over his objection, balling his fists as he took a looming step toward the smaller man. “He’s been gone all day!”
Tony didn’t shrink back but Steve could see his thoughts moving behind his mind, that quicksilver brilliant mind of his that was always going and going. Always so concerned about the future. Always dismissing the importance of the here and the now.
“Yes, he’s with the Osbornes. I did ask his whereabouts Stefen, I’m not a dullard. Didn’t Natacha tell you?”
“She lied Tony! He and the Klein boys left for Poland hours ago!” Steve barked, his chest aching around the words. Tony’s face went white, horror creeping over his expression.
“How could you not notice!”
Even as he spat the words Steve’s eyes narrowed on the mostly completed structure peeking out over Tony’s shoulder. In another moment, Steve might have been impressed at its size and polish but as it was, he wanted to take a hammer to the whole thing and smash it to pieces. There. There was the reason Tony hadn’t noticed Natacha was acting strange. The damn boat and everything it signified was the reason Tony was too preoccupied to check in on Cameron and his brother and discover the truth.
“You’re so damn preoccupied in here!” he accused, jabbing with one finger. “Meanwhile my son is –”
“Doing exactly what you taught him to do.” Tony interrupted with a growl, slapping Steve’s hand away from his chest. “He’s your son! Trying to prove he’s like you!”
It hurt, more than he would have ever imagined, to hear the truth said like that. To know that his son had put his life in danger and it was because he didn’t think his father was proud of him. The words slashed like a knife, deflating the air from his chest and leaving him with an alarming sensation of falling. He gnashed his teeth together, struggling for balance, his knuckles white from the pressure of fisting them. The urge to take a swing was so strong – beat those words back behind his teeth – but it wouldn’t help. Wouldn’t change the truth.
God. The thought of striking Tony’s flesh that way, feeling it give beneath his hands flipped his stomach. He could be sick. He was sick. He hadn’t come looking for Tony to start a fight. Or had he? He needed help. Tony’s help. He needed to breathe. If he could just reach Tony, take his hand- but Tony’s hands were curled into fists too, anger pouring off of him so thick Steve could taste it on his tongue, feel it sparking between them like a stick of dynamite. He was so angry it felt volcanic. And still, it wasn’t anything compared to the fear. He was so terribly afraid, and he knew it would cripple him if he allowed himself to feel any of it. Anger was safer. Anger could keep him moving.
“Maybe if you weren’t so hell bent on proving the same, this wouldn’t have happened!”
Tony blanched again as the accusing words landed between them. He couldn’t hide that, not with how close their faces were. Kissing distance, some hysterical little voice in his head kept saying. Or biting. Tony’s golden eyes narrowed, the glitter of rage burning brightly back at him as he found fuel in his own anger. He looked like he’d bite Steve if he even tried it. Strangely that realization just made the urge stronger.
What the hell is wrong with you?
Tony may have asked it, or maybe Steve just asked himself. Maybe Tony was in the middle of cursing his name, Steve didn’t know. He saw his mouth moving but he couldn’t hear anything over the roaring in his ears. That pressure inside kept swelling. The dark tangled web of emotion growing larger and larger within his chest, constricting his lungs and making it harder and harder to breathe.
No time. No air. No…
Tony please.
The room tilted. Steve gasped, trying to force air back into his chest. Tony’s face seemed to be floating away, as if he were floating off on a stream. But that couldn’t be right. There wasn’t any water. If Steve could just focus, swim to the surface and take a breath, he could do what he had to do to find Péter. Tony could help. He had to make Tony understand –
“Stefen! Breathe. Look at me!” Tony’s voice sliced through the fog, sharp and hot.
Steve breathed in deep, the rush of air flowing into his lungs almost too much as he came back to his surroundings.
He was back in the hall, most of his weight slumped against Tony, the wall bracing them both. Even still, Tony was trembling under his weight. Steve could feel it. There were other hands on him besides Tony he realized. Bucky was behind him (always behind him) and he was helping shift Steve’s weight off of Tony’s smaller frame. How had they gotten out here?
“You were rambling about finding Péter and then you just started tipping like a damn tree,” Bucky answered him and Steve frowned. He must be speaking and not know it. He moved his tongue in his mouth and it felt sluggish.
“Shhh. Don’t worry about that right now. Just breathe.” Tony hushed him, hands holding him firmly. It wasn’t Tony shaking he realized. It was him.
~*~
Steve didn’t remember Bucky and Tony walking him to his room, or putting him to bed. But the next time he woke he was there, a warm wash cloth gently soothing the tension in his brow to combat headache. He thought for a moment that it was Tony, before the soft scent of perfume trickled his nose.
Charlotte.
She noticed he was awake after a moment and paused to smile down at him, though it was a small little thing and full of worry. Knowing he was the cause of that worry only made him feel lower. What had he done? What sort of man was he, to hurt the people he loved like this? To lose his son like this?
They had to find Péter.
Steve shot up in the bed, calling for Bucky but Charlotte stopped him, pushing him to lay down again.
“He’s gone Stefen. To look for Péter.” She said when he continued to struggle and Steve froze. Bucky had started the search without him? Well good, he decided a moment later. They’d already lost so many hours, he was glad Bucky hadn’t wasted more because Steve had lost control of himself.
“Stefen please.” Charlotte implored, drawing his attention to the hand she had on her chest and then to her softly pleading gaze. “This is not your fault. And I know how much you want to be out there, searching for him but you know you can’t be.”
“The hell I can’t!” He didn’t give a damn about the tour or any of the rest of it. He was going to find his son. But Charlotte’s grip on him was firm, unwavering in her confidence to hold him despite her smaller size.
“You’d have to desert your post and they can’t get word of what he is doing. Think what will happen! You won’t put him at more risk Stefen, I know you won’t.” she said and Steve snarled in frustration before the energy just seemed to leave him in a giant rush. She was right. Damn it but she was right.
“You have to tell people he went back to school as planned. And then you have to trust James to find him.”
She was right. He kept telling himself she was, but it wouldn’t stick. It did nothing to calm the alarm ringing in his head or the ferocious urge to get up, go. Find the danger. Move move move.
But she was right. Steve was the danger. He couldn’t go looking for Péter without putting a target on his back.
He fell back against the pillows and closed his eyes, breathing in sharply.
“I’m sure he’ll be alright Stefen. He’s got the right papers for travel and he’s clever, like you.” Charlotte continued to sooth him, her gentle hands returning to his brow. Steve grit his teeth.
She was wrong. Péter was clever alright, but not like him. He was clever like Tony, picking up on maths and sciences that Steve couldn’t even pronounce. Cheeky and resourceful like his mother. Stubborn and brave like -like you! Tony’s words from early blasted through his swirling thoughts. Your son. Trying to prove he’s like you.
Because Steve had tried to teach him to stand up for others and not to back down even when the odds were stacked against you. Because the chances of the Klein boys making it into Poland were better with him than without him, and that was enough reason for a good man to try.
He’d tried to raise a good man hadn’t he? Would he take any of it back now? Even if it meant Péter would always be safe at home with never a thought of putting himself in danger, would he really want him to be less than what Steve himself had always tried to be?
He knew the answer even though it sat heavy in his chest, at war with every instinct he possessed as a father.
But besides sending word down the network, there was nothing he could do. It was well and truly out of his hands. Steve balled up the comforter between his fists and forced himself to keep his breathes even.
Bucky would find him. That was all there was to it. Nothing else was acceptable.
~*~*~*~
Jewish terrorist shoots German diplomat in Paris!
Salzburg Herald November 7th
Earlier this morning Ernst Vom Rath, a diplomat at the German embassy in Paris, was mercilessly shot by the Jew: Herschel Grynzspan. Vom Rath, was rushed to Alma Women’s Hospital after the shooting, suffering critical injuries. Emergency surgery is underway and his condition remains critical.
Vom Rath has served his country with distinction abroad, fostering good will between the Reich and her allies while staunchly defending her people from the coordinated and relentless attacks of those Jews, who conspire internationally to defame and defile her. His Excellency the Führer has responded to this tragedy with vigor, swiftly sending his personal physicians in a fight to save a life that hangs in the balance. All of Germany grieves with her father at the plight of his fallen son.
This we know: this attack against us will not go unanswered.
~*~*~*~
November 9th
The coffee house was understaffed. It didn't take a genius to see the way the staff scrambled to accommodate the size of crowd. The clusters of university students who had apparently made the café their headquarters for the morning instead of attending class were nothing compared to how busy the place could get in the height of summer, but the neighborhood had suffered heavy losses after the Nuremburg laws went into effect and the few waiters left on staff were struggling to keep up. Steve took another glance out of the window, eyes flickering over the dreary street. The buildings all looked gray and washed out. Winter's slow approach draining all the color from the city. Or maybe it was in the air, the residue of tragedies running through all their veins.
The whole city seemed to be waiting for news on whether the diplomat Vom Rath would live or die. Her young people were out, jobs and classrooms abandoned in favor of collecting around civilian radios and smoking cigarettes between clenched teeth. Waiting and growing all the more restless the more hours slipped by without word.
We’ve been too nice is what it is! You can’t be nice to a Jew.
It’s time somebody did something don’t you think?
We’re just gonna let them get away with it?
Steve reached for his knife.
“Most of leopoldstadt is gone. Deported,” he murmured, unsure why he said it.
Across from him, Charlotte sipped her tea. The china clinked, scraping against the silver, grating on Steve's nerves. She’d been quieter than usual, and near silent since their soup had been delivered. In her defense, Steve wasn’t making himself good company and it was not easy carrying a conversation entirely by yourself.
“I wasn't aware you’d been to leopoldstadt recently. James hadn’t mentioned it.” she said, giving him a tight-lipped smile. “It’ll all be reorganized and redone now I suppose.”
His jaw ticked. Gone. Wiped over like a stain on cloth. Leopoldstadt had been… was the place of his making. Of course, the Wehrmacht said it was in the hills and mountains where the ‘’Lion of Austria’ had been made but no, that was where he’d become this. This shell. Whatever they wanted him to be. Fabricated out of myth and unrecognizable. That had been the making of Major Rogers.
No more. The thought came sudden and strong. No more. He could still hear the strains of Bucky’s violin if he concentrated hard enough, feel the parchment he used to sketch on scrape under his fingertips, smell the coffee and sweet scent of baked bread on the air.
All of it gone. Empty shells left behind.
“Stefen,” Charlotte's voice was laced with alarm and Steve reflexively flinched, gazing down at his palm to find the source of the unexpected sting. He was bleeding, but only a little. The knife had slipped and cut into his flesh. Frowning Steve pressed a napkin over the wound, watching as red bloomed onto the white.
“I don’t like this,” he ground out. Charlotte let out a breath and loaded her spoon again as calm as ever.
“There are only so many battles we can win, Stefen. You know that.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean I-we shouldn't fight each one.” He threw the napkin down on the table. “I’ll be damned if I make it easy for them.”
She regarded him from across the table, her expression tight before sighing. “I’d hardly call any of this easy, Stefen.” Charlotte had long ago given up trying to coral him. Instead she weathered it (weathered him) as if he were a storm that she simple had to make it through, and then all would be right as rain. Shadows played across her face in the low electric lighting, casting circles that Steve knew better than to think were under her eyes. For one unguarded moment she allowed herself to look tired, shoulders slumped heavy and face lax with weariness.
“After all this is done, we should vacation to the Swiss villa.” She reached across the table and to his hand folding her delicate fingers with his. He grasped back, careful not to hold on to tight. “I feel like I never see you Stefen, and the children would love the countryside. It’ll be good for us. Once the Reich are done with us.”
“Charlotte.” How to tell her the Reich would never be done with him. Nor he with it. Not until one of them was destroyed. He squeezed her hand and untangled their fingers. She sat back in her chair, smile pleasantly fixed, the moment of vulnerability passing like a puff of smoke.
“Certainly, Herr Stark will like it.”
“Why do you say that?” Steve frowned. Tony was fond of the countryside like Steve was fond of public speaking. A necessary evil.
Charlotte arched a delicate eyebrow.
“I just assumed that a monk would like the countryside. Simple people and all that, with a dedication to the faith. But I suppose you’re right. A man who runs to war might not be your typical monk.” She finished, something slightly bitter in her voice. She slipped her pale fingers around the neck of her glass.
“Both of you are alike in that way. Difficult to discern.”
“What do you- Herr Stark wasn’t a part of the war.” Stefen refuted, but that was lie. Everyone had been a part of the war. “He didn’t fight,” Steve amended.
Charlotte frowned, her fingers tightening slightly around her glass.
“Oh? How did you meet him then?” She asked innocently, attention on her lunch.
Steve frowned, stomach fighting with nerves as it always did when Tony was brought out to be examined. “I told you, he was a layman at St. Péter’s.” He said with what he hoped was nonchalance. It didn't seem to appease her, but Charlotte had always been shrewd.
“You act as thick as thieves.” She laughed, the sound ringing like bells though it was tight and higher then it usually was. “I thought for sure you must have met during the war. Now I’m devilishly curious to know the story behind your meeting. I don’t know any man who would raise a dozen children that weren’t his own. Most would be insulted-”
“I think Tony’s happy enough with the way things are.” Steve bit out, the lie tasting sour on his tongue. “And I have seven children. Not a dozen.”
It was small but Steve didn’t miss the flicker of hurt in Charlotte's gaze. She took a sip of her wine, far longer than she needed to. She sat it down quietly and tucked neatly into her soup, the silence weighing heavy at the table.
Clearly there was something weighing on her mind. Why was she so curious about his relationship with Tony? Steve thought, apprehension like an itch on his skin. What did she mean to get at by opening this line of question?
“Charlotte,” He began but she cut him off.
“Have you thought any on getting closer to that dozen? You’re not far off, darling, and not nearly as old as you like to play. Still a young man, still a young father by any stretch of the imagination.”
Children he realized, the last puzzle piece clicking into place. Irritation bubbled inside his chest. Could they not be left well enough alone?
It wasn’t going to happen, he thought adamantly, even as he remembered all the ways in which the Reich was pushing the men to have more children. It didn’t matter. They couldn’t force him and Charlotte to, to breed, like a pair of horses for the Reich.
But why not? A cold voice sneered in the back of his mind. Wasn’t that what they were intending for his daughters? Wasn’t Tacha next on the damn auction block?
He would never. He couldn’t do that to Charlotte, was abhorred by the very idea of it. The feeling of sickness churning in his gut was shadowed by the image of Tony in his mind. God, Stefen would lose him, he was sure of it, and he wouldn’t blame Tony for getting as far away from all this, from him, as he could. And even if by some miracle Tony didn’t make a break for the hills, what sort of life would he be forced to live? Raising Steve’s children by a woman he spited whenever he fell into her husband’s bed.
Disgust pooled in his stomach and he clenched fitfully at the napkin in his cut hand. Tony didn’t deserve that and Steve would never offer it to him.
But Charlotte was looking at him with warm eyes, fondness that wasn’t cemented in any one reality but dreaming, seeing all the possibilities real or imagined.
He cleared his throat, looked down at his hand, snatched his courage and met her eyes. “Seven children are a lot to handle already.”
She nodded, clear blue eyes fixed on him, as if she’d expected the response. He couldn’t read her expression as she returned to her food.
“We’ll have a staff to help. We’d hardly be marooned with them. Would one or two more for them to look after be such an inconvenience?”
Wouldn’t it? Steve thought bitterly. Péter was gone. He didn’t even know where his son was right now, what right did he have to think about having more babies?!
“I don’t want more. That’s the end-”
“It’s just I worry.” She cut him off, eyes flicking up to him, razor sharp. “There are certain things people expect, and those who do not live up to public expectation can find themselves dangerously scrutinized. I wish it wasn’t that way. But we must take the world as it is.”
Stefen swallowed, her words sinking in. She wasn’t saying anything he didn’t already know. The Reich expected good German’s to multiply as quickly as possible. Reluctance on his part could bring censure. Greater scrutiny.
“I’m not saying now of course but…” her gaze softened and she dabbed at her mouth, pale lipstick bleeding softly onto the napkin. “Soon?”
No. Steve thought. Not at the order of the Reich and not at Tony’s expense. Never.
“It would keep my mother at bay.” Her laugh was strained with little joy behind it. Her eyes skidding past him to someplace over his shoulder. “She’s so adamant to know when we’ll have children of our own, not that I think she thinks less of your children.“
A weak lie. Charlotte’s mother felt much the same way her sister had felt about Steve dirtying their family line. It was only the various awards and promotions that helped her swallow the bitter pill.
“Charlotte.” He leaned forwards, clasping her hand again. She clutched at it, fingers spasming against his palm, her grip strong.
“Did someone say something to you?” He asked gently. “We don’t need to- seven’s enough, yeah? I’m not going to let them bully us into this.”
Her hand stilled in his but she didn't let go. Her shoulders rose and fell with deliberately calm breaths, then she slowly pulled away.
“No. Nothing like that. We don’t need to discuss this now. There’s plenty of time to think it over.” She chirped, as if everything were happy and gay between them and they’d merely had a disagreement over whether or not the weather would improve.
Steve sat back and gritted his teeth, thinking with a small tinge of guilt that he was happy he had a meeting with the Mayor that prevented them from lingering much longer over their lunch.
~*~*~*~
Later that afternoon
“Tony! How come Ian gets to sing a solo at the Christmas Pageant?” Artur whined from the back seat of the car. They were loading up to make their way into the city to practice with Nigel Frank for their recital. The mood in the schoolroom that morning had been dark and glum, the way that it had been every day since discovering that Péter and the Klein brothers had run away in the night. Artur and the two youngest didn’t quite understand what was so bad about Péter having gone to Poland, only that he’d left without telling anybody when he was supposed to go back to school and it had upset their father.
Steve had barely spoken to anyone in days. First there had been the expulsion of the Polish Jews, then Péter’s disappearance, and now the country was in an uproar once again, since a Jewish teenager had shot a German diplomat over in Paris. Those with enough charity whispered rumors that it was because his parents had been among the Jews ejected from the country, now suffering in the border camps. Most echoed the sentiments shared in the broadcasts over civilian radio and in the papers, that the shooting had been an organized attack by an international Jewish threat.
A state of fear blanketed everything. It was inevitable that people were beginning to talk about pushing back. It was human nature after all to cast one’s eyes about, looking for weapons, when they were afraid.
A match had been struck and all of Salzburg was holding its breath again, to see if this time the flame would catch.
Stefen was gone for long hours each day, and when he was home he was locked within his study – the militant Captain that Tony had met at the start of summer had returned in full force. That morning he’d gone to some gathering with the Baroness and had left no word when he’d be back.
Tony wanted badly to confront Stefen. Especially about what he’d said to Natacha the night they’d discovered her deception over Péter’s leaving. The poor girl had grown even more withdrawn than usual, guilt and her father’s disappointment weighing heavily on her.
Tony had a million things stored up that he could say to Captain Rogers, but he’d been so angry after their fight that he found himself avoiding Stefen; just to prevent having to yell at him if they happened to make eye contact.
How dare he say this was Tony’s fault? As if it were his responsibility to anticipate Péter’s every decision. Péter was Stefen’s child, not Tony’s, and maybe if Stefen wasn’t so god damn self-righteous and focused on being a hero, he’d have noticed far sooner that something wasn’t right. After all, what the hell had he been doing all day? And why was his work more important than what Tony was doing?! For Stefen, no less!
What the hell was that little jab about Tony trying to prove he could be like him?! It burned. It burned a hole right through the center of him because – how dare he – and because deep down, he knew there was truth.
Tony had encouraged Péter by making that broadcast with him. And if he hadn’t been so wrapped up with the boat he might have looked further into Natacha’s story. Péter might be safe on his way back to school right now, if it weren’t for Tony’s need to prove he wasn’t as useless as Hughard and everyone else had always thought.
Maybe if he hadn’t been so damn selfish -
“Tony!” Artur’s insistent whine jarred him out of his thoughts. He jumped, turning to look in the back seat, where five of his six charges were crammed and eyeing him curiously.
“Are you going to start the car?” Ian asked, breaking the silence. Oh. Right. He glanced to the passenger’s side where Natacha sat, staring out her window at nothing, seemingly oblivious to Tony’s mood or his momentary lapse in focus.
He sighed.
Maybe it was a good thing they had practice today, he thought. The children needed to get out of the house and out from under their worries. Music was a good distraction for them all.
~*~*~*~
That Night
Steve blinked rustling the papers on the desk, his dry eyes weary of pouring over documents. He was currently examining the new plans for police dispersion for the city, a special request handed down from the Mayor who often relied on Steve’s proven gift for strategy and sound judgment. Over by the window Assistant Chief Olasz turned toward him, his expression pinched but expectant. He was clearly as eager as Steve to wrap up their business for the night and go home. Maybe if they finished soon, Steve could surprise Tony and the children at the Music Hall. It was unfair to keep avoiding them. It wasn’t their fault he’d failed to protect their brother.
“It’s ambitious,” Steve summarized, straightening up as he drummed his fingers against the top of the desk. “I can see why Hasenkamp is worried. There isn’t enough man power for this.”
Officer Olasz tilted his head toward the papers, his mouth twisting in an irritated sneer.
“We’ve just heard from above that the HJ-Patrol has been promoted to SS function. I am sure many more boys will volunteer once the announcement is made.” At Steve’s frown Olasz huffed a short sigh and quickly finished, “It’s out of my hands Rogers. The Mayor has made his demands. He thinks it’ll stop the unrest in the streets. Make everyone feel secure.”
Olasz finished a sharp laugh and turned back to the window. “Most foolish thing I’ve heard of yet.”
“Yes but to arm children-” Steve began but Olasz cut him off, with a wave of his hand, disgust playing across his face.
“They won’t be in any real danger Rogers. The Mayor arms himself against shadows. He’s a coward.”
Steve cocked his head at the files, frowning down at the colorful lines drawn upon the large map of the city and the surrounding county. It was more than ambitious, it was preposterous. Triple the amount of patrols, double the size of the intelligence office, and all of it was to be achieved by granting school boys the same function as SS officers. It was mad. But Steve doubted he’d be able to dissuade the Mayor from this plan. Olasz wasn’t wrong. Many boys were sure to join the Patrol once they heard what status it would give them.
He sighed, the headache he’d been fighting since his meal with Charlotte pounding just behind his eyes. He hoped to god Hasenkamp arrived soon so they could be finished here. For the first time Steve wished all they’d wanted from him was to smile and kiss babies.
“What are they so afraid of?” Steve wondered, almost to himself.
Olasz glanced back at him and then gestured back to the window. “Have a look outside Major.”
Brow furrowed, Steve stepped up next to him to look out onto the street below them. Ants. The improbable thought popped into his head. Artur would have said they looked just like ants. There had been people loitering around outside of city hall when Steve had arrived but there were dozens of them now, forming a thickening mass of bodies blocking the steps. Several young men stood on the steps with their backs to the building and were speaking to the crowd. They were HJ Steve noted, and among the crowd they’d managed to rally Steve could spot at least fifty more. Even from their distance Steve could hear the faint sound of their raised voices.
“They are calling the ambassador who was shot a hero and patriot. They are asking how long the people should suffer the menace of the Jews. They wonder if there are no brave German’s left, who will avenge him.” Olasz commented dryly, as if he did not see what was happening below them or the horrible potential.
“You need to break them up.” Steve stared at the man hard, one eye on the increasingly agitated crowd with fear tightening in his gut. “Before they become a mob.”
“The people have a right to vent their frustrations.”
Steve frowned at him, wondering at his strange nonchalance. The man was not a fool and too good a policeman not to know how crazy it was to simply wait for the situation to escalate.
Steve stepped forward, opening his mouth to demand to know what was going on but he was cut off by the door swinging open announcing that the Mayor had finally arrived. Hasenkamp strode in briskly clutching at a brief case, his puffy brow glistening with sweat despite the cold outside.
His beedy gaze flitted around the room like a fly before he homed in on Steve. He ran a hand through his slightly unkept hair and said hurriedly, “There you are Major. Hurry, we’ve not a moment to lose.”
Apprehension building, Steve folded his hands behind his back falling into parade, leveling Hasenkamp with a stare. “What more can I help you with Herr Mayor?”
Hasenkamp dabbed his sweaty brow with a crumpled handkerchief he pulled from his pocket and took a shaky breath. “Let me be frank with you, Major, Assistant Chief. The news has just broken that Vom Roth succumbed to his injuries. People are incensed. Rightfully so, but fights have broken out –”
“Where?” Olasz interjected as Steve’s heart sank. The ambassador’s death would do nothing to ease the tension in the public. Hasenkamp let out a frustrated sigh.
“Vienna, Graz, Berlin, everywhere! Does it matter at this point? I thought if I could keep Salzburg- but I have orders….” He trailed off, muttering furiously under his breath and making less and less sense, before his head snapped up once more, hope burning in his eyes as he begged. “You could speak to them. People listen-”
But Steve had already turned to the window again, the Mayors word’s playing like a record track over and over again in his mind. The ambassador was dead. Fighting was breaking out. Vienna. Graz. Berlin.
Down in the street the crowed had grown in size to become a massive breathing thing, the shouting so loud he could almost discern every breath. Steve took a breath, eyes darting over the crowd.
“This is happening in other parts of the city? He asked, his pulse beginning to elevate. Something was about to happen. It was a metallic taste on his tongue with every breath he took. A feeling on his skin, like a hand passing too close.
“All over Salzburg” the mayor confirmed in a weak, defeated tone, and Steve cursed, unclenching his grip on the window sill. He glanced at the clock and cursed again. The children where likely still at their rehearsal. They might have wrapped up early, might even now be safely on their way home but Steve couldn’t take the chance.
“Major, what- Where are you going?” Hasenkamp called as steve brushed passed him.
“You’re the mayor. You talk, see if they listen!’ Steve was five steps ahead of the moment, already mentally downstairs on his motorbike. He thundered down the stairs, fear creeping cold through his chest as the crowd outside suddenly broke into a furious roar and surged toward the business district. He broke out into a run.
“Major Rogers!” he heard the Assistant Chief call out behind him.
“My family! Olasz, my family are at the Behringer Hall!”
It was all he could manage to get out as he threw himself against the doors and pushed his way outside into the seething mob.
~~*~~
He could smell the smoke before he saw the actual blaze. Furnishings on fire, buildings set ablaze, frames warping under the heat like a giant hand had come down and squeezed them.
How…? Stefen wondered, standing, staring as the sounds and sights of violence washed over him. How could they do this to their city?
Burn them out! The streets were smeared with rubble. Merchandise, furniture, clothes, and everything in-between strewn about by the mob as they shattered windows to trash shops. Shattered windows to destroy homes and drag their occupants into the seething body of the mob. Glass was everywhere, falling like snow from above, glinting wickedly as it reflected the fire light.
Smash them out!
And the screaming. The screaming was a dull roar in his ears.
No good Jew but a dead Jew!
Everywhere he turned there were people rushing through the streets, screaming in fear and even more screaming in anger. He could hardly tell who was attacking and who was running away from the attack in the chaos.
He maneuvered his bike around a thick crowd of people who were attempting to tear down a storefront, his eyes straining over their heads for a glimpse of the Behringer Music Hall where Tony and the children were meant to be practicing with Nigel. People swarmed around him like irritated hornets, knocking into his bike, grabbing onto him as he slowed down to keep from trampling them.
Steve took a deep breath and choked on the putrid smell of burning paint and chemicals. The smoke in the air making his eyes sting. He pushed aside the fear in exchange for red hot focus. He was hardly a block away but it was clear he’d have to leave the bike if he was going to make it through this crowd. Steve let it fall and began to elbow his way trough the crowd toward the Music Hall.
“Burn it down! Burn it to the ground!” A young man standing on a crate nearby urged the crowd. He had a thin wooden baton in his hand, and wore the uniform of Hitler’s youth. It was an absurd sight. The boy in his brown shorts standing upon his box, teeth gleaming as they reflected flames, egging on a swarm of men and women twice his age all snarling like starved animals over a carcass.
He was past the store. Next to an apartment building now. The crowd wasn’t as thick here. Most were inside. Forcing everyone out. Shoving things out the windows onto the street. Tables. Chairs. People.
There were bodies in the street, Stefen realized, spotting the motionless lumps between the legs of the runners. Men. Women. Children.
Steve’s stomach lurched just as a man grabbed hold of his shirt, ripping the collar. Steve was on him in a flash, spinning to shove the stranger back against with the wall, hearing his head crack against the stone. He let the man drop before he turned and took off running once more.
Had to get to the Music Hall. Nothing could get in his way.
Except- Steve skid to a halt, heart hammering in his chest - in front of him lay three figures, their bodies sprawled out haphazardly on the ground. A child half covered by the body of a man with jet black hair.
No! Steve crashed to his knees as he went down, hands and knees scraping the pavement as he rushed to reach them, his heart still slamming away in his chest.
The man was dead weight as Steve moved him. The child he’d been shielding turned her head slightly to blink up at the new presence. Her face was unfamiliar and older then he’d thought on first glance.
Twelve. Maybe thirteen.
Her eyes were glassy and her stare removed. Her face was cut and her night gown was stained with blood from some injury he couldn't see. Next to the girl and the man a woman lay twitching in the throes of death, until she went still - like a discard doll. Without thought, Steve moved her crooked arm into a better position (more comfortable) and turned back to the child. The trio must have jumped from the apartments above. The man had tried to break her fall.
She needed a hospital. Steve climbed back to his feet, looking around desperately for someone or something to help, relief and desperation striking anew as he tried to wave down an automobile knocking its way down the street, blaring it’s horn in warning.
“Over here!” He called out, but the vehicle didn't even pause as it creeped by. Steve curled his lip and swore turning back to the injured child and the man fingers searching quickly over their bodies to catalog wounds.
The man was still breathing but his pulse was faint. Steve pushed aside his trench coat to reveal a night robe underneath. They all must have run from their beds. Or been dragged from them.
A family then, maybe. Maybe not. Maybe just three people in the wrong place.
This was madness. How could they do this?!
People have a right to vent their frustrations.
Olasz words floated back to him over the screaming. They’d intended this, Steve realized with cold horror. The Reich had wanted this to happen and Olasz had been trying to warn him.
His thoughts were interrupted by the sudden clash of broken glass, shards raining down overhead. How was there still glass to shatter? Steve hurled himself over the girl. When he looked back up a man, boy really, had run up and was grabbing the girls shoulder.
“Emma!” he shrieked and yes, that pitch was a terrified child.
The unknown boy shook her shoulders, face in a rictus. Steve grabbed his arm. Shouting for him to stop, the boy froze at the command eyes widening at the sight of him before he snapped his teeth, snarling like a vicious dog and took a swing at Steve.
“She’s hurt. I’m trying to help.”
He didn’t know whether he was family or friend to the girl, only that he seemed terrified of Steve and determined to protect her. Steve backed away, torn between continuing to try and help and finding his family.
There was another crash, followed by a surge of cheers from the mob. A wave of boys in brown shirts swinging batons, grimy faces distorted in the light, poured out from the apartment building like a plague of locusts to surround them.
Steve reached for his gun and fired once into the air directly above their heads. It was enough to make the Hitler Youth jump and scramble backward, wild eyes focusing on him. He could see them taking in his size, his uniform, trying to decide what to do.
“Leave!” Steve ordered them sharply, firing another shot to underscore the command. “I will shoot you.” Every. Last. One. The boy’s must have seen it in his eyes because they scrambled, off to seek other prey. Steve kept his gun pointed at their backs, turning only slightly to look down at the boy hovering over Emma.
“Can you carry her?”
The boy nodded, slightly dumbstruck.
“Then go. Now. Get her out of here.” Steve waited only long enough to make sure the boy listened, melted into the night like a shadow with Emma in his arms. He hated to leave the man (her father?) but there was nothing he could do for him, not when he had to get to his own children. Steve turned and ran down the street.
He could see the Music Hall at times, rising above most of the other buildings in the square but he had no idea if Tony and the children were still there, or what condition they’d be in - Steve grabbed a passing man by his jacket, gripping him tightly as he asked if he’d heard any word about the Behringer being attacked.
The man yelped, jerking away from him as he panted in a strangled voice, “it’s been ransacked!” before he took off again.
Steve’s heart sank in his chest with dread. It was the same with two others he asked. Everyone had the same story. The Hall had been gutted. No one was left and if they were they were in no sort of shape to leave.
No. No. Please, god no
His arms, his legs, everything ached with desperation making it hard to stay focused, stay on the task at hand. Steve kept going. He knew if he stopped for one second he would lose it. He was sure of it and he couldn’t do that.
Think damn it!
Tony was smart. He wouldn’t have stood still when the riots started. The Hall was large, lots of exits. Where would he go? What was behind the Behringer?? Steve searched his memory. There where shops just behind. A few Jewish businesses still remained. They’d have been targeted too. Tony would avoid them. There was some sort of public park… No, too open they’d be sitting ducks. Then where damn it!
His mind flittered back to the shops. Tony wouldn’t try running far with the little ones. He’d look for a place to hide. Many of the shops had apartments upstairs, attics, cellars… Steve took off like a shot.
The hall was destroyed, just as he’d feared. Windows busted and pouring out thick black smoke, devoid of any signs of life. Splintered furniture and broken instruments lay strewn about. Glass from the windows covered the ground like a bed of snow.
There was water pooling in the front hall, flowing down the steps like a flooded sink over words painted in bold letters over the stone.
JEW LOVERS
Steve picked his way through the rubble, side stepping an unmoving body face down in the water. The piping must have collapsed he thought as he sloshed his way around the building.
Where were they!?
He made his way to the back until he was facing the row of smaller buildings directly behind the hall. There was less damage back here, as only a few of the buildings were owned by Jews. It felt safer somehow to call out.
“Tony!”
Nothing. He tried again, his voice breaking, “Tacha, are you here? James!” He tried not to curse his own voice echoing back at him, endless and hallow. The crooked sign of a squat little building calling itself the Behringer administrative offices caught his eye and he strode toward it. The windows were broken here as well, and the rioters had clearly had their way with the place, but at least it wasn’t on fire. The front office was nothing but floating piles of smashed furniture (broken pipes here too) but there was a hall behind it leading towards a service kitchen.
Steve flew down the stairs toward the staff kitchens heart, sinking when he pushed the door open only to discover an empty room. It was mostly untouched here save for the ankle-deep water and ransacked cupboards. He didn’t think this was the work of the worst of the mob. The city’s poor and starving were out in full force, taking advantage of the chaos to find food for themselves and their families.
He was about to turn and leave when he caught sight of a small door in the corner. It could be the door to a panty he thought, heart kicking up in his chest, or even a cellar. His heart pounded all the harder as he approached it, breathing harshly as he took the two small steps leading down to it and reached for the knob.
The door had a lock, but the knob moved smoothly. Still the door didn’t budge when he pushed. Blocked from inside, he realized.
“Tony?!”
Steve put his weight against it, feeling for any give. The door was sturdy, it would hurt him but he could get it down and that was all he needed. He threw himself against the wood, barreling into with his shoulder. Something had come loose inside him. Each strike more frantic than the last as he threw himself at the door like someone crazed. Open. God damn it open! If he couldn’t open this door, if he couldn't get inside- The door gave way suddenly and Steve spilled inside, just barely missing a blow to his head as something swung at him. He dodged, scrabbling to the side with a gasp. The second blow came just as fast, but Steve caught it this time. It was metal piping, twisted and mean looking from where it had been torn from the wall, and on the other end of it a terrified looking man with dark hair and death in his eyes.
It was only for a second but Steve suddenly felt a rush of Deja vu. Of being on one end of a weapon and the snarled terror ridden face of an Italian on the other.
“Stefen?” Tony managed to rasp in wonder, slowly lowering the pipe just before the most precious sound he’d ever heard came from the darkness. From the back of the cellar James came running like a bat out of the dark.
“Da!” the little boy cried, barreling into him. Steve braced himself against the door frame, knees shaking as he clutched his son to him. A second later Ian was shoving himself under Steve’s arm and there were other bodies pressing close. He could hardly stomach the emotion rushing over him. Felt dizzy and disoriented as he desperately tried to count heads. One. Three. Five… The relief hit him like a train, his eyes stinging viciously when he counted six.
“Vati!” Sara burst into tears, ugly and vicious. Steve disentangled himself from James and Ian, and now Artur who was squeezed in between Ian and James, and scooped her up, holding her tightly. He grunted as her arms wrapped around his neck, strong and desperate.
“It’s alright.” He murmured. “It’s alright.”
Only it wasn’t. And as if to underscore that point there was a clatter somewhere inside the building and Steve swung around eyes darted over the darkened kitchen.
They had to go.
His eyes met Tony’s in the dark just as Natacha’s frightened voice came from his left, asking what they were going to do. She was grabbing his sleeve and he let go of Sara’s shoulders to grasp her hand and in as calm a voice as he could manage answered, “It’s all right, I’ve got a plan. You have to trust me; do you trust me?”
Wide frightened eyes looked back at him as she nodded and he pulled her close kissing her head “Good girl.” And then glancing over his shoulder he caught Tony’s eye again from over Sara’s head. “We have to go out the back way through the apartments.” Steve could barely see him in the shadows, it was a miracle really that Tony hadn't brained him when he’d come through the door.
He shifted Sara gently and scooped up Maria who was grasping his knees, sandwiched between her siblings. She was trembling, dirt stained tracks running down her face.
“No! Give her to me!” Steve nearly dropped Maria in surprise as Tony surged forward as if he’d just come back to life, wresting her from his arms.
“Tony, what-?” Steve managed, surprise making him stupid as he blinked at the other man who was now holding his daughter as if Steve were the devil himself and intent on grabbing her.
Even in the dark Steve could see that Tony's olive skin was bleach white, though whether that was from fear or from the oozing cuts and bruises across his face was harder to discern. He was hurt, Steve realized with new alarm. His eyes flew over the children once more – thinking of all the situations that could have led to Tony being injured – before flying back to the monk, relieved to see that other than his face he wasn’t visibly bleeding anywhere else.
Tony held Maria tight to his chest, breathing heavily. Steve recognized that look in his eyes. It was panic so strong it shocked the system. The look a soldier got sometimes, the first time he shot a man dead or saw a comrade killed. It was a look that said Tony was going nowhere short of Steve dragging him, and that wasn’t good. They had to move. Steve took a slow step toward him, trying to disentangle Artur and James along the way as he gently called the man’s name. “Tony?”
A ripple went through Tony’s glassy gaze and he looked back at Steve, quiet, eyes wide, terror rippling off him in waves. “I… I - we can’t go out there.”
Another step forward.
“Tony, we have to.” Steve kept his voice gentle. Cajoling.
“No! No, we don’t, Stefen.” Tony yelled and Steve tried not to flinch at the sound, listening hard for more sounds in the kitchen beyond.
“Tony give me Maria. We have to- “
“She can’t!” Tony’s wild eyes darted to James and then to Ian. He clutched Maria closer. Maria let loose a small wail and Steve tensed, firmer in his command and more insistent as he reached for her.
“Tony stop! Let her go.”
“We can’t, they’ll kill us!” It was the closest to pleading Steve had heard from him. Save the night in the piano room.
“No, they won’t. I won’t let them. Tony stop. Look at me!” Tony stilled beneath his hands, eyes fixing on Steve like he was the only thing solid in the room, his breathes coming in hitched gulps.
Something was wrong Steve thought even as part of him wanted to howl and laugh at the same time- because everything was wrong – but no, he had to focus. Because Tony needed him, and something was wrong with Tony. This was not the first riot Tony had lived through. This wasn’t like him. He hadn’t reacted when Steve picked up Sara. Just Maria.
Steve saw it again, the little girl lying in the street, the man lying over her, their dark hair tangled together.
Others would assume too he realized. A mob couldn’t be counted on to reason.
Somewhere outside the hall there was a loud bang, followed by a series of blood curtailing screams.
They were so loud in his ears, that they nearly drowned out the frightened scream coming from the children.
“Hush! Quiet. Be silent!” he ordered, hating having to be harsh with them but fearing drawing attention to their location. The cellar went still and Steve listened hard for the sound of approaching footsteps. When no came he allowed himself a fraction of relief and turned back to Tony, who was still holding a silently weeping Maria.
“Tony,” he entreated softly, the Italian rolling off his lips, calm, commanding. “You’ve got to trust me.” Steve held out the hand that wasn't supporting Sara’s weight, palm up, pleading. “I won’t let them have you. Any of you.”
Tony stared at him for a long drawn out moment. When he finally moved it felt like all the breath Steve had ever held rushed back into his lungs before it was sucked out again in a rush.
Tony grabbed his hand and held on tight. That was all Steve needed.
~*~
They sloshed through the kitchen, searching the back hallway for an exit, warry of going upstairs to the front of the building where the gunshot had come from. They found a little mudroom in the back with a single door. It took a moment for Steve to pry Sara off of him (shhhh, you’re all right) and hand her over to Ian so he could shove at it with his shoulder.
Damn it! It was locked, its deadbolt clicking angrily as Steve’s weight beat against it. He twisted, looking around the room and yes, there, a window. It was high up, only really meant to bring in some light and a bit of decoration to the small area. It would have to do, he thought as he snatched up a boom laying discarded in corner.
“Vati! What are you doing?” he heard one of the children cry, couldn’t quite tell which one with his back turned and his pulse loud in his ears.
“Stand back.” He instructed as he stabbed at the window viciously, the end of the broom cracking the glass in spider fragments that tinkled as they fell to the floor. That sound was going to haunt his dreams.
He put all his strength behind it and swung the broom, ducking when the glass gave way, a few of the raining shards nicking his bare skin despite raising his arm to shield himself. He righted himself quickly, gesturing for Tony and in an instant Tony was there beside him, looking up at the window with a dazed expression. Steve grabbed his shoulder and brown eyes met his.
“Are you with me?”
It took a moment but Tony nodded, and though his gaze was still slightly glazed there was steel behind it.
“I’ll lift you up first, then you can help the children through.” Steve said, turning to hoist him up. Tony was heavy but smaller than a few he’d had to carry over the years, and nothing compared to dead weight. Steve watched him scramble through the small opening, hissing as he inevitably cut himself on broken glass, until he disappeared from view into the black night. Steve could only hope there wasn’t anyone out there, that whoever had come back to the area and fired that gun was long gone. He could only breathe again when Tony's pale face reappeared in the broken window.
One after the other Steve lifted the children up into Tony's waiting arms. Ian was the last, refusing to go until he’d watched his older sister clamber through the opening.
“You next. Don’t worry-” Steve began, but Ian narrowed his eyes and shook his head.
“I’ll help Tony pull you up,” he decided firmly before Steve could finish reassuring him. Steve doubted they would be able to, had known it was a possibility the moment he’d spotted the window, but he simply nodded and hoisted Ian up by the waist until he could reach the sill and Tony could get a grip on him. Ian squeezed through the opening in one fluid motion of pale limbs and disappeared from view. Tony repapered a moment later.
“Now you” he called down, just as Steve was considering the small space and what his options truly were.
“Tony I –”
“Don’t even think it!” Tony cut him off with a snap. “Take it at a run. You’ll fit.”
Steve still doubted it but Tony’s voice was sharp and tight with urgency as he slapped a hand down loudly against the sill in demand.
“You promised!” Tony shouted and Steve backed up a few steps and jolted forward, jumping for the sill as Tony reached down for him. For one horrible lurching moment he imagined that he was simply going to drag Tony back inside with him, head first, but then there were hands grabbing at his arms and back. With a strength Steve wasn’t prepared for, Tony grunted and heaved, holding onto him tight as he yanked him up.
The hard edge of the sill pressed into his chest and punched the air from Steve’s lungs, glass cutting into his clothing and the vulnerable skin beneath it as he was dragged over the sill inch by inch. It was a tight fit and he did end up having to wrench his shoulder, but eventually he was spilling out onto the ground below.
Tony, Ian and Natacha collapsed like bowling pins around him, panting heavily, as Sara fell against him, laying her body over him like a shield and squeezing her arms around him tight. Steve struggled to catch his breath. The alley behind the building was dark, the smell of dirt and wet stone mixing with the smoke heavy in the air making his stomach roll.
He heard the sound of rioters chanting and making a ruckus somewhere close on the main street. They were shielded back here, but there was no telling for how long.
Shakily Steve got on his feet, lifting Sara up with him.
“Get up.” He urged the others. “We’ve got to move.”
As a group they hurried through the back alley’s as quickly as they could but even there they ran into others, proving they weren’t alone in the idea. There were other runners. Other hiders. Others whose faces were so full of fear they looked as if they were in rictus, the whites of their eyes flashing through the thick darkness at them. Natacha let out a squeal of shock behind him and Steve whirled, body tense and ready to drop Sara and rip apart whatever threat had made Tacha scream- but the person, the man, was already down. He lay slumped in the shadows, unconscious or dead. She’d tripped over him and now she stood there, staring at the misshapen lump at her feet.
“Tacha.” he urged her, and she blinked slowly and closed her mouth. Steve felt a small bit of relief when she clutched James closer to her side and scurried to catch up with them.
One, two, three- he counted their heads as they rushed past him toward the end of the ally.
Six, Tony and Maria hurried past him. Steve turned around, just one last check to make sure they weren’t being fallowed. Nothing. Forward into the black.
Carefully they made their way toward the residential side of the city. The focus that had wrapped itself around Steve steadying his heartbeat and numbing him to anything that wasn’t keeping them moving and taking down anything (or anyone) that got in their way.
The residential side wasn’t much better, aside from the mob not being as thick here. Most of the Jews had been evicted from this area and forced to move elsewhere already, but the homes of the few who remained were under siege. Furniture pulled out of houses dressed the sidewalks and here and there were prone bodies. Not many but enough.
The mob resembled less of a mob here and more of a festival gone slightly out of hand. There were looters everywhere, happily going through their neighbor’s possessions. Gleefully graffitiing their empty homes with slurs and happy to Ignore Steve and his family as they slunk through their midst.
There were less people here, but certainly more cars.
Steve snatched Ian’s shoulder, pulling him out of the way just in time to avoid an automobile careening around the corner. He caught a glimpse of a ghost like face behind the wheel and then the car was gone, disappearing into the black night.
Shepherding his family out of the way of the road he yelled for Tony, “Stay here!”
As he turned he felt a tug at the back of his jacket, but it was gone just as soon as he felt it like a phantom brush of fingers. Steve darted out into the street right in front of the automobile that was making its way towards them, swerving past looters. The automobile screeched to a halt, it’s tires screaming on pavement. Steve barely managed to dodge the hood of the auto running into his stomach. He held up his hands empty, palms out.
“Stop! Stop we have children!” He shouted desperately.
The automobile longed forward, tapping Steve in the rib cage. The man behind the wheel looked terrified at the sight of him, his eyes wide as he made a frantic jabbing motion with his hand for Steve to get out of the way. But there was no chance in hell Steve was going to move.
“God damn it! They’re children!”
The man swiped at the air again, accelerating the automobile forward. This time Steve could hear the strained call from inside. “Move, get out of the way –”
And Steve could see it in his eyes, that he would rather run Steve over in the street than stop for him, he braced for the hit; but the man let out a shout of surprise as the back of his door was suddenly yanked opened, swinging violently on its hinges.
“You really ought to get better locks,” Tony exclaimed in a rush, already dropping Maria into the backseat of the car. He didn’t know how he’d done it, or how it was possible, but in that moment a breathless laugh punched out of Steve’s chest. He was next to Tony a moment later, to help him load the other children – ignoring the furious protests of the driver.
He lifted Sara by her armpits and put her in, she let out a gasp of fright as she bounced on the seat from the force of Steve’s toss, and scrambled out of the way as Maria followed at the same speed for. Next came Artur, then Tacha and James.
“It’s too small!” James cried, struggling to maneuver out of the way for Tacha’s larger body, Maria let out a wail of pain as her brother’s knee jabbed into her side.
“Maria!” Steve called, trying to reach her.
“She’s alright, I see her da!” Ian said, squeezing himself in, elbows and knees going everywhere. James was right the little car was far too small. It didn’t stop him from practically throwing Tony in by his jacket, or Tony turning - banging his elbow into the driver's shoulder as he leaned over Ian to grab Steve by the shirt - to drag him inside until Steve was laying atop him, his head and shoulders wedged in between the driver’s seat and the woman in the passenger’s seat.
“There’s no more room!” The man whose auto they’d accosted yelled, jerking the car forward and tearing off down the street before Artur had even managed to wriggle far enough to drag the door shut behind Steve. The strangers’ eyes were wide as dinner plates, the little hair he had falling into his face.
They’d made it. It took Steve’s mind a moment to really accept it. They’d all made it in the car. They were quickly leaving more and more streets behind them, headed out of the city.
Still, the drive was no picnic. He almost would’ve preferred to stay on the streets. It was confined and cramped with nine of them. And the door kept unlatching and threatening to spilling Steve out onto the road. Artur was forced to make himself as small as possible and wriggle close enough to hold it shut with a white knuckled grip. All the while they feared who would get it in their minds to have a try at the automobile.
Even though he was armed and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would kill them before they had the chance to touch his family, it was still the longest drive of his life.
~*~*~T~*~*~
The shattering of shop windows, looting of stores and dwellings of Jews took place in the early hours of 10 November 1938.... In one of the Jewish sections an 18 year-old boy was hurled from a three-story window to land with both legs broken on a street littered with burning beds. The main streets of the city were a positive litter of shattered plate glass." - David Buffum, American Consul in Leipzig, November 1938.
Professor Johann Baptist Sieger’s little apartment was well furnished, with all the classic pieces of a man well into his bachelorhood. It might have been cozy were it not for the six dirty children huddled in his closet of a room, their clothes piled in the corner and the three equally dirty and weary adults strewn about the small living space.
Outside the city burned, streaks of pink and violet slashing across black velvet sky like an open wound.
The children had been checked for lasting injuries. Artur's knees had needed dee-pebbling from a hard fall. Tacha's head needed ice, James and Ian both had scrapes and cuts littered all over them but none that looked to need stitches. They were all fine, but Tony couldn’t seem to stop his hands from shaking regardless as he tended to them. Helpfully, Ian took over for Tony wiping off Maria's face and arms while she whimpered.
They were lucky. They had been so damn lucky. Lucky that Tony had been curious about the yelling outside, hadn’t tried to ignore it or drown it out by increasing the volume of the orchestra. Lucky that he’d gone to look and that he’d correctly guessed they’d target the Music Hall. One of the few places in Salzburg where Jews could still belong.
The men had burst inside. Ordered they hand over their Jews. Nigel told them to leave and one of the men had beat him with a broken chair leg. Accused him of being a Jew lover. Everyone had panicked, trying to get out as the intruders began to tear the place apart. Tony had run with the children, shielding them as best he could with his body when two men stepped in front of them, one armed with a lead pipe.
You. Where are you taking those children?
He’d tried to talk their way out. Told them that these were Major Rogers Children and that he was their tutor, but the men had not listened. They heard and saw only what they wanted.
You’re a lying Jewish pig. You and your brat.
They’d attacked. Beat at him with their weapons and torn a screaming Maria right from his arms. James and Artur had jumped on the back of the man attacking him, allowing Tony to get the upper hand. Natacha and Ian had flown at the other as soon as he’d grabbed Maria. The man had swung the pipe into Ian’s stomach screaming he was a Jew Lover. Natacha cut him with something sharp. Tony had not seen what, had not waited more than a second after the man had staggered back from the children in shock before tackling him, twisting the heavy piece of piping out of his grip and beating him with it until he didn’t move anymore.
Was he dead? Alive? Tony didn’t know. Couldn’t care.
There were so many ways it could have gone wrong. So many ways they could have died. They’d been lucky that Stefen had found them alive. Or at all.
~*~
A few hours later
Tony ignored the shake in his hands to reach for one of the apple slices that Professor Sieger had set out. Even in at a time like this, manners prevailed. He supposed there was a kind of comfort in that. Maybe Tony needed that right now as much as Sieger did.
Tart flavor burst over his tongue, shocking his senses momentarily before the taste turned to ash in his mouth. He kept working his jaw, grinding the fare into thick mush and swallowing by route. He hadn’t eaten in over twenty-four hours now. That seemed important.
Professor Sieger was pacing around the small apartment, hands clenching fitfully.
“Have you tried telephoning your-“ he started again. Tony cut him off unable to keep the weariness and irritation out of his voice.
“Not since half past one. The operators found it necessary to be at home if you can believe that. What do you think, was it the lateness of the hour or the smoke outside the window that did it?”
“That’s not-“ Professor Sieger amended, hands going in the air, flustered and visibly doing his best to hold back his own irritation. “It’s only that- I’m only thinking of the children. They should be back in their own beds. He ran a hand through his curly blond hair, so that his nervous swiping and all the soot in it nearly had it standing on end.
“It won’t be any better, Johann, making them go out in all that. We’re three floors up.” Inola Regenbogen said from her seat in the corner. The woman who had been in the car with the professor had barely moved since they’d all spilled into Sieger’s apartment, not even to help with the littlest ones. To be fair, Seiger had kept a distance as well.
Studying the woman’s face, Tony recognized her. He understood better now why the man had been so unwilling to stop, even if it meant striking Stefen right there in the road. It was one thing for a history professor with a love of music to be with seen with a musician who happened to be a Jew. It was another thing altogether to be seen by an officer rescuing her.
Sieger’s gaze flickered back over Fräulein Regenbogen. He nodded and asked her for what must have been the fourth time in the last half hour, if she was all right. Did she need anything? It was almost funny how he went back in forth between pretending not to know her and mother fussing like a worried mother.
Seiger’s eyes flickered nervously yet again to the door but he need not have worried. Stefen hadn’t thought about anything but the children. Was uninterested with anything outside of them. Even moving to phone charlotte had taken second place. Tony didn’t think that would change anytime soon.
The captain had only left to go downstairs to sit with the landlord, Hans, and a few other men from the apartment unit at the door when it sounded like one of the HJ-Patrols was getting closer.
Tony hadn’t gone with. Professor Sieger’s little glances at the bedroom door, where the children slept fitfully (if at all) had rooted him to the spot. There was so much a person did for love. Or out of fear.
He would know wouldn’t he? A manic burst of laughter bubbled up and bursting out of Tony. Sieger cast him an alarmed look and edged away from him. Tony reached for another apple slice and crunched down on it, giving himself something else (anything else) to focus on.
“This is all so horrible. Where were the police?” the professor wondered aloud. Around. Tony thought in answer but kept his silence.
“Inola, Dear, have another drink. You look faint.” Sieger passed her a cup, the brief scent of tea and whiskey filling Tony's senses. The professors square hand rested heavily on her shoulder for a moment before he clasped them behind his back to resume his pacing. Tony was going to go insane with the sound of it.
The rioting was like a tide going in and going out. One moment the street outside was quiet the next, someone had started a fight or broken a window and the wail of fire engines would shatter the stillness. They were doing everything they could, a neighboring tenant had assured them, to protect the homes and businesses of Good Germans from the flames engulfing they synagogues and other Jewish establishments.
Tony had always hated the quiet. Too often it was just the breath before terror.
Sieger kept up his pacing. Kept looking toward the door like he expected Stefen to come back kicking it down. He wasn't sure why he said it, but the words were coming out of his mouth before he had a chance to think.
“You don’t have to worry about him.”
If Tony hadn’t been looking for it he would have missed the way Sieger twitched before he jumped to defend himself.
“What- I don’t know what you mean?”
Tony stared at him. He knew that look, had seen it in the mirror a thousand times, on his father’s face, on his uncle’s face and the face of his grandparents. Sieger had already decided Stefen was to be feared and that made him someone to watch. The lesson was repeating itself right outside the window, that there wasn’t much people couldn’t bring themselves to do when they found a need to defend themselves.
“Still.” Tony said after a long moment of indecision. Did he show his hand (tell this man he was harboring more than one Jew)? Would it do any good?
“Don’t worry about him.”
Professor Sieger’s eyes narrowed and he fixed Tony with a disgusted look that only halfway masked the fear in his gaze.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about and I don’t like what you're insinuating. I’ve nothing to do with any of THAT.” He spat. “Fräulein Regenbogen and I have always been faithful citizens. Patriots.”
Weren’t they all, Tony thought with a dry twist of his mouth. Sieger eyed Tony distrustfully, resuming his pacing as he muttered, “The sooner all this calms down the better. You’ll see.”
Tony highly doubted that.
~*~
Three hours later and Tony finally managed to get a hold of Pepper. At first the woman was tense, a frantic edge to her voice but once she confirmed it really was him on the line and that the captain as well as the children were all safe and accounted for, she rallied, tone going as smooth and collected as it always was. It was the first thing to make Tony genuinely smile in days.
She didn’t stay on the phone long, not wishing to clog up the lines any more than they had to with so many people trying to connect with loved ones. She would send Harold with the car as soon as the roads cleared up. He rejected her attempt to call for the baroness. Tony didn't have the energy to try and convince Stefen to leave his post and certainly none to field comforting the man’s fiancé on his behalf.
If Stefen wanted to speak to her he could damn well do it himself. The baroness deserved to hear from her little cousins (soon to be her own children) and of course from her fiancé, but Tony couldn't bring himself to care about navigating that infuriating (and vaguely incestuous) tangle of relational ties; not when not even twenty-four hours ago a man had tried to brain him over the head with a pipe simply for looking somewhat Jewish. Not when they would do it again (again and again and again) until his brains were smeared across the pavement and there was nothing left of him.
Jews out.
“Tony.” Pepper’s voice called through the fog in his head. The way she said his name, like she knew. As if she might know every last thing battering around in his heart and his head in that moment. He had to bite his lip, a sob welling up in his throat. He was so tired of being afraid.
“Tony, be careful.”
Be careful. Whether she was talking directly to his deplorable affair with their employer, his somewhat Jewish looks, or simply just a heartfelt plea to make it home in one peace as the world crumbled around them he didn't know. Either way, it didn't' matter. He hung up and walked back upstairs.
~*~
It was another six hours before it died down enough that they could leave reasonably safely. They still had to be careful, as harsh voices and the sounds of another fight could still occasionally be heard. Tony and the children waited upstairs, rationing off what food Professor Sieger had in his pantry while Stefen stood sentinel at the door downstairs keeping an eye out for Harold with the car.
Artur had crawled into Tony’s lap at the start of the meal and now refused to be moved. Both he and Sara were clutching at parts of Tony’s shirt with dazed expressions.
In a chair opposite, Ian blinked slowly and lifted his head, his eyes moving to the door and his brow furrowing at it deeply. Fraulein Regenbogen had stepped out a few hours ago and had not returned. Tony was nearly positive she was hidden away somewhere, out of sight and out of mind. The soldier currently outside their door would have no reason to remember her or to think on her face. Most likely Sieger was doing his best to keep Stefen distracted and not wondering too much on her absence.
Wasted energy, but Tony wouldn't begrudge his paranoia.
Ian stirred, his eyes still focused on the door.
“Sit down,” Tony commanded without looking up. Ian aborted his movement, and then thought better of it. Tony could feel Artur shifting in his lap underneath to peer at his brother as he asked in voice small and thin with anxiety, “Where are you going?”
“I’m going to check on –“ Ian began to say.
“You’re really not,” Tony snapped, finally lifted his head. It felt like he was lifting bricks. “Sit down.”
To Tony's surprise Ian shot him a dirty look and kept for the door.
No!
He sat Artur down next to Sara and bolted after Ian, Artur’s screaming sob of protest ringing in his ears. He’d only made it halfway into the hall when Tony grabbed him by the collar and hauled him back.
“I’m not a little boy! I can help.” Ian yelled, kicking and pushing at Tony with surprising strength. The words stung, like acid thrown against the skin. Péter had said those very words. Péter who was gone. Who had been outside in that horror (because of Tony). Who could even now be crushed into the back of a cattle car on his way to anywhere, or lying in a bed of glass beneath some window.
“You’re a child!” Tony yanked with all his might, heard the boy’s collar tear and barely even registered the sound for what it was. He swung Ian around, gripping his shoulders punishingly as he shook him. “You’re a child and there’s not a god damn thing you can do!”
The door swung open, light flooding in from outside and pouring over their faces. Stefen stood there in the doorway, tense and ready with pistol cocked, drawn by the commotion.
“What’s going on? I heard screaming.”
Ian snapped his head around, pale tear streaked face lighting up in hope.
“I want to stand guard, with you.” Even if the light wasn’t blinding him and they had been closer Tony wasn't sure he would have seen any change in Stefan’s face. He didn't even frown.
“Back inside.” The Captain ordered, already turning back to the stairwell. Tony wanted to scream curses, everything inside him was so red and enflamed. What made Captain Rogers think it was that easy? Hadn’t he learned anything yet?
Ian yanked his way out of Tony’s loosened grip and stumbled toward his father, eyes all ablaze and mouth twisted up stubbornly.
“Da! Please, I –”
“Ian!” Ian froze as his father stalked toward him. Tony felt the hair on his arms raise and fought the urge to lean away, faced with the sheer intensity of Stefen’s gaze as he bore down on them. When he was toe to toe with Ian he spoke again, very lowly.
“Péter’s not here.” A simple sentence, but Stefen made it carry the weight of the world. “I need you. You and Tacha have to look out for the others.”
Ian shook his head franticly, shoulders beginning to shake.
“Please. Da please. I'm old enough. I won’t be scared. I-I won’t miss, I-"
Tony’s heart cracked in his chest as Stefen grabbed the trembling boy by the shoulders, forcing Ian still even as Ian continued stammering something unintelligible, eyes wide and pleading. With an eerie calmness Stefan took hold of his face, hands gentle but firm as they held him.
“Tacha needs you to have her back. I’m coming back. I am. I always am.”
Tony sucked in a harsh breath, his heart aching. Promise number one: never lie to them. He’d made the children very few promises but he remembered that one.
Stefen shouldn't promise things like that. Ian might believe him. Might think Stefen had a choice when he didn’t.
“Da?” Ian’s voice was fragile as he held on tightly to the hands holding his face.
“Ian.” Tony’s hands remembered gentleness as he touched Ian’s shoulder, and Ian looked at him eyes swimming. “Tacha really does need you. I’ll look out for your father.”
Stefen’s eyes met his, questioning and Tony met his stare, amending, “We’ll look out for each other.”
Stefen continued to stare at him for a long drawn out moment. Then he nodded, catching Ian’s eyes and jerking his head toward the door in silent command. Ian took a shuddered breath for courage and reluctantly moved back. He stopped just before he crossed the threshold, glancing over his shoulder uncertainly and biting his lip.
“I’ll call you if I need your help” Stefan assured him softy. Like hell he would. But Ian nodded and darted back inside. Tony closed the door behind him. There was a rustling behind him and he turned just in time for Stefen to toss him a small iron key. He held it in his hand for a moment thinking how he must have gotten it from Sieger and then turned and locked the door with a click.
~*~
An hour later and the street was finally quiet.
Stefen's shoulder was pressed against his as they stood in the stairway. Seiger had gone upstairs so it was only them against whatever came through the front door. He was certain Stefen had placed himself on point, somewhat in front on purpose. Another day he’d look back on this and mayhap find it endearing.
He could hear the stairwell creak with age it was so quiet. Stefen hadn’t moved a muscle in what felt like hours, but realistically Tony knew was probably only closer to one.
“How are your wounds?” Stefen asked gruffly, apropos of nothing and Tony shifted, turning to appraise him just as carefully as he found himself being appraised.
Stefen had left the house in full uniform, but now he was hatless, hair filthy with soot and curling around his temples sticky with dried sweat. His jacket was torn in several places and his skin was littered with small cuts and bruises.
All and all he hadn’t faired too badly for someone who’d fought through a mob. Compared to Tony, who was sure he was black and blue from the beating those men had tried to give him. Tony tasted the fear again in his mouth, stale and bitter. He was so god damn tired of being afraid.
Stefen reached one handed, fingers gently brushing the bruised swell of Tony’s cheek. Tony shivered and ran his tongue over the split in his lip, allowing the sting to ground him, heart thudding heavily inside his chest as he came to the precipice of a decision he hadn’t even known he was making until it was suddenly set before him.
“Dachau.” His voice rang in the silence. Blue eyes flicked to him and Stefen let his hand drop. Tony thought his stance couldn't get any tenser, but he’d been wrong.
“I’m the best for it, Cap and you know it.”
Stefen held his gaze for a moment and then it flicked away, back to the door. Dismissing the conversation just like that.
“No.”
Stiffening Tony pointed out, “I wasn't asking.”
“Yeah, well I’m telling.” Stefen bit back in reply. Tony balled his fists at his sides, trying to keep his temper in check.
“I’m not asking you.” He repeated. “I’m telling you because I...I’m your friend.”
He was close enough to see the storm brewing in Stefen’s eyes, the way the blue deepened at the word friend. Close enough to see, that even if he couldn’t say that other word aloud, friend was understood. Not exactly just as good, and not exactly better either. Just good, on its own. He hoped they’d always be friends, and he fully anticipated Stefen protecting his friends the best way he knew how.
“We talked about this Tony.”
“We did,” Tony acknowledged with a small nod. “And I’ve had time to reconsider it. You and Bucky don’t run the resistance. I fail to see why - when I approach them with a solid plan, connections with the church, ready means and time - why they would refuse my help.” He pointed out softly, because it wasn’t a fight, and his aim wasn’t to injure Stefen with the truth. Just for him to accept it. But it seemed to be a vain hope because Stefen growled low in his throat, ripping his gaze away from Tony, unable to keep looking him in the eye.
“I don’t- Tony stop it.” If Stefen had meant for the please that punched its way out of his throat to sound like a command, he missed the mark by a mile.
“No. You stop.” Tony insisted. There was a quiet confidence taking hold of him and he wondered if this was how Yinsen had felt, that day in the wood when he’d told Tony to run. Certain and calm even in the face of what might kill him. Too full for the sort of fear that debilitated, that allows the people you love to stay in harms way.
“You’re not going to Dachau. Tony, I can’t-”
Tony cut him off. “I am. Because I’m going to contact the others and offer myself and they are going to accept because they will see I. Am.The. most. Capable. There is no reason I shouldn’t go to Dachau.”
And then, because Tony couldn't help himself.
“I’m not playing hero,” he whispered and he was proud of the way his voice didn't betray him. Stefen’s gaze changed, eyes widening slightly in recognition of his own words. He opened his mouth, perhaps to offer some belated apology, another flimsy excuse, or worse still, repeat the accusation. Tony waved him silent, he didn't need to hear it, any of it. He was going to Dachau. Whether Stefen agreed to it or not. Whether Tony would have a home to come back to or not.
Stefen caught his hand, gripping it tightly, startling Tony for a moment.
“There’s every reason,” he whispered so fervently Tony shifted uneasily. “Tony, I did-“
Tony pulled his hand away, resisting the heat, the earnestness, his own damnable weakness.
“No reason good enough, Stefen.” He took a step back, gaining some much-needed distance. He wouldn’t be swayed. Not this time.
"We could have left.” Tony reminded him. There was no censure in it, not anymore. He’d wanted to go. Begged to go a few times. He realized now that it had been rooted in cowardice. “But you… you look out there and you see people you need to protect. Well, there are people I need to protect too.”
Stefen frowned, no doubt wondering who he thought he could help by going on this mission to Dachau. “Who-? Tony, if you are worried about your grandparents, you know I can-” But Tony cut him off again before Stefen could continue to shake his resolve, his courage. He had to get it out before he lost his nerve. If he didn't tell Stefen now he never would, and he needed to.
Tony realized with an ache so deep opening in his chest he was afraid he’d fall into it, that he needed to look the captain in the eye and know that Stefen saw him, all of him, and that if Stefen could not, his heart would not recover.
Look at me. Entreat me not to part from you.
“You saved the Leshnerr Twins.” Tony’s voice was raspy, the muscles in his throat tight with tension. Steve’s eyes were too blue. Too focused. Never close enough. “You saved them because it was the right thing to do, and because they are gypsies. Rom. Your people.”
Face clouded with confusion and apprehension Stefen reached for him slowly, his hand touching Tony’s shaking shoulder with excruciating gentleness and Tony flinched away from the touch. Couldn’t bare it just then.
“We’re the same you see, because I need to save my people. The Jews.” Stefen dropped the hand reaching for Tony, the blood drained from his face but Tony took another step backward. He’d hid the secret for so long that he found it laughably easy to keep going once the words had left his tongue. They were a shuddering breath crisp in his lungs after being held under water. Dizzying.
“You’re a Jew?” Stefen asked slowly, as if testing the words. Tony nodded and waited, but nothing else was forthcoming. Stefen said nothing, didn’t reach for him (why would he?) only continued to stare at Tony as if he were seeing him for the very first time. He’d gotten his wish after all, Tony thought with bitter amusement.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Stefen finally asked, his voice a desperate rasping sound that echoed up the empty stairwell. A stupid question with an obvious answer, what with the distance between them, that Tony didn’t dignify with an answer.
“I couldn’t save my mother or Yinsen.” he finished, resolute. “I couldn’t save any of those poor people last night, but I can do this. I will do this.”
Stefen’s jaw locked and he took an angry step forward and Tony tensed, muscles locking into place, bracing instinctively for a blow that didn’t come and Stefen jerked like he’d been struck instead and came to a sudden halt.
Stupid. He thought viciously. Of course Stefen hadn’t hit him. Stefen wasn’t like them. He knew that! He knew -
Tony’s heart leaped into his throat with fright as a horn blared outside. Before he knew what was happening Stefen had stepped in front of him, pushing him backward with one unyielding hand against his chest, the other already drawing his pistol.
“It’s probably Hogan, with the car,” Tony reminded them both over the pounding of blood in his eardrums.
“Upstairs. I’ll come get you if it’s safe.” Stefen ordered, eyes trained on the door and his tone leaving absolutely no room for argument. For once Tony didn’t feel like giving him one. He turned and left, praying that it really was just Harold, and that the nightmare of the last twenty-four hours was nearly over.
~~*~S~*~~
Steve couldn’t remember the last time he’d seen Natacha cry. She must have when her mother had died, he knew that logically. But no matter how hard he tried to remember, all that he recalled was her pale face and her skinny arms and legs drowning in a black dress. Her vibrant hair had been tamed into a severe bun because her mother wasn’t there to help her get the curls she liked and Virginia insisted that buns were more practical for a funeral.
Maybe she had cried that day and maybe she hadn’t, but the first thing she did when they finally pulled up to the villa and Frau Hogan was there, throwing open the door to rush out and meet them, was to burst into tears and run into the woman’s arms. There was some yelling and commotion from the rest of the children as they were set upon by Charlotte and the rest of the house staff, which quickly dissolved into tears and weepy accounts of their ordeal. The bravery that Steve had demanded from them reaching its limit now that they were home.
Virginia didn’t bother to wipe the tears streaming down her cheeks as she held Tacha’s face, fingers stroking over the girl’s grubby skin like it was precious porcelain. Steve didn’t try to hear what words the exchanged. His eyes moving methodically from one child to the next even as he carefully scrutinized their surroundings.
He barely acknowledged Charlotte as she appeared before him, fine lines of worry around her mouth and anguish in her eyes that betrayed her usual stoic appearance as she touched his arm gently before throwing her arms around him. He patted her back absently, but didn’t let himself become too distracted from keeping watch. It only took the enemy a moment to strike and there were so many places out here to hide.
Harold was saying something about how the bulk of the riots had not bothered to come out this far, but a few synagogues had been burned. A truck full of men had come by, looking for Jews but there were not many this far out in the country. Steve kept watch because he knew better than to relax. Refused to even. He had too much to protect.
As if pulled by the thought, Steve’s gaze landed on Tony - an unusually quiet presence standing in the middle of the hubbub, who was holding a silent teary-eyed Maria to his side and gently stroking her shoulder as they waited for the group to make its way indoors.
Tony must have felt Steve’s eyes on him because he turned his head slightly, but his gaze slid past Steve so easily that if Steve didn’t know him better he’d have been tempted to think Tony hadn’t noticed him at all.
Jaw tightening Steve resisted the urge to check the pocket of his jacket for his pistol. It was there. He was ready if those men came back. They were sitting targets out here.
“We need to get inside. Go. Quickly,” he ordered, and the murmur of voices died quickly, fear and apprehension creeping back in as the adults scrambled to comply, ushering the children along as quickly as they were able.
Stefen let the others pass him, taking rear guard. His eyes flicked away from scanning the grounds briefly when the sound of a shudder breath drew his attention to James, who had managed to make it over the doorstep where he’d frozen, staring into the house as if he didn’t recognize it. Big tears were rolling down his rounded cheeks and not the theatrical sort they’d all become used to. His shoulders began to shake when Steve laid a hand against his back. He turned and buried his face against Steve's jacket, shaking like a leaf, but managed to keep moving as Steve guided him the rest of the way inside. He struggled to be gentle with James and hoped he managed it; but Stefen couldn’t breathe an easy breath until they were all inside and Harold closed the door firmly behind them and bolted it. Even then, he could not let his guard down. That door wouldn’t hold back a mob.
~*~
Most of the staff hadn’t come into work that morning and what staff had come would have found it nearly impossible to keep the house running normally even if Steve had enough mind to make them try. Hammer was one of the ones who hadn’t shown up. Steve tried hard not to wonder if he’d been in the mob or hiding from it. It was just as well. Steve wasn’t sure he could survive trying to keep an eye on his children, Tony, Charlotte, The Hogans and Hammer all in one night.
He was barley managing to do it now. The children had gone terribly clingy, prone to break out into tears and distress at the thought of being separated from each other or if Steve was out of their sight for too long. But Tony couldn’t seem to sit still (damn him). They’d all be settled in one room where Stefen could watch them and all the entrances, he’d turn for a second and Tony would disappear out of his view and Steve would lose his breath.
He’d do a desperate count (one, three, …) and before he could finish he’d realize he couldn’t hear Tacha quietly murmuring to the youngest children anymore and the adrenaline would spike, panic creeping in until he found them (four, five, six). It played like a record track, going around and around again.
He could see that his behavior was putting the children on edge. He wasn’t any good for them like this, but he refused to leave them unprotected. Charlotte made a good effort to separate them and send him to bed for rest but there was no help for it, the minute Steve stepped out of the room (even just to talk to Virginia) one of them was calling for him in a frightened voice that had him back at their side in seconds.
Charlotte took charge in other ways, competently directing Virginia and Milthide in heating blankets to keep the children warm (the furnace was struggling with no one there to monitor feeding it) and heat water for washing. The women preoccupied, left Harold to mind the children (when he wasn’t roped into some form of labor too much for the women to handle on their own) and Tony to argue with Steve.
And argue they did. Tony didn’t take orders well on a good day, and today was anything but a good day. He wouldn’t stay still, was the problem, and Steve needed to know where he was. It should be obvious why, but Tony was irritable and snappish every time Steve tried to speak with him.
Tony got the bright idea to go see the abbot, yes right then and there because he insisted he needed to be doing something. Something other than surviving Steve supposed. He’d snapped something churlish and harsh when Steve finally had enough and demanded he stay put. The fight that followed was loud and heated, like it always was between them, only this time it was different too. Harsher. More teeth. Distance between them that left Steve feeling cold and urgent in a way there was no recourse for but to keep shouting and pushing himself into Tony’s space.
He might have eventually grabbed him to force him (sit there damn it, where I can see you) if not for Virginia – drawn by the shouting – inserting herself between them.
“Stop this, both of you! Think of the children,” was enough to get them to stop screaming at one another at least, Virginia’s fierce glare reprimanding him into silence before she rounded in on Tony. “And you. Whatever you think you can help by going back to the abbey right now, just put it right out of your head. We need Harold here and you’d find trouble long before you got there on foot. You’re no help to anyone Tony, getting yourself maimed or worse.”
Steve wanted to keep yelling all the reasons why Tony should do more than stick close. He was a target for god’s sake! A Jew. Hadn’t he seen! Had he forgotten already, the blows he’d suffered thanks to men who only suspected?! If anyone knew for sure… if any one of the staff got suspicious - for a wild moment, Steve’s thoughts raced through his staff, then flew to Charlotte’s maid, and then Charlotte herself. Neither had much love for Tony and Charlotte was already curious about him. Steve shuddered.
He’d been so careless. Selfish. Inconsiderate of anything besides his need for Tony and unwilling to heed Bucky’s warnings. Charlotte was clever and very good and manipulating circumstances to get the things she wanted. Not usually for malicious reasons, but when it came to matters of the heart… it changed people.
Now… Steve didn’t know what to do. How was he meant to keep Tony safe? Hell, he could barely get Tony to stay in the same room! Was he going to have to chain him to the furniture to keep him from endangering himself? Going to Dachau with the resistance, running off the way Péter had done…
Breathe. You have no right to stop now.
Steve forced the breathes to keep coming – in out – emptying his head of anything that wasn’t related to keeping the house safe. He couldn’t focus on the simmering anger he could feel coming from Tony. There wasn’t room.
You’re weak.
The hours crawled by, but night eventually came again, putting another day between themselves and the horror. It didn’t help. Bedtime came and Steve found himself facing the prospect of sending them all off to their separate bedrooms and he just – can’t – couldn’t stop the fear from creeping up, couldn’t stop thinking about how large the house was and how many places to hide, kept hearing screams in the night and smelling the smoke.
The little ones started crying. James howled that he didn’t want to go. Wasn’t tired. Wanted to sleep with Uncle Bucky, and then cried for Péter. Neither of whom were there for him. Brilliant in its own way. Clever boy.
Steve jerked when something touched his arm.
“Stefen...” Charlotte called his name again, like she’d been calling it before. “Stefen, I know how it feels, but they should be in their own beds. Things will not be normal again until they return to their routine and see that it is safe.”
“It’s not safe.” He retorted, too loud, flinching when he felt the children’s eyes widening on him.
“We are all here. We will all be watching them so it is safe.” Charlotte countered, calm and confident with a soft smile for the children before she returned her full focus to him, repeating. “They’re safe now, Darling.”
Steve disagreed. He couldn’t split himself into three persons to be in three separate rooms so obviously they were not safe! If there was an attack it would be harder to escape from the second floor. They should stay where they were. The sitting room was a more defensible position. His face must have spoken for him, because before he could grind out some sort of reply Virginia had clapped her hands together for the children’s attention and was gathering up a crying Maria and Artur, suggesting cheerfully that they all sleep in the music room as a compromise.
Steve allowed it to happen, because the music room had two exits (the main door and the serving door) and because Virginia didn’t give him much choice. He helped with the moving of mattresses and gathering of blankets as they got everyone settled into music room. Glad to have a plan of action again, finding each menial task soothing.
But somewhere between trading ruined clothes for nightshirts and tucking the children into bed, Steve’s skin prickled, the hair rising on the back of his neck with sudden realization. He couldn’t hear Tony. Virginia and Charlotte where there, Virginia stroking back James bangs and whispering to him softly as she tucked him in. Sara was sound asleep in Charlotte’s arms as she walked in between the makeshift beds, intent on finding an empty space for them. Maria was curled up with Artur, looking like a pair of conjoined twins.
No Tony. Where had he gone? Damn it! Logically Steve knew Tony couldn’t be far, it hadn’t been that long since he’d last seen him, he was most likely off seeing to personal needs, but it didn’t stop the anxiety from clawing at him to know where Tony had gone.
What if he’d been more injured than Steve thought and why hadn’t he checked? What if more men had come to demand Jews come out? What if he’d decided to go back to the abbey anyway, despite all their warnings? Where was he?! Steve needed to know and he didn’t know! They needed to all be together, but they weren’t, and Tony was…Tony was vulnerable, in so many ways, ways that Steve had not even considered before he knew - god damn it, where was he?!
Breathe. Think.
It took a quick casing of the house to realize that Tony must have retreated to his own room, the locked door a giveaway despite his refusal to answer any of Steve’s knocks.
Virginia looked up from where she lay with Harold as Steve reentered the music room to blink owlishly at him in question. In the few minutes he’d been gone it looked like the younger children had fallen asleep, likely driven there by sheer exhaustion. He tried for stealth, and judging by the look Virginia gave him only achieved the stealth of bull.
“Everything alright Captain?” she asked quietly, her voice nearly drowned out by Harold’s snore.
“I need the master key.”
She handed them over without a word, her eyes falling on James who was curled up in her arms, and silently stroking his back.
He shouldn’t leave them unprotected. The thought came, and Steve tore his eyes away from them and forced himself to rise. He had to find Tony. He wouldn’t be gone long because Tony was just in his room and Steve would bring him back and they would all be where they needed to be.
~*~
Tony’s door was still locked. From that moment in Hasenkamp’s office Steve had been wrapped in a cloud of red hot focus, it narrowed his vison, kept him calm when he wanted nothing more than to throw caution to the wind. That tight grip on his control was unraveling as he fumbled with the key, trying to jam it into the lock and not succeeding because of the unsteadiness of his hands.
“Tony!” he called out in warning (in need) holding his breath in the moment of silence that followed. And then finally, from inside he heard Tony snap.
“Go away.”
Steve slumped against the door like a puppet with cut strings. He braced a hand against the wood to hold himself up. Tony was here. But he wasn’t safe. Not yet. Grinding his teeth together Steve pushed himself back up.
“Tony, let me in.” He called out again, voice steadier but not feeling like his own.
There was a scraping sound, a chair moving and then Tony’s voice, closer this time.
“Is there something you need?”
You. Steve immediately thought. Just you, with me and the children. But he knew Tony’s games now, and he was in no mood to play them.
“Let me in?” He asked, weariness pitching his voice lower.
He could just use the key. That’s why he’d asked for it, to have access to Tony’s locked room for God’s sake, but now that he was there and he could hear Tony on the other end of the door he’d put between them, Steve couldn’t bring himself to open it. It seemed wrong somehow without Tony’s permission. A strange feeling to have perhaps, considering Steve was master of the house and all the other times he’d barged in on Tony in the music room or his workshop but the feeling rooted his feet to the spot nonetheless.
Was that the way it was going to be between them? Tony with his walls (his damn secrets and the lies he told to keep them) and Steve ramming them down only for Tony to retreat behind another?
The thought alone was hopeless.
“Tony, please.”
For a long moment it was silent in the hall, no response coming from within. Steve breathed deeply in and out, methodically focusing on each breath refusing to think on the possibility of that door not opening.
The click of the lock turning filled the hall like the toll of a bell and relief flooded through Steve’s whole body. Steve gripped the knob, turning it and opening the door slowly.
Tony had his back to the door, padding on bare feet back toward his desk table. He pulled the chair out from the table with his foot, arranging it behind a tin washtub set on the floor and sitting down with a tired grunt. The low lamp illuminated his tired face, making the purple bruises around his face appear all the darker. He looked tired and unkempt, his trousers rolled up above his ankles, his legs spread wide and feet firmly planted. The medical kit was open beside him on the table. There was a discarded wash towel and butterfly bandages spread out as if he’d thrown them down in aggravation. As Steve approached him he noticed that the water in the tub was stained pink.
Had he reopened a wound? Steve wondered, his gut clenching. The cut on his scalp had bled a lot, but then again, all head wounds did at first.
Despite his loose-limbed posture Steve wasn’t fool enough to think Tony was in any way relaxed. A bottle of Genever (most likely pinched from Bucky’s room) rested open on the table, no glass in sight. Steve approached Tony carefully, eyeing the nearly empty bottle. For once he actually hoped that Bucky’s efforts had gone into draining the bottle as much as Tony’s.
“What do you want, Captain?” Tony repeated. There was no slur, but plenty of bite.
Master of the house indeed. He could have been sitting on rubbish and made it seem like throne. Tony sounded more like an irritated Rom Baro than his children’s tutor. Not at all like the friend he had come to cherish. Not like the man that he-
Steve bit his tongue, willing the thought away not to invite more pain.
He made a gesture at Tony’s face and Tony lifted an eyebrow, waiting.
“Why are you here?” Steve unstuck his throat and asked, trying his best to keep from moving too quickly as he approached, remembering keenly the way Tony had flinched away from him in the stairwell. It was everything he could do not to touch him, not to crowd him, intent on making sure he was all right again.
Someone had cleaned his head wound and managed to put something of a bandage on it. Had Tony done it himself? Virginia? Had Steve? He could not recall the past hours as clearly as he wanted to but he pushed down the panic at not knowing (how could he let that happen?) shoving it far down to be examined later. Or never. He could go his whole life without acknowledging the insanity that lived under his skin. It was dangerous to look at and risk setting free.
“I could ask the same about you?” Tony replied after a long moment, head cocked as he considered Steve. The dim light made his eyes seem liquid. Or maybe that was the Genever. Steve just stared at him. Why was he here? It seemed too obvious to even state. He was where Tony was. Tony should know that, but he didn’t seem to as he huffed twisting in his seat to reach for the bottle.
“Sorry but I’m not in the mood for a fuck, Chavo.” Tony sneered, deliberately accenting the crass words until he sounded like some twisted version of Bucky, complete with the eyes that accused Steve of all kinds of idiocy and betrayal. Tony had never made a joke out of the roughness that sometimes-colored Steve’s speech. The distinctly rounded sounds and vocal patterns of the Rom. It stung, but he supposed he deserved a little viciousness, after what he’d said when Péter went missing… It felt like a different life now. But Steve remembered. He’d been vicious. Cruel. He hadn’t meant what he’d said… well most of it. But he hadn’t meant to hurt Tony, not really, only he had. In that moment he had, and he didn’t know how to keep breathing with the weight of guilt filling up his chest.
Tony shot him a calculating look before tipping the bottle to his lips, effectively dismissing him. Steve tightened his jaw. It wasn’t going to be that easy. Hatred or no hatred, Steve would keep Tony safe.
“You shouldn’t be alone.” He stated firmly. That he knew, down to the center off his being. Tony Stark should not be alone.
The monk barked out a humorless laugh, white teeth glinting.
“Nothing is as it ‘should be’ Cap,” he scoffed taking another deep swig from the bottle. Steve watch the liquid go down, tensing. Any other day this kind of behavior would have angered him but tonight it felt like a test.
“You shouldn’t be alone.” He repeated, coming closer, wanting to touch him, make sure he was real. He didn’t do much more than shift but Tony shot him a look, so raw with pain, that, Steve paused again. Alright, slower.
“May I see?” Steve gestured to the kit hopefully. He could fix that, if Tony would let him. These were wounds he could dress. Something he knew well how to do.
Tony stared at him, the silence stretching in a long undefinable moment before he leaned back in the creaking chair and opened his arms in mock invitation.
Wordlessly Steve grabbed the open kit and knelt down with it in hand. He knew he was pushing his luck, knelt practically between his legs, but Tony had invited him in and Steve wasn’t above taking advantage of the opening. It was an incredibly intimate position, but for the first time the proximity didn’t inspire the ever-present hum of want beneath Steve’s skin.
Bracketed between Tony’s legs, the heat he emanated warming Steve’s chilled skin through his clothing, just made him feel lighter in a strange way, easier to breathe. Safe. Connected. Home. Steve leaned down, inhaling shakily, and began to check the wound beneath the crusted bandage on Tony’s forehead. The cut wound all the way up into his hairline, though you could hardly see it now through the bruising that surrounded the area. It was thankfully not a very deep gash and not in need of stitches. The bruising on Tony’s face made it look worse than it was. He was so purple and blue, as if someone had taken offense to his face and tried to rip it off. Steve’s gut clenched tightly.
He’d come so close to- No! He wouldn’t think it.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked instead, dabbing gently around the gash with a towel soaked in alcohol. Tony winced, replying through his teeth, “Is that a real question?”
Steve took another deep breath, refusing to take the bait. It didn’t do much but buy him time, but it was time enough to collect himself for his next words.
“You let me take you to Berlin. You came and you, what? Tony what was your plan? Why did you let me do that? I put you in danger.”
“I was in just as much danger here in Salzburg.” Tony scoffed but he didn’t meet Steve’s eyes. He leaned away, putting distance between them and Steve held himself back from chasing after him.
“Berlin. Salzburg, what does it matter? It changes nothing.” Tony said and Steve jerked. How could he say that?
“It changes everything.”
“No. It changes nothing!” Tony insisted, aggravated, rising slightly in his chair as he glared up at Steve. “I’m still a Jew, whether I’m having dinner here or in Berlin. They’re still burning us out right here in Salzburg like we’re rats. I’m going, to stop them, because I must, and if you don’t want me in your house when I get back, that is fine I can -”
Steve grabbed his shoulders and held him down to keep him from getting up further out of the chair, and running away, because that’s what Tony did. He never stopped moving, and when he was upset with you he just moved all the faster. Run run as fast as you can. You can’t catch me I’m the – Steve growled, shaking his head to clear it, battling against the falling sensation that wanted to overwhelm him.
“Tony! What the hell are you talking about? Of course I wan’t you to come back. I don’t want you to go at all damn it!”
“You don’t want me to get shot by the Gestapo. That’s a far cry from wanting me here. I know the difference.” Tony spat in reply, his voice was hard, bitter even, but there was something tortured in his eyes. A kind of pleading that Steve wanted to obliterate and did not know how. There was no target here. Nothing to aim at.
“You’re a good man, and now you feel obligated to protect me. But I don’t want that. I never wanted that – yes, alright, maybe at first that was my intent, damn it. But things have changed! I won’t endanger you or your children anymore because you feel a duty. You’ll get hurt. You’ll all get-” Tony’s voice broke and a sob tore out of his mouth, pulled from deep within his chest. His hands darted out to catch Steve’s shirt as he swayed, holding on, holding himself up, holding tight even as he twisted his upper body away from him. Wrong. It was all wrong.
Stop. It all had to stop – it was the only thought in his head as he pulled Tony in, hand cupped behind his neck to hold him still as he took his mouth. Tony was stiff against him at first, jerking violently with shock, and wrenching his head in a halfhearted attempt at getting free even as his hands balled in Steve’s shirt and clutched tighter, his mouth opening under Steve’s with a moan pulled from deep in his chest.
He was so warm in Steve’s arms his body heat seeping through his clothes and warming the chill Steve hadn’t been able to shake even though they’d been indoors for hours. His hands were so strong, his grip fierce as his hands came up to hold Steve’s face and pull him close.
Steve tore his mouth away, panting for breath and Tony shuddered, swaying as if he might fall. Steve pulled him back in until their foreheads pressed together. His heart beating wildly against his ribs in tandem with Tony’s.
“Stefen?” Tony’s voice sounded weak and desperate with hope.
“You need this, then we will come up with a plan” Steve grit out, hands tightening where he held Tony despite the words that promised letting go. “But don’t talk about not coming back. You have to. I can’t –I can’t handle it if you don’t.”
“I want to. God, Stefen I do, but the children. If those men come back - they were like animals. They -” A desperate keen eeked out of Tony’s mouth, his hands clenching tighter as he nodded, tears rolling down his cheeks. Steve hitched himself closer, one hand sliding up and down Tony’s thigh, soothing, the dirty fabric catching on his palms.
“Then we face them together.” Steve promised. Swore it on his soul. “Tony I need you to come downstairs. I need – I need you where I can see you.”
The words poured from him before he had a chance to push them back in, slot them back into the folds of himself where they belonged. He wanted to choke them back but what would be the point? It was just a fact. It shouldn’t be so terrifying.
He’d come so close to losing Tony, just like he’d lost Péter. The children could have been hurt or worse, but instead Tony had been hurt, protecting Steve’s children when he could have run. Should have.
“I need you.” Steve whispered again because it was the truth.
Tony leaned his head back to blink slowly up at him. His nimble fingers had worked their way into Steve’s hair and were now holding his head steady. His eyes looked deeply into Steve’s, diving through the depths in search of what lay hidden inside, and a glimmer of that quicksilver smile appeared. Steve hadn’t known how much he needed to see it again until it was being given to him.
“I think I understand now.” Tony said softly and he leaned up pressing a dry chaste kiss to his lips. Steve held on tight.
Because he loved him.
The thought burned clearly in his mind, undeniably true and terrifying for that.
He loved this man. For his wit and humor. For his sarcastic wicked nature. Through the haze of panic and weariness that fogged his mind that truth continued to burn bright. He loved Tony. There was some poem wasn’t there?
‘How do I love thee?’
Peggy had loved the idea of counting endlessly the likeness of the one you loved. Would she think it so beautiful now, the way his head spun around in circles counting all the ways in which he loved Tony Stark? He didn’t know. Worse he didn’t care.
He couldn’t let him go. But Tony was right, he needed to protect his family. The Jews, his familia, how could Steve ask Tony not to fight for them?
He was holding Tony too tightly, though Tony didn’t protest. He did jerk back with a hiss of pain when Steve shifted, inadvertently rolling his forehead against the swollen tissue around his cut.
“What happened?” Steve asked, gently cupping Tony’s jaw and refocusing on the bruises littering Tony’s face. Tony had never said what happened, and now Steve needed to know like the question was a live wire under his skin.
“Two men, wanted to know which of them was the fairest. Frankly, I thought they were both ugly as sin.” Tony rubbed at Stefen’s arms, reminding him to loosen his grip. He flinched when Steve reached and his fingers found the corner of the largest bruise. “Ouch. As you can see, the pipe didn’t agree with me.”
Somebody had hit him with a pipe?! Steve thought with a jolt, his mind flashed to the pipe Tony had swung at his head when he’d broken through the door.
“Hey, stay with me Cap.” Tony cajoled, continuing the gentle motion of his hands rubbing over Steve’s skin. He was being distracting on purpose, purposefully making light of what he’d suffered just keep Steve grounded. Maybe he could feel it, how close to the edge Steve was. Hell he could probably see it, Steve wasn’t doing the best job hiding the insanity bubbling inside his head right now.
“I should have been there. I-” Steve began, anxiety spiking as his eyes flicked over his many wounds again.
“No, no, none of that. You were there. All of your incessant nagging about keeping my arms up in a brawl came in handy. The lollipop guild even got a few licks in. You taught us how to fight and then you came for us. Job well done soldier.”
Steve shuddered, closing his eyes against the image of his children trapped in the middle of that madness. Good licks gotten or otherwise. It’s still not safe. He’d left them too long. He needed -
His thoughts scatted like kicked marbles as Tony cradled his face once more and pressed in close so that they were slotted together, breathing in each other’s air. He felt Tony shiver despite the hot heat seeping in from where his chest, arms and groin pressed against Steve. Maybe it was the other way around. Maybe he was the one shivering and maybe it was his heat Tony was soaking up. Or maybe it was both, the chill deep in both their bones driving them close and closer together to share one continuous cycle of brightly burning heat. It was just proof wasn’t it? They were stronger together than apart.
“It’ll be alright.” He heard himself say, for the first-time half believing it could be true. His hand flittered over Tony’s neck, feeling the fluting pulse underneath his fragile skin. “Just take a deep breath. Stay with me, Stark.”
He’d held men before. Held them together when their insides were falling out (sometimes all too literally) and told them to keep breathing. He said it now, for them both, like he would for any of his men, but he couldn’t manage the delusion that he meant it in the same way.
Tony’s huff of laughter was watery but he nodded slowly in agreement. Good, Steve thought with relief. This was good. Now-
“We need to get back. The children –” Steve had already let go, the entirety of his focus shifting to getting down to the music room as quickly as possible. He had to go. Had to see. But Tony still held his hand and hadn’t budged forcing him to stop when their arms pulled tight.
“Need their sleep.” Tony interjected, squeezing his hand encouragingly. “Take a breath Stefen. There’s no reason to charge in there like bulls. We’ll go slow and steady and you’ll be glad you didn’t wake them unnecessarily when you see that they are fine where you left them.”
Steve knew he was right, but it didn’t stop the fear creeping up inside of him. Still he did as Tony asked, taking a few more deep breathes before nodding his readiness. Tony opened the door and Steve stepped over the threshold, holding himself back to let Tony catch up even though the urge to get to the music room was still pricking at his skin like needles. Tony brushed his hand briefly against his in encouragement but thankfully he did not force them to linger any longer than that.
~~*~T~*~~
November 11th Morning
The house felt quieter than a tomb to Tony as he walked into the dining room that morning, expecting to find the children already sat down for breakfast. They were all there. Dressed and ready for another day. If one didn't know any better, it would be hard to believe what they had been through just days before.
The table was too still and too full of glum faces. Artur was not chattering the way he usually did. Ian was staring listlessly into his bowl of oats while James leaned against his side; neither boy seeming to notice nor to care about their close proximity. Natacha was silently trying to spoon the hot oats into Sara's mouth, but the little girl kept shaking her head stubbornly until her sister gave up - no energy to fight. Maria sat beside her silent and glassy eyed, holding her spoon but not making any effort at eating. Tony's heart twisted painfully in his chest, taking in their state.
"Good morning Children," he greeted them gently, rethinking his plans to go and visit the abbot that morning. He knew why he had to take the mission, but there was still time before they had to be in Dachau. Maybe the children needed him more. He doubted very much that their father was capable right now of paying much attention to the state they were in, or would know what to do about it even if he was.
The bitter thought sat heavy in Tony's stomach and he grimaced. To be fair (and why did it always feel so important to be fair) Tony didn't have the first clue how to help them either. What did you even say after the things that they had witnessed. It's alright? It wasn’t. It won't happen again? It would. You'll be fine? Maybe they wouldn’t be.
There were no guarantees. The only way anyone could assure that something like what had happened that awful night didn't happen again, was if the Reich was taken down. Tony could help with that by going to Dachau and rescuing the resistance members before their execution, making sure the information they carried got into the right hands.
"We're not going to have lessons today I think," he announced to them as he took his usual seat. His announcement wasn't met with any enthusiasm or much acknowledgement at all. Only Artur bothered to look at him, the little boy nodding slightly as his shoulders drooped. He took a fast hitching breath like he might start sobbing and Tony tensed, relieved when no tears came.
Maybe he really should stay. Perhaps the return of routine would be helpful? Wasn’t that what people were always saying, that children required structure?
He was saved momentarily from his indecision as Bakhuizen strode into the room through the serving door, snow still clinging to his ulster coat and the fur lined hat he wore, fresh from travel.
"Uncle Bucky!" several voices cried out at once. James leaped up from his seat, toppling his chair over as he rushed to hug the weary looking man around the knees, clinging like a barnacle. Ian quietly righted the fallen chair and then joined his siblings as they gathered around their uncle.
Tony was glad to see Bucky back safe after the horror of the pogroms. They'd stretched all over the Reichland, from Salzburg to Berlin. Anything could have happened to him out there; but that just made Péter's absence at his side all the more noticeable and Tony's chest tightened with dread, certain that them not having entered together meant that Bucky had not been able to find him.
"There was a mob! They tried to get us when we were at the music hall but Tony made us hide in the cellar." James was recounting rapidly for Bucky, his hands clinging to the man's coat. " I didn't cry though. Well only a little bit but Ian cried too!"
Ian shot his brother a mildly irritated look but it lacked any real poison. Bucky stooped enough to hug James tight, pressing his nose into the boy's red lochs and inhaling deeply, as if he needed the scent of him.
"You smell like smoke." Natacha pointed out, quiet and low, one pale hand gripping his coat sleeve, her blue eyes fraught with worry.
"The whole city smells like smoke." Bucky grunted in answer and Natacha flinched. Bucky swiveled his hand to grasp her wrist, gentle but firm.
"Gula chava, I'm alright. I ran into some trouble, but it was nothing I can't handle, yeah?" He smiled at her confidently, prompting her to smile weakly in return and squeezed her hand once more before letting go. "I worried you’d get caught in that mess. Thank God you're all alright."
"What about Péter?" Natacha asked, almost on a whisper. "What about him?"
"Yes, when is Péter coming home?!" Artur demanded, lip jutting out in a teary eyed pout and Tony held his breath.
"He'll be back soon Chavo. Don't worry yourself about it." Bucky patted the boy's cheek before he looked up at Tony, the smile quickly bleeding out of his eyes, revealing his worry and exhaustion. "Where's Steve?"
~*~
He didn't learn it until after the children had finished their meal and Bucky had emerged from Stefen's office a few hours after, but Tony had been right. Bucky had not found Péter.
It was Charlotte who brought the news, and that just seemed like adding salt to injury.
Tony had just gotten the children settled into their rooms for a few quiet hours of play and was looking for Harold for a ride into town when he spotted the baroness sitting alone in the sitting room. The radio played a news report in the background. She had paper an and pen in her lap, clearly meant to be writing a letter but her eyes were focused somewhere distant. She looked deceptively small in the big backed chair, a delicate flower in an elegant day dress, plucked from the vine and deposited into the cold lonely room. Tony's steps faltered as he passed the parlor door, hating himself a little for the moment of empathy when she looked up, startled by the sound of his footsteps and locked eyes with him.
"Good morning Herr stark." She greeted him softly, her pink lips tilting toward a small smile. "Or is it afternoon already? I confess, I've lost track of the time."
"It's nearly noon." Tony answered, because it would have been rude not to. He could be civil.
"Are you going somewhere?” she asked, eyes flicking to the coat slung over his arm. "I have a letter I need dropped off at the post office if you're willing."
Tony nodded jerkily and she rose, quietly folding the letter into a cream colored envelope and scribbling an address on the front in her delicate handwriting. She crossed the room in a cloud of soft perfume to hand it to him and Tony took it wordlessly.
"I have several friends I thought might be of help in locating Péter. James says he bought three tickets for Poland at the station in Vienna. No one knows if he and his companions made it there." Cold creeped like ice through Tony's stomach, anger and bitterness fading to the background in the face of his worry. Worry mirrored on Charlottes face. He'd forgotten, perhaps in his selfishness, that Charlotte wasn't just some stranger their father intended to marry. She was their mother's cousin. True family.
"I'm sure he's on his way home. Traveling must be -" Tony's throat constricted, making it hard to continue what sounded like meaningless platitudes even to him. Péter had been outside in all of that. On the wind with no one to help or guide him during one of the bloodiest nights since war time. They’d given it a name for god’s sake.
"I'm sure he found someplace safe to wait things out. He's a clever boy. From good family." Charlotte amended hollowly, and Tony was sure she was thinking the same thing he was. A clever boy alone. With dark hair and dark eyes. A brave boy. A boy who did not stand idly by.
"He'll come back." Tony repeated for his own sake as much as hers. Charlotte smiled thinly at him.
"It should make me feel better hearing that from a man of God. Shouldn't it?" She chuckled under her breath, admitting wryly before she turned away, “Then again. I never found much comfort in religion."
~*~
There was an unexpected feeling of nostalgia for Tony as he walked onto the grounds of saint Péter's. He'd never been overly fond of the abbey but he had spent twenty years of his life behind its walls he reasoned as his feet crunched over the snow covering the cloister. Even on a cold day in early winter there were monks walking about, braving the wind and chill in their robes, looking like stalwart penguins as they walked to and fro in small clusters.
He saw more than a few curious glances and expressions of surprised recognition as he made his way toward the Abbots office. Nobody had expected him to return here, Tony thought with distant humor. He couldn't blame them for that assumption.
Tony recognized the face of Tiberius Stone among a cluster of brothers making their way toward the library and saw the way the man's eyes widened at the sight of him. He offered the monk a wordless salute as he marched by, and if there was a swagger in his step so be it. He was free of this place, he reminded himself. And a better man for it, no matter what people like Tiberius thought.
~*~
"Let me get this straight," Abbot Farkas leveled Tony with a hard look, one furious black brow raising skeptically as he regarded Tony carefully, who was pacing the length of his office. "You want my help infiltrating a prison camp, to liberate a pair of criminals?"
"They aren't criminals," Tony interjected. "Not any more than the brothers are criminal anyway. I know you organized their release -"
"Through the proper channels of diplomacy and negotiation with the third Reich." Farkas road over him, tapping a blunt finger against his oak desk, the sound echoing in the room. "Our negotiations with the Führer are on shaky ground as it is. Do you know how many clergymen are currently imprisoned at that camp?""
“Come on Nik, you and I both know the Führer is never going to bow to pressure from the Vatican. He's going to continue to give you table scraps until he feels he has enough power to tell you exactly where to shove all your pretense at piety. Haven't you heard? He's God's chosen leader. The new religion. He's only biding his time."
Farkas didn't respond to the tirade. He leaned back in his chair, and continued to observe Tony thoughtfully withy his one eye.
"You're reminding me a lot of your father right now," the abbot murmured and Tony glowered at him.
"Don’t think insulting me is going to distract me. You think you can win here by playing the system? You can't. You saw what they did. They hosed up the blood, but they’re still clearing the glass off the street.”
Tony swallowed his throat constricting as his heart throbbed painfully in his chest. It was a second before he could go on. “They’re all gone Farkas. I’m the last Jew left in Salzburg, all because my name is Stark. I think about them… How I sat in privilege, blinding myself to every sign that it was coming. It's blood on my hands. On all of us. I don’t fear God’s judgment. But I know I’m accountable for their fate either way.”
Farkas sighed, wiping a tired hand over his face.
"And now you sound like your mother. They always hoped you'd be the best of them you know."
Tony had no idea what to say to that and no intention of touching that statement with a ten-foot pole. He knew Farkas was making his decision so he just waited.
“I’ve got conditions” Farkas finally said, and that didn’t surprise Tony in the least.
“Such as?” he prompted and the abbot squared his shoulders, answering just as promptly.
“One: you bring Brother Banner with you when you leave and see that he makes it safely to Engelzell Abbey with the other brothers.”
Tony rolled his eyes rather than respond, because that was just the throw away condition and they both knew it. Tony would never have left Bruce to face the retaliation of the Gestapo after their heist.
“Secondly, I want you to take Barton with you.”
“Come again?” Tony blinked at the man in befuddlement. “Did I just hear you say that you want me to take a child on my treasonous mission to jail break a Nazi prison?
“Clinton is resourceful and far more practiced at this sort of thing than you Tony. The boy has led a harder life than you know.” Farkas insisted quietly, and Tony heard what he didn’t outright say. Clint was a child of the street who had learned to fight in order to survive. Not a pampered idealist playing at heroism like Tony.
His expression must have given away the bent of his thoughts because Farkas frowned disapprovingly as if he’d heard them.
“More to the point. I’d like you to secure a spot on whatever transport Captain Rogers has arranged for Richter and the others. I made Clinton’s brother a promise many years ago that when he came of age I’d see he made it back to his uncle in France. The way things are right now, I don’t know if he’ll have another chance.”
Tony swallowed the bitter anger that had swelled up within him; in the face of getting the boy out of Nazi reach and hopefully out of whatever spy game Farkas was entrenched in what choice did he have? They boy deserved a shot at a normal life, away from the madness.
“Alright.” Tony finally agreed. He wondered if they’d regret it. Just because a boy learned to fight, did that mean they had a right to ask him to?
"I've got a feeling I’m going to regret this." The abbot sighed, rising slowly from his chair. Tony followed him as Farkas left the room, eyebrows arching upward in silent surprise as he recognized the route the abbot was leading him on. It led towards the abbot’s private quarters, a place Tony had never been allowed to go before.
Tony had never been inside Farkas's rooms before though he was almost as intimate with the abbot’s office as he was the single room he'd shared with the other novices.
"You're actually going to let me in. I thought this place was off limits?" Tony commented as they reached the door and Farkas pinned him with his good eyes. "Not off limits, just did my best to keep it Stark free. A man needs to find his sanctuary somewhere."
Tony smirked.
"I’m beginning to think you really do care."
The abbot paid no attention to him, entering his bedroom in a swirl of dark robes and ushering Tony inside. He crossed the stone floor without lingering and opened a drawered in the wardrobe in the corner. Tony followed, peering over his shoulder curiously as Farkas sorted through a pile of boring folded clothing, but his mouth fell open in surprise when the abbot withdrew a pair of brilliant scarlet robes, unmistakably the dress of a cardinal.
"Do I even want to know why you have those?" he squeaked and Farkas gave him a stern look as he placed the folded garments within Tony's arms.
"No. I'm going to write to Cardinal Rossi and let him know that I am unable to accompany him to the prison until the following week. Unbeknown to anyone, you're going to get the bright idea to impersonate him and show up at the agreed time and place, with stolen papers. If you get caught we never had this conversation."
"Naturally,” Tony immediately agreed.
"How many extra robes will you need?" Farkas asked, frowning slightly when Tony held up three fingers. "There are only two brothers Rossi is expecting to collect. We claim that it was three, that is one thing. Five is a risk."
"From what I know about what they're doing at Dachau, it's a bigger risk to leave Leshnerr and Richter in the hands of the Nazis." Tony returned. His gaze sharpened on Nik when the abbot showed no surprise a or curiosity about his remark. He didn't so much as try to pull information out of Tony, and with Farkas that meant either he was playing some game to get Tony to volunteer it, or he already knew. Tony hedged his bets on the latter.
"Did you know about the experiments? " He asked, staring hard at Farkas. "Just how close are the Germans to creating the perfect soldier?"
Farkas steepled his fingers together, observing Tony stoically for a moment as if he were looking under his skin, before he decided to answer.
"Our intelligence has reported some small success with narcotics and stimulants. Their research into genetic mutation has yielded little besides agonizing death for their test subjects." Tony could hear the but in his tone before he said it. "But there was a small breakthrough a few months back. A pair of subjects who responded better than most, and survived the initial round of testing when no one had before... It's hard to even know what to tell you. The things we've heard defy all imagination. It's almost enough to make a man question where God is in any of it."
Tony shivered. He knew somehow, that Wanda and Pietro were the subjects he was talking about. The ones who had survived whatever Frankenstein experiment the Nazis had subjected them to, who had done things that made them believe that men could become something more than human.
"Do you actually believe in God?" Tony scoffed. "I've always wondered. Surely you of all people Nik know better than to believe that some divinity means to get in the way of how well we destroy one another?"
Farkas arched a dark brow at him speculatively, not rising to the bait.
"There's a lot in the book about gods and monsters, Antony. I’ve seen enough to know the monsters are real. Why not the gods?” Nik replied with a sort of nonchalance that didn’t suggest he was a holy abbot, confessing he had any sort of doubts about the existence of god. “I believe that there is a force of good that rises up to fight the battles that we can't fight on our own. That belief, that hope… men need that. Even men like you Stark.”
“And when there’s not? What happens when people inevitably realize their savior is a myth?” Tony challenged.
“There are few things with more power than a myth.” Farkas leveled him with an intense look, holding him in place with his stare. “It’s not the name, Stark, but the legend behind it. Hughard understood that. He told me he believed you would change the world. Change the war.”
The words floored Tony. He had no reply for them, unable to wrap his head around the fact that his father, the man who had constantly threatened to disinherit him and send him to the abbey in exile, had ever said such a thing about him. Tony, change the world? He’d been hiding in a cellar, terrified for his life like a cornered rat only days ago. No way Hughard had ever said anything like that about him, but he wouldn’t put it past Farkas to say he did. Just to manipulate him.
“I can understand why you might have a hard time believing that,” Farkas continued, once more seeming to read his mind. His voice remained soft and intent, his eyes boring deeply into Tony like they sought to burn the words on his soul.
“But from where I sit it looks like you’ve got all the tools to do it."
~*~
People need hope. Even men like you.
The abbot’s words had not left Tony as he left St Péter's abbey. The sun was just beginning to disappear behind the mountains, the streets were not as clogged as they usually were at this time of day. It could have been the empty shops and apartments looking like old men with sunken eyes, but it could just as easily have been the cold weather. There were more cars than people, zipping through the streets as they carried men home to their dinners. Only a few brave souls had ventured out on foot it seemed, and Tony was one of them.
He spotted a trio of boys on patrol, their uniforms standing out in the grey weather, their batons catching the dying light as they swung them idly, in an unspoken threat at odds with their good cheer and boisterous laughter. To think, only a few nights before he’d watched those same batons beat the backs of the innocent, driving them out of their homes like cattle and pushing others into death. Tony’s stomach wound tight with tension but he forced himself to continue his walk at a steady pace.
As Tony drew closer he recognized Harry Osborne and the Drake brothers. He wondered if Harry’s mother helped him wash the blood out of his uniform after that night or if he’d done it himself.
There were still police patrolling the streets quite heavily, and the boys in Hitler’s Youth were just as active in the aftermath as they had been in the pogrom. Now that the Jews were gone they were standing guard over the empty properties to fend off looters. Because of course, the state was concerned that any wealth left behind should be collected to strengthen the Reich.
Robert spotted him first and gave Tony a polite nod of recognition. Harry bid him good evening. Johan twisted to see who had caught the other’s attention and quickly gave up interest with a bored sneer when he recognized who it was.
Tony nodded stiffly in reply and continued on his way, in no mood to risk being stopped for a neighborly chat. He grit his teeth and wrapped his arms around himself to ward off the chill as he quickened his step.
They’re all gone. You’re the last one.
The thought whispered insidiously inside of his head like the snake must have whispered to Eve. And trust Farkas to get under his skin like this, have him thinking about and twisted up over old stories and myths that amounted to nothing.
There are few things more powerful in the world than a myth.
The words reverberated in time to the crunching of his footsteps. Salzburg’s streets were still covered in glass. Every step seemed to mock him.
Off you go. Off you go to Dachau.
Sneak in. Sneak out. Like a whisper. Like a god damn apology. All to rescue a handful of innocent men. And then what? What about all the others?
What about all the ones you could have saved?
He had to stop thinking about them. Had to accept that they were gone – many dead – and that his hands weren’t any cleaner than those boys with their batons. Not when he’d known and done nothing. No when he’d spent his whole life running away from it.
Tony stopped abruptly, his heart pounding behind his rib cage, glass grinding beneath his heels.
No more running.
Teeth gritted, a barely repressed snarl twisting his mouth, he knelt to the ground, balancing his weight on his heels as he crouched to pick up a small shard of glass from the surrounding particles. He held it in his hand, and thought deeply, plans running through his mind like quicksilver.
Steel. 234.55 mm in circumference. 74 mm in diameter. Thin but sturdy. Not steel? A lighter alloy. Yes. If it was lighter he could make a mesh. Better for fragmentation. Fragments. Glass. Combine with sulfur, glycerin, and ammonium nitrate.
Hughard had believed Tony could change the world. Apparently. But Tony would never have a chance to ask his father if what the abbot had said was true. It didn’t matter, he realized. It didn’t matter what Hughard Stark had believed or didn’t believe. What mattered was that Tony believed.
He could change the world. The war. He couldn’t save those poor people, but he could sure as hell avenge them.
The key was right there in his hand.
~*~*~*~
November 15th, 1938
They'd gone over the plan over and over again before Tony and Bucky set out for Dachau. They left Stefen and the family spreading the story that Tony was tending to a sick aunt and would be back within a week. Tony was to meet Bucky at the station in Munich where he was to take on the identity of the cardinal and Clint his assistant. Simple work. Not dangerous in the least, except for the fact that they could never be sure if any of their correspondence with the others involved had been intercepted, decoded, and some sort of trap set for them.
Stefen was loath to let Tony go, nearly changing his mind and insisting they call the whole thing off several times the night before he was to set out. In truth, Tony was loath to be let go. He was no less determined and no less sure that the mission was his duty, and he the best one to see it through - but he could not say he wasn’t frightened of death.
He was. But being alive could hold horrors not even death could match, and living with himself if he continued to do nothing was one of them.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, my heart shall fear no evil.
Every mile that stretched between home and Munich seemed to crawl by. Tony found himself emptying his head of all thought the only way he knew how, which was to focus on his memories.
Memory was a tricky thing. Tony could recall every verse from a book he hated just as clearly as he could recall the last time he'd seen Natacha genuinely smile.
October the twenty seventh, somewhere after eight in the evening. He'd taken her hand for a dance.
Only then his anxiety would intrude in the form of memories that refused to be pushed to the back of his mind.
The miles continued to crawl by.
~*~
Tony changed into his robes in the washroom of the station, covering their vibrant red with a dark coat as not to draw unwarranted attention to himself. The station seemed uncommonly busy for a morning in midweek. Everywhere he looked there were people with trunks, trying to leave the city. Many of them he noticed bore the star of David stitched upon their sleeves.
It appeared that after the Knight of Glass that those Jews who had not been arrested and taken away were trying to flee Germany all at once. Judging by the long lines and raised voices clogging the station with bodies and noise, they didn't appear to be having much success.
"Tony!" a familiar voice called from Tony's left. It was followed by a sharp whistle and Tony turned his head, finally catching sight of Clinton. He’d climbed on top of a wooden crate for a better view and was waving vigorously with one hand to catch Tony's attention. Bucky was standing beside him, looking jumpy. He made something like an apologetic grimace at the passerby who had turned to look and yanked Clint down from the crate.
With their hair neatly trimmed and slicked back, the both of them cleaned up nicer than Tony ever would have expected. Bucky had borrowed Hogan’s best coat, and looked the part of a distinguished driver, while Clinton could have given any of the dewy-eyed cloister boys Tony had met in his youth a run for their money. Neither of them looked at all like they’d spent the wee hours of the morning docking a boat on the muddy shores of the river amper, the way that Tony knew they had.
"You should start calling me Rossi, or better yet Cardinal." Tony scolded the little imp under his breath when he was certain he was close enough that no one else would overhear. "What if one of the police were watching?"
Bucky's eyes flickered toward the nearest armed officer, who was looking admittedly very bored watching the people hustle around him, each of them giving him a noticeably wide berth. Clinton laughed, all white teeth and wide smirk.
"Oi, that shithead fell asleep standin up six minutes ago. I've got my eye on all of ‘em, don't worry so much Tony."
“Let’s get moving.” Bucky growled as Tony opened his mouth to respond. He set off toward where a sleek Blitz truck was parked, leaving Tony and Clint to scramble behind him. Tony wondered how he’d explain Cardinal Rossi arriving in such a beast, but thought better of asking. Bucky wouldn’t answer, and Tony wasn't about to give him any more ammunition for grumbling. He’d think of something. Tony always thought of something.
When they reached the vehicle Tony paused, waiting, thrusting a hand out to grab Clint and hold him back as well. Bucky had already opened the driver’s door and climbed halfway inside when he noticed Tony and Clint weren’t moving.
“What’s the matter?” he snapped, eyes flicking about for unnoticed danger.
“A cardinal would never open his own door.” Tony pointed out solemnly and the other man’s brow twitched in irritation. Wordlessly he came around and yanked open the passenger side door.
“You’re too kind.” Tony thanked him with a small nod, ducking quickly inside in order to hide the small smile he couldn’t help as Bakhuizen grumbled under his breath and shut the door hard behind him.
Tony watched in the rearview as Clint hoisted himself up over the side and into the back, mouth spreading into a mischievous smirk when he caught Tony’s eye through the back window.
“Not a cheerful fellow, is he?” he called out, loudly enough to carry through the window.
“He grows on you.” Tony replied with a loose shrug. “like an exotic species of mold.”
“Alright, quit yammering and listen.” Bucky demanded as he slid inside the driver’s seat and yanked the door shut behind him. He popped open the glove compartment and fished around, finally drawing out an increasingly familiar set of hand drawn pistols.
“They won’t let me in with you, so one of you better be armed. I already know Stark shoots like a little girl. How about you, can you shoot?” Bucky ignored Tony’s offended huff altogether to question Clint bluntly. The boy rolled his eyes and tapped a finger bluntly on the glass.
Tony reached to flip the latch and pushed the window out as far as it would go on its hinges.
“I can hit a bullseye upside down with me eyes closed. Every time.” Clint replied, sticking his lean upper body through the open space.
Bucky arched his eyebrows incredulously, and looked to Tony, his expression disbelieving. Tony shrugged explaining, “He traveled with a circus before he came to the abbey.”
“You mean before Barney just dumped me there, like I was yesterday’s garbage?” Clint added sullenly, leaning further to snatch one of the pistols from Bucky’s offered hand.
“Careful with that! It’s loaded.” Bucky hissed.
“He wanted better for you.” Tony assured Clint by route, the same assurances he’d heard for more than half his life, and that he knew damn well wouldn’t make any real headway against the feeling of abandonment.
“You’re only sayen it. You don’t really know.” Clint grumbled. He pulled up his robe as if he were going to stuff the gun down his drawers and Tony waylaid him with a firm hand against his chest and a shake of his head.
"Here," he said, thrusting the small suitcase he’d brought against Clint’s chest, the boy’s arms coming up in instinctively to hold it. "They're going to check us for weapons and before you blow the family jewels try this. Trust me it is better."
"They're going to check your briefcase Stark." Bucky pointed out, impatience in the bark of his tone.
"Yes, and they'll find nothing but stacks of papers. The important thing is they'll never find this." Tony ran his fingers gently along the side s of the case, trailing over the decorative knobs that lined the side, searching for the right one. And there. He pressed the button hidden in plain sight and grinned as the font of the case flopped open, revealing the hidden compartment.
“Oi, that’s amazing.” Clint breathed in awe, fiddling with the sides of the case to find the button Tony had pushed. He quickly lost interest when it didn’t immediately present itself and began digging through the contents of the compartment. Tony had packed a few thin blankets, a torch, a few copper wires, a line of string soaked in fat and two unassuming steel balls with the name Stark engraved upon their sides. But predictably Clint’s eyes immediately locked on the most dangerous thing within the case, which was a small metal canister similarly engraved.
“What’s this?” Clint asked, bringing it close to his nose to sniff. “Why does it smell like bacon?”
"It's ingenuous, isn't it?” Tony asked, hoping to distract him as he gingerly plucked the metal can out of the boy’s hand. " I designed it myself. I'm calling it the Stark Safe. Of course, you can use it to carry any valuables, not just weapons."
You could also, coincidently, use it to carry the highly combustible explosives you’d made; but that was a selling point Tony felt it was better to leave out for the time being. No need for anyone to get nervous.
"It's going to be useless if we sit around in the open talking about it." Bucky snatched the little canister from Tony’s hand before he could stop him, his heart lurching in his chest as the other man tossed it unceremoniously back into the case and shut it with an angry click.
“Christ, be careful!” He barked and Bucky turned to him, jabbing a blunt finger painfully into his chest.
"You both stick to the plan alright? Or so help me! You could get us all killed if you try and take things into your own hands like you're always doing with Stevie."
Tony raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.
“I know the plan Bakhuizen, and I have no interest in -"
"Save it." Bucky interrupted with a growl, turning away from him to shove the key in the ignition and start the truck with a rumble. "I know you Stark. I'm not Stefen. I don't want any of your tricks on my watch."
"My tricks? I'm not sure at all what you mean. Elaborate." Tony murmured in reply, amused despite himself. Bucky was a lot more like Stefen than he was giving himself credit for. Both of them got rather endearingly grouchy when things didn't quite go their way.
But even as he thought it Bucky went stiff, and where Stefen would have taken the bait and continued to argue with him, Bucky just stared at him, his eyes glittering dangerously, like he was considering slitting his throat.
"You batt your eyelashes at me again, and I'll skin your eyelids. Slurp them with my soup.” Was all he said before turning his eyes back to the road. Tony swallowed thickly and followed suit, though he couldn’t help casting the man a nervous glance or two. Even Clint kept his mouth shut. Bucky's tells were much harder to read than Stefen's and he looked altogether too serious about that threat.
"It won't take us long to get there." Bucky broke the stiff silence after ten minutes or so, when the city finally gave way to hills and country roads. " You remember the plan?"
Tony resisted the urge to roll his eyes, but only just.
"As I've reminded you and Stefen both, what seems like dozens of times, I have an excellent talent for recall."
"I don’t care.” Bucky snapped. “If I had my way you’d have this plan drilled so far down in your head it’s deeper than instinct. Because when things go to shit and you're staring down a gun, instinct might be all you have. "
Huh. Tony observed the man with a considering eye. Bucky 's mouth pulled back in a grimace.
"What?" he groused. And there, Tony thought. He could see it now. The way he grit his teeth, and clenched and unclenched his hands around the steering wheel. It was so easily mistaken for temper, but it was just there to disguise how uncomfortable he was. But was it Tony’s proximity or the way in which Tony was staring at him? Perhaps both.
"It's just that, one could make the mistake of thinking you wanted me to survive this escapade unscathed. I'd have thought the exact opposite given all your glaring and snapping." Tony gestured to the whole of Bucky's person as an example and the ex-soldiers face darkened once more with irritation.
"Steve asked me to make sure you make it back, and that’s what I’m gonna do. Understand? Now quit stalling. Tell me the plan." he demanded and Tony sighed, expression stating that he rested his case.
Either way he complied and Bucky seemed content with that.
“The prisoners release was organized through Commandant Lachmann.” He began to recite. “We have papers from him but there will be a discrepancy between their copy and ours. The head of the political department, Unterstumfuhrer Grabnder, will be overseeing the hand off; but if he keeps to pattern he will have passed the task off to his henchman, Warden Johaness. Chief lieutenant Wolfe is his underman and also our man on the inside...”
~*~*~
Dachau was an intimidating complex by any stretch of the imagination. The camp sat alone, parked at the edge of the river and surrounded by tall stone walls with guard towers strategically placed so that visitors could be seen approaching from all sides. There were five buildings in the main part of the camp, the medical ward being the largest and most imposing of the bunch. There were bars on the window of the tall building. It was the only one who sported such a feature.
"Some prisoners get the idea that they can escape justice with a quick fall." The firm and low voice of Warden Johannes drew Tony's raptured gaze away from the medical ward.
He and Clint had been received at the front gates of the camp with minimal fanfare by a man who had introduced himself as the warden, along with Lieutenant Wolfe. The two soldiers flanking them had remained unintroduced.
Tony was still drinking in all there was to see of the camp, the squat buildings that made up the barracks – both those meant for officers and those meant for prisoners – and the administrative building perched at the top of the pile like a king upon a throne. Throughout the yard there were dozens of prisoners in striped prison uniforms, watched closely by armed Gestapo. They appeared to be on their way to work assignments or either just returning - their faces streaked with dirt and heavy with misery.
They were all of them thin and worn, carrying the fatigue brought on by weeks of hard labor with little food to support them.
Tony noticed with horror tightening his stomach, that some of them bore the unmistakable signs of torture. Bruises, poorly healed gashes and the like. Scars built upon scars.
Only a few of them looked up with any curiosity at the visitors who had entered the camp, even though Tony's scarlet robes stood out among the grey in the center of the yard like a beacon. He forced his eyes away from the faces of the prisoners and back to the warden.
"No one can escape God's justice," he said, meeting the man's steely grey gaze. He hoped to God he sounded as pious as he was sure the real Cardinal Rossi must. "Not even men like us."
"Indeed." the warden snarled. "You of course understand why we will need to search you before you come any further?"
"I’m a man of peace. Men who carry weapons made for war inevitably find themselves forced into fighting them," Tony dismissed the Warden's false concern with an impatient wave of his hand the way he'd seen Hughard do whenever any subject he didn't like came up.
“Nevertheless Cardinal. I insist.” The warden sneered.
"You'll be quick I hope? The smell here is unpleasant." Tony wrinkled his nose, and it wasn't all for show. A distinct odor of sickness and unwashed bodies surrounded them. "What are those poor wretches over there building?"
He pointed to the place where a long rectangular frame was being erected, cement poured for a floor. A group of men nearby were laying bricks, not far from a large cement mixer that was slowly churning as dirt and sediment was shoveled into its mouth by a team of weary men with shovels. Others were clearing the ground nearby - tilling up the soil and breaking up the rock underneath with rakes and pick axes to make way for another part of the structure. His eyes landed on a skinny young man as his axe rose and fell, up and down, each tired swing looking wearier than the last - and still the young man persisted at the urging of the Krippo.
"It's to house the new furnace. It takes a lot to heat a camp this size, and winters cold already bites us." The warden replied. It was a simple enough answer, and readily believable what with the soft snow drifting around them. This was the coldest November they'd experienced in quite a while.
But there was something secretive in the Wardens smile that gave Tony a chill, that had nothing to do with the sub temperatures outside.
The man was lying, Tony was sure, though he could not figure out why the Nazi's would lie about something so simple. But he could tell by the placement of the structure alone that its purpose, no matter how massive, was not to heat the rest of the camp.
"Right. Can we hurry this along?"
The warden gestured impatiently to Wolfe who stepped forward to begin searching their belongings. Clint relinquished his briefcase to the unnamed soldier who reached for it with a hard stare, and Tony nearly kicked him. Now was not the time for posturing.
Once given the all clear, Tony and Clint were led into the camp up to the administrative building. They were smirked at and jeered at by a few of the Krippo they passed but most, Tony noticed seemed fine to completely ignore them. A few nodded and lowered their eyes respectfully, hastily crossing themselves as if Tony were a scarlet vampire stalking their dark gloomy halls, and he did not know whether that relieved him or depressed him. Along the way they passed through a very noisy area full of barred cells holding men and women in plain clothes, yellow stars betraying that they were Jews. Some were siting in silence, drawing away in fear as the warden passed with his entourage, while others cried out in anger demanding to be released.
"Why are these people here?" Tony asked, pausing before a cell that contained a group of frightened individuals with dirty faces, including a young man cradling a girl in a bloodied nightgown.
"Jews, rounded up in the riots. They should be hanged for what they caused, but the Reich is merciful. If they hand over their properties to pay for the damage and leave Germany post haste, their crimes will be forgiven."
"And if not?" Tony asked tersely, furious to learn that the Jews were being blamed for that night.
"Well then Dachau will be their new home." The Warden smiled as if Tony had told a joke and gestured for them to keep moving. They were led to a small cramped office guarded by a single guard, who saluted the warden and was promptly dismissed. Once he’d opened the door Tony could see the room was sparse, nearly bare, clearly not a space regularly used. It was an obvious power move, but Tony was grateful for it. Having time to set it up was one of the biggest obstacles to his plan for the bomb.
There were two thin men with gaunt faces sitting in chairs opposite the lonely desk. Despite their peckish looks they both sprang to their feet at first sight of Tony and Clint, crossing themselves and folding trembling hands as they greeted him with such profound reverence Tony almost took a step backward.
“Your Eminence. Praise be to God for his mercy.” One of the men grabbed Tony’s hand, his thin chapped lips rubbing against the skin of his knuckles as tears fell from his eyes.
“Sit down!” The warden barked and the two prisoners jumped, scurrying back toward their chairs.
“As you can see Cardinal, the prisoners Henrick Vogel and Franz Albrect are being returned to you by the grace of his Excellency the Führer in good condition.” The warden began the proceedings in a bored tone, the brothers of Engelzell already forgotten as he moved behind the desk. “Do you have their papers?”
Tony looked at Clint who sprang into action, opening the suitcase and fishing around for the stamped documents the abbot had given them. He handed them over to the Warden who barely looked at them before reaching for the pen sitting in the inkwell on the desk and scratching his signature.
“I trust this will satisfy any remaining questions as to His Excellency’s devotion to God?”
“That all depends.” Tony replied with a delicate sniff, fighting for his equilibrium back. “I understand that Bruce Banner has been placed here as Chaplin.”
“That is so.” The warden acknowledged through clenched teeth.
“I will have an audience with him, to hear firsthand how he and the brothers from Engelzell have been treated here.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible.” The warden replied smoothly.
“I’m afraid I insist.” Tony replied just as smoothly in return. “Do you expect His Holiness simply to accept your word? Or the word of men who would say anything to appease their captors and assure their release?” Tony asked, looking toward the two silent men who were gazing at their hands but no doubt drinking in every word of the exchange.
“We’ve not executed or maimed any of the priests serving sentences here. Not since the orders came down.” The warden insisted, frustration lacing his tone.
“I would hear it from Brother Banner. A free man and a man of God.” Tony returned staunchly, holding the man’s stare.
Fire flashed through the Warden’s eyes and he opened his mouth – but at that moment, a harsh siren began to wail outside the single window, echoing like a distant shriek throughout the camp.
“What is that? What’s going on?!” Tony demanded, clutching dramatically at his chest like a frightened woman grasping her pearls as the Warden twisted sharply to get a look out the window and cursed.
"Wait here!" He commanded. "Keep guard Wolfe. If anything happens to them it’ll be on your head!”
He strode out the door in a rush, not waiting to see their reaction or hear any protest. Lt Wolfe. hovered outside the door, his rifle held loosely to his chest, until the warden had gone. As soon as he was out of sight, Tony got to work, snatching the briefcase from Clint’s hand and setting it carefully upon the bare desk.
"We must go. I arranged for some prisoners to access a weapons case. They have staged a coupe to buy you time.” Wolfe informed them quickly in a low voice.
“They’ll be subdued.” Tony pointed out, without looking up from his work carefully beginning to assemble the materials of the explosive.
“They accepted the risks. A chance at freedom is better than none.” Wolfe snapped back, brow furrowing as he took in what Tony was doing. “What is that?”
“This is a contingency plan, for when the poor fools you’ve convinced to use themselves as a diversion are all dead.”
And it was revenge, Tony thought privately. Swift brutal revenge in the form of thermal waves and fragments of glass.
Working as quickly as he could with such combustible materials Tony fed the rope through the top of the canister, sure to give it lots of lead. At the other end he set up the torch with the wires and the reinforced bulb, praying that his calculations were correct and it would create enough heat. Time would tell.
“Tony?” Clint prompted nervously from the door, a second before Wolfe hissed again for him to hurry.
“Done.” Tony exclaimed, hands shaking slightly in excitement as he jumped up. He followed the other four out the door, remembering the suitcase at the last moment and dashing back inside for it.
"Richter and Leshnerr are in the medical wing. Deurr should be feeling the effects of his unfortunate food poisoning by now.” Wolfe murmured out of the side of his mouth when Tony had caught up to them. “As soon as he arrives you need to go. You can’t waste time."
Lt. Wolfe led them quickly and unceremoniously out of the administrative building to the medical ward, the sounds of rapid gunfire and shouts coming from the yard beating at their heels. As Tony and Clint walked through the doors behind him, the smell of blood and other bodily fluids rushed to meet them like a toxic cloud. Tony immediately covered the lower half of his face with his hand to block out the stench.
There were men in white coats everywhere, presumably tending to the men who filled the beds, taking notes on their clipboards under the heavy lights. The mechanical hum of machinery was loud, even under the groans and moans of the patients who filled the ward.
It looked like a regular medical ward To Tony at first glance, but a second glance revealed the curious details that hinted at the truth. There were no nurses with soft gentle voices, no doctors rushing to the sides of those who groaned cries for help, and far too many catatonic eyes staring into nothing, as if they had already given up life and were only waiting for their bodies to notice.
A man in a doctor’s coat with glasses and a sharp nose looked up as they came toward him, impatience in his step.
"What is it? We're very busy here." He snapped, eyeing Tony and his scarlet clad figure with distaste. "Wolfe, you must tell the warden I don't have time for these distractions. It interrupts my work!"
Tony's gaze moved past the doctor and landed on a skinny young man, probably no older than twenty, who was strapped to a bed nearby, needles and tubes protruding from his skin while a bright blue liquid was pumped into his veins. He stared blankly back at Tony, either unseeing or not enough presence to care. Tony shivered.
What sort of work was this? He wanted to ask the doctor, whose badge pronounced him the head of the ward. This was not the work of healers.
"Apologies, Herr doctor, but my orders are to provide the cardinal an audience with the chaplain. I was told he is here." Wolfe replied and the head doctor bristled up.
"Yes, he is here. Another distraction to my work and a disruption to my ward. How am I to run a proper laboratory if I am not allowed access to my own specimens?"
"You were told the priests were not to be used as test subjects." Wolfe snapped back with a frown. "They were only to be treated by the chaplain until further notice."
"A mere monk?" the doctor sneered in reply, scoffing loudly. "It is insulting. How is my work to be taken seriously when a mere monk is given purview over me?"
"The priests are to be overseen by the chaplain until further word is given.” Wolfe repeated doggedly. “Those are our orders. You will obey them Herr Doctor or answer to the Commandment. Now where is the chaplain?"
The doctor scowled, jerking his head sharply. Tony followed the direction but almost missed Bruce, who was wearing one of the white lab coats instead of the robes Tony had seen him in every day for the greater part of two decades. Otherwise he was the same, a frumpy looking man of middle age whose hairline had begun to grey, and whose soft brown eyes were always young and sharp with intelligence.
He was standing at the bedside of a dark-skinned man along with two other men in lab coats. Tony was relieved to find that the trio fit the descriptions he’d been given of the two doctors, Leshnerr and Richter, as well as the prisoner Lucas Deurr.
Without waiting, Tony began making his way toward Bruce, Clint following closely at his heels.
“Brother Banner?” Tony tried to interject a question into his voice for appearances sake, but when Bruce looked up his worried eyes lightened with a smile. Tony smiled back.
“Your Eminence.”
Tony almost laughed outright. Bruce sounded like he was attempting to swallow an egg, using that title to address the same man he’d caught multiple times committing sodomy and a host of other sins.
“You look well enough. I will say that, but I would like to speak to you privately regarding how you’ve been treated since you’ve been stationed here.” Tony announced as planned and Bruce, going right along with it gently nodded.
“Of course. But forgive me Your Em – ” Tony bit back a grin as Bruce struggled and ultimately decided on going with what he must feel was the lesser of two evils. “Forgive me Cardinal Rossi, but I’ll only need a moment more to treat this patient. Perhaps we can speak here?”
“You won’t feel pressured?” Tony asked, eyeing the other two men hovering nearby with a skeptical glance.
“Dr. Leshnerr and Dr. Richter are good men.” Bruce explained simply and some of the tension in Tony’s shoulders eased. They had everyone they needed. All they were waiting for was -
On cue an alarm began to wail throughout the camp. Everyone within the ward seemed to freeze simultaneously, until the spell was broken by two soldiers banging through the doors carrying a limp body between them.
Despite the dark blood covering the figure and his agonized groan of pain, the soldiers were brusque as they unceremoniously dumped him upon the nearest available bed. As the remaining doctors rushed to his bedside like flies the soldiers barked frantic orders for Wolfe to follow them. There was a prisoner revolt breaking out in the yard.
“Time to go I think.” Clint murmured lowly and Tony couldn’t agree more. Bruce and Dr. Leshnerr already had Lucas propped up between them, the large man still not quite able to support all his own weight but doing his best. The small group made their way as quickly and unobtrusively toward the doors as possible, counting on the distraction of the new patients pouring in.
But as they passed the bed of the man who had been brought in Bruce went stiff and stopped walking.
"That's Yonas, the priest from Lenze. " Bruce muttered, completely abandoning all thoughts of escape as he rushed toward the man, only pausing long enough to carefully shift Lucas' weight onto Leshnerr. Richter started when the other doctor jabbed him rudely with his elbow, prompting him to lend a shoulder to help carry the big man.
“Who’s Yonas?” Clint asked even as Leshnerr demanded lowly through his gritted teeth to know what the hell Bruce thought he was doing.
"I’ll get him. We’ll meet you at the exit.” Tony waved at the others to go as he turned to go after Bruce. “Bruce, we don't have time.” He hissed at the other man's back as he strode over toward the commotion and the bleeding man on the bed.
"Move! This man is a priest," Tony heard him bark, more command in his voice than he'd ever imagined his gentle friend was capable of. "You're not supposed to touch the priests!"
Tony watched as Bruce slapped away the hands of the doctor trying to inject him with fluid.
"We thought your meeting with the cardinal was urgent?" the Chief Doctor scoffed, looking none too happy with Bruce’s interference. "Were we supposed to leave him to bleed on the floor until you returned?"
Bruce ignored the man as he reached for a tray of tools one of the others was holding, snatching up a pair of scissors which he promptly began to use to cut away the injured man's clothing.
"Hold him still!" he barked as the man groaned and twisted beneath his hands.
One of the doctors moved to comply but the chief doctor slapped a hand against his chest to stop him and growled, "No. There are other injured. My staff does not have time to waste on a dying man. "
The Chief doctor gestured sharply toward the door which was opening once more as more injured trickled in, quickly sinking the medical ward into true chaos. Chaos that was meant to give them time to slink away unnoticed.
"Brother Banner, I really must insist we conclude our business. The place is in the middle of a revolt." Tony urged him quietly.
“Then by all means, get yourself to safety Your Eminence.” Bruce growled, green eyes flashing at him with a resolution filled to the brim with rage. “But I’m not leaving. Not until I’ve done what I can!”
Tony clamped his mouth shut and Bruce lowered his head, resumed his work on the dying man. Wordlessly Tony stepped closer, grabbing the man’s jerking limbs as he attempted to thrash against the pain as Bruce pried open the wound and dug inside with a pair of tweezers. His hands quickly grew slick with blood as he began to pull bullet fragments from the bloody wound on the priest’s chest.
Holy Mary, pray for me
Saint Joseph, pray for me
Despite his labored breathing the wounded man fiercely muttered the prayer. As his breathes began to rattle, bleary brown eyes sliding past Bruce, who continued to work on him, his eyes locked with Tony’s. They were wet with tears and full of desperation. His mouth gaped open, twitching uselessly around words he no longer had breath for.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, assist me in my last agony,” Tony finished for him, voice shaking as the man’s eyes slipped closed.
Adonay shomerekha Adonaytsillekha `al-yadh yemiynekha. The sun shall not smite thee by day, nor the moon by night. Yomâm hashemesh lo'-yakkekkâhveyârêach ballâyelâh. The Lord shall guard thy going out and thy coming in, from this time forth and forever.
The words raced around and around Tony’s head like a storm, dragged up from somewhere deep in his soul until they felt like they’d burst out from behind his teeth in one long continuous shout.
“Tony!” Pain shot up Tony’s leg and he realized there were hands clenching his shoulder tightly, shaking him, a low voice barking urgently in his ears. Bruce. And the pain was on account of Clint kicking him hard in the shin.
“He’s gone.” Bruce informed him, gently but forcefully prying his hands away from where they were still holding the dead priest, still pressing down in an effort to keep him still. Bruce was giving him a strange look, full of sadness and pity that Tony didn’t understand.
“You lost your mind or somethin?” Clint questioned, pale brows arched dubiously. “What was that gibberish?”
Gibberish? Tony thought, before cold realization sunk in. He’d been praying. Praying out loud in Hebrew where anyone could hear, in the middle of a Nazi prison camp.
“Latin. And we have to go. Now!” He barked, and thankfully this time Bruce did not protest. But a man in a white doctor’s coat standing nearby did.
“Wait. Wait a moment.” He called out in the kind of tone that said he was thinking deeply and only seconds from raising an alarm. He reached out to grab Tony’s arm but Tony jerked sharply away, pinning him with as ferocious a glare as he could muster.
“You dare lay your hand on God’s servant?”
The doctor didn’t seem quelled, and Tony tasted one moment of genuine terror as the man opened his mouth to start yelling, when suddenly the room exploded with sound – a horrendous boom of sound pressing on his eardrums as the floor trembled and lurched beneath their feet, all of the lights flickering and diming at once as outside the windows one side of the Administrative building exploded outward in a brilliant plume of fire and smoke, pelting debris against the medical building.
The ward filled with screams as men ducked for cover. Something big came hurling through a nearby window in a shatter of glass.
“Oh God” Bruce gaped, ducking slightly to cover his head as glass rained down and the shriek of alarms throughout the camp intensified.
“Let’s go!” Tony barked, grasping the other man’s arm as he dragged him and Clint toward the exit, heart pounding in relief turned exhilaration.
~*~
Getting to the gate unencumbered was surprisingly easy. In the chaos following the explosion, nobody seemed to want to bother with Cardinal Rossi. They met up with the two doctors, Lucas Deurr and the brothers from Engelzell at the gate. All of them covered in the robes Tony had brought, waiting anxiously in front of the grim-faced gate Guard who was leveling a riffle threateningly at Leshnerr’s chest.
“What’s the delay here?” Tony demanded as he ran up, huffing for breath and trying to look suitably terrified and indignant.
“These men say they are with you Cardinal, but they don’t have papers.” The soldier at the gate explained, eyes flickering between Tony and the collection of robed men with bowed heads.
“Of course they are! They were to be released today.” Tony snapped, gesturing for the case which the man Lucas now held. Clint must have given it to him when he came back for Tony. Lucas quickly shuffled the case into his hands and Tony quickly rifled through it for the papers the warden had signed.
“Here! Now hurry up man, before we lose our lives in this godforsaken place!” he shoved the documents in the man’s face before his companion dutifully snatched them from Tony’s hand.
“Heads will roll if any harm comes to me!” he shrieked unnecessarily. The two soldiers examined the papers in a rush, their eyes continuously drawn back toward the camp where smoke and shouts continued to rise. Tony saw immediately the moment they decided not to risk delaying his exit with further questions.
The soldier waving the paper barked something harsh into his handheld transceiver and the gate began to creak open.
Outside the gate, Bucky was standing near the open door of the truck staring up at where smoke was rising above the prison walls.
“What the hell-” he began, but Tony cut him off, as he and the others more ran than walked through the opening gates as soon as there was space for them to do so.
“Driver go! Get us out of here!”
That seemed to snap Bucky out of it, his gaze locking on Tony and the others and doing a rapid count before he turned and leaped back into the driver’s seat of the truck. Tony ran around to the passenger’s side as the others piled into the open back.
They peeled away from the camp with a kick of dirt beneath the truck’s wheels. Bucky racing down the unpathed road like a bat out of hell.
Tony kept a fixed eye trained on the camp, growing smaller and smaller behind them, expecting Gestapo to come pouring out at any moment. Only when Dachau disappeared from view around a sharp bend did he allow himself to marginally relax.
In the back of the truck Clinton let out a whoop of victory and Tony’s eyes met Bucky’s in the driver’s seat briefly as they both grinned manically at each other. Had they really just done that?
“That explosion… holy shit. Was that you?” Bucky asked sounding dubious and hopeful all at once.
“Not bad for my first explosive, was it?” Tony grinned in answer.
He started when there was a violent thud against the back window, he turned to see that Clint had twisted halfway around, the rest of him still turned toward the road behind them where he was pointing emphatically with the hand not banging rapidly on the glass.
"Incoming! We got some fellas on our tail and they not happy!"
Tony immediately turned to look in the sideview mirror just in time to see an armored truck roar into view full of armed soldiers with rifles pointed in their direction. Oh damn. Damn damn damn damn -
His heart plummeted into his stomach just as the first few shots rang out, a bullet pinging against the side of the truck. There were more shots and Bucky shouted for the men in the back to duck just as the glass in the back window shattered noisily. Tony’s eyes flew to Bucky as the truck swerved violently, wondering desperately if he’d been shot, but a moment later Bucky righted them, cursing as he tried to see through the web of cracks in the windshield which now had a hole in the center.
"They're firing at us!" Dr. Richter cried out, sounding slightly panicked about it and Bucky, hands gripping tightly at the wheel as he pressed the gas to the floor hollered back, " Damn it, fire back at em!"
The pistol was in his suitcase, which Clint still had Tony thought wildly even as Bucky ordered him sharply to take the wheel. He didn’t give Tony any time to argue about it either, forcing the monk to lurch for it to keep them on the road as he wound his window down and twisted his torso to lean out it, heedless of the bullets whizzing past him to return fire.
“Damn it! Are you crazy?” Tony yelled, throat stinging as he grabbed the man’s shirt one handed and attempted to pull him back inside the safety of the truck. After a moment of resistance, Bucky slid back inside.
“I got one of the fuckers.” He growled, wresting the wheel away from Tony. “We need cover kid!”
Tony paled as he saw a flash of movement in the rearview. Behind him, Clint popped up from the back of the truck. With pistol pointed he let loose two rapid shots before dropping back down, quick as a mole back into its hole, blonde hair flashing and cheeks ruddy with exertion.
Miraculously, two men in the truck following them toppled off the back like sacks of flour and lay in the dirt unmoving. Unfortunately, their comrades didn't stop to check whether they still lived or not.
"Kid's a sharp shot. " Bucky confessed under his breath as if they weren’t in the middle of a life or death chase.
"Oi! We need to lose these guys. I've only got four more bullets." Clinton hollered, reaching through the gaping hole where the back window used to be to thump his hand poignantly against the back of their seat.
"I'm working on it!" Bucky hollered back.
"Work faster!" Clint returned, ducking as more bullets pinged against the truck.
"Stark! There's more ammunition in the glove compartment." Bucky yelled at Tony who immediately ducked down to get the blasted thing open, hands shaking as he rifled around until he felt a long rectangular box that rattled when he grasped it. He pulled it out, pausing only momentarily to wave it at Bucky who nodded in confirmation, before he reached back through the shattered window and handed the box to Leshnerr who was leaning up despite the gun fire to reach for it. He flinched hard when a shot punched through the metal wall of the truck, not far from where his arm was reaching. Erik cursed, the box dropping from his hands and spilling its contents all over the back of the truck.
"Oh fuck." Tony groaned. "We need to do something or we're all going to die."
"You’re probably right." Bucky agreed, swerving the truck so violently Tony was thrown against the passenger door. Christ! When he could right himself, he glanced quickly into the back of the truck, relieved to see that nobody had fallen out. The men in the back were all hunkered down, trying to make themselves as small as possible, but the soldiers chasing them were gaining ground and soon it wouldn't matter. They'd be sitting targets.
"You got any more tricks in that case of yours?" Bucky asked, a wild sort of roundness in his eye that made Tony think he was as close to panic as he ever got. He could commiserate. In answer Tony turned around, praying he wasn't about to be shot and shimmied his way through the shattered back window.
He heard the fire of guns over the roar of the wind as it flip his hair around his ears, as well as each ominous thud and ping as they struck dirt and grazed the sides of the truck. Bucky continued to swerve and Tony fell into the back of the truck bed, jarring his shoulder painfully as he landed.
"You alright Tony?" he heard Clint call, though the boy wisely stayed curled low in his corner, stomach pressed to the bed of the truck. Tony nodded wordlessly in answer and inched his way toward his suitcase, which thankfully hadn't been thrown out of the truck and was resting near Bruce's feet.
Every inch seemed to last a mile. He extended his arm as far as he could, grappling for the dark handle just as another shot rang out and the truck lurched dangerously. Bucky's cry of pain rang loudly in his ears, drowned out by the thudding of Tony’s own heart.
Shit! Tony thought, as the truck careened dangerously off of the dirt road. No more time to waste.
He yanked the case toward himself and fumbled for the secret knob, popping open the secret compartment as quickly as he could. He reached inside for one of the twin silver grenades. He hadn't wanted to use these, as they were designed with significantly less delay time than the bomb and therefor carried a much higher chance of blowing them all sky high if his engineering was even the slightest bit off - but since he was pretty sure that their driver had just been shot and they were about to crash in a fiery wreck (if they didn’t get shot through like swiss cheese before they crashed) well, here goes nothing.
Tony yanked off the safety clip and pulled the pin, carried by furious adrenaline and blind panic, not thinking about getting shot or falling from the truck as he rose up - just far enough to take aim, and throwing the damn thing before it could explode in his hand.
“Take cover!” he had just enough presence of mind to shout as he fell back down, hitting the truck bed hard just as the explosion blasted painfully in his ears. He threw his hands protectively over his head as dirt and debris rained down over them, shards of steel and glass striking the sides of the truck loudly.
Even crouched with his arms over his head, Tony felt fragments digging into his skin and heard a low hiss of pain come from the from the others. But there was nothing he could do about it as they continued to bump and lurch over the terrain until finally the truck began to slow and came to a jolting halt almost twenty yards from the road.
It was a moment or two before Tony could trust the stillness ringing in his ears enough to pry his eyes open. The two monks from Engelszell lay close together, one passed out and the other muttering prayers and crossing himself as he clutched his comrade tightly to him. Bruce was uncurling from where he'd thrown himself on top of Clint, blinking rapidly and peering around them cautiously. Lucas and Richter had been thrown up against the side of the truck, and Leshnerr was sitting up nearby, blinking through the trickle of blood oozing from a red gash on his forehead.
"Is everybody alright?" Erik asked through a harshly panted breath. He must not be too terribly injured then Tony thought, gratefully. He was the first to risk siting all the way up and looking back at the road. Nobody shot at him and when Tony was far enough up to see why, he nearly sagged in relief.
The truck full of soldiers was sticking half out of a deep crater, nothing but a burning ruin behind them where great plumes of dark smock was rising from the wreckage.
"God have mercy," Bruce gaped in awe, slowly rising behind Tony and staring at the sight with a dropped jaw. “What did you throw at them, a grenade?"
Precisely. Tony thought, but a groan from the inside the truck sent his heart racing again and he scrambled to hop out of the truck bed, calling Bucky's name.
"James? Damn it Bahkizen! Are you-" Tony grunted as he wrenched open the driver's door and Bucky nearly fell out on top of him.
"Jesus Stark! Warn a guy." Bucky cursed as his weight fell against Tony and the smaller man struggled to keep him from falling into the dirt. Tony could smell the blood before he could see it. It had stained the sleeve of Bucky’s right arm a slick maroon.
"Christ. You're heavy." Tony groaned. "Damn it stop fighting me! You've been shot."
"I've been worse," Bucky muttered, catching his feet finally, enough to support his own weight. Dr. Richter was there another moment later, batting Tony's hands aside to tear away Bucky's shirtsleeve and begin poking perfunctorily at the wound.
"Ouch. Shit! Why you are putting your damn fingers in it?!" Bucky screamed at him, jerking away from the doctor’s hands with a groan and a violent hiss of pain. Richter frowned disapprovingly.
"It looks like it went straight through. But we will need to clean it and-" The doctor tried to explain in the same tone one might use for the exceptionally slow.
"No time-" Bucky interjected, pushing Richter away with his good arm. "They're gonna be after us."
"I don’t think anyone survived the blast." Lucas commented from where he was leaning against the truck, with a tired jerk of his head toward the pile of burning metal behind them.
"Jesus." Bucky muttered as he got his first good look at it, the blood training from his face. Tony hoped it was from the sight of the wreckage and not from the wound still oozing blood on his arm. Leshnerr quietly reached down to tear off a strip of the thin prison issue pants he wore beneath his monks robe and began wrapping it around the wound.
"Be still." he ordered brusquely when Bucky flinched.
"I saw plenty of grenades back in the war," the ex-soldier grunted, focusing once more on Tony, his dark brows narrowing. "But nothin with a blast like that."
"That's because up until a few days ago that one hadn't been invented." Tony replied quietly, not feeling the pride or any of the smugness he'd expected to feel in that moment. There was however a bone deep satisfaction to looking at that crater. He didn't care that somewhere in that blaze there were bodies - humans who had lost their lives. Those people weren't men to him. Not anymore.
“Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? Maybe if we’d had weapons like that, things might have turned out differently for us in the Great War," Richter mused aloud, staring thoughtfully at Tony.
Hughard believed you could change the world. Change the war.
"We need to keep moving," Clinton called, and Tony looked over to find him standing in the bed of the truck, collecting fallen bullet casings and stuffing them into his pockets. "They’ll send more trucks when those guys don’t answer their radio.”
“We’ll never make it to the boat.” Tony realized, frustration mounting. “Not if we’ve got gestapo dogging our every step.
"How many more of those grenades you got?” Bucky asked him.
“Just the one.” He answered grimly and Bucky nodded, his eyes narrowing speculatively on their truck.
“I think I know a way to throw them off our scent.”
~*~
They made it to the river on foot, hoofing about two miles north to the place where the boat was stashed without running into further trouble. If they were lucky, whoever had been sent out after them had come across the two burning wrecks and assumed them all dead. The Avenger had been unloaded on the river bank, mostly hidden by a crop of thick trees, half in the water and the other half strategically beached and roped to a nail driven deeply into the ground to prevent her floating away.
As Bruce set about untying her, Tony began clearing away the bramble and netting Bucky had used to hide her from view, grunting with the effort. The others helped, including Bucky who stubbornly insisted on moving his arm despite several entreaties to stay back by the others. Tony worried about the wan color he’d taken on by the time they'd finished.
The Avenger was a beautiful vessel if Tony didn't say so himself. Steel boned and constructed of his very own high strength plywood. Her cherry wood gleamed brightly in the pale winter sun, her name standing out boldly in gold script. She had two long benches in the back where six men could sit comfortably with moderate leg room, and an enclosed cockpit large enough for two to man the controls.
When she was clear, the others climbed aboard while Lucas volunteered to help Tony push her the rest of the way into the water.
The river water was chillingly cold, but Tony just gritted his teeth against the icy chill and pushed with all his might, doing his best not to slip and fall face forward into the icy flow.
"There she goes." Richter called from the deck when the last bit of resistance suddenly gave way and nearly sent Tony and Lucas toppling. They caught each other before they could fall over and get swept away by the current.
"Grab on!" Bruce called from above, leaning over the edge of the boat along with Leshnerr and Brother Vogel to pull them both aboard.
Tony fell onto the deck, half soaked and shivering, panting for breath.
"I have to admit." Dr. Leshnerr panted somewhere above him. "This is a better outfitted rescue than I’d imagined."
"Isn’t she wicked? Tony built her." Clint informed him proudly and Tony felt several pairs of eyes land on him at once in quiet speculation.
"You're not a cardinal, are you?" Brother Albrecht asked in a somewhat hysterical tone and Tony found the adrenaline leaving his body in a rush, leaving nothing behind but bone deep exhaustion and the hysterical urge to laugh. Bruce started first, giggling lowly as a he dragged a tired hand down his face.
"No. No he's not."
~*~
They'd been on the water for about four hours to Tony's estimation. It was colder now than it had been walking through the fields, but maybe that was just because his robes were half soaked. Tony kept the boat steady as she traveled up the Amper towards the Isar, a mostly steady journey through quiet hills and barren German fields. It was good in some respects that they were making this journey in the early part of winter, as there were few farmers, fisherman or any of the like still wandering about to spot them. Still, those first few hours he stayed on edge, expecting to spot a patrol on one of the roads they passed. But after a while Tony began to notice himself preoccupied by other things, mainly the cold in his hands and the hunger beginning too twist through his belly.
There was a polite rap of knuckles to warn before brother Vogel ducked his head inside the door and entered the cockpit.
"We thought you might like some dinner.” He offered Tony a small crust of bread and a cut of cheese that must have come from the rations Bucky had stocked. There was a small ice box built beneath one of the seats in the back. Tony had tried hard to think of everything they'd need. It was a fourteen-hour journey to the abbey, and days beyond that to Belgium.
Thanks." he muttered accepting the offering gratefully. He winced as he pried his numb fingers away from the steering wheel. The warmth of his breath stung the chilled flesh as he raised the bread to his lips, but he ignored the discomfort in favor of filling his belly. He'd been too anxious to eat that morning and he was regretting t now.
"I heard your companions call you Stark. Is that your real name?"
The quiet question from the thin mousey haired monk took Tony by surprise. He stilled, a bite of cheese halfway to his lips, before he had enough wits to shrug an answer.
"Better you don't know that. We could still be caught."
"I doubt they'd bother taking us alive if they caught up to us." the monk replied, less fear than Tony expected in the observation. "Did you know? There were men imprisoned in there whose only crime was that they were feeble in the mind… One morning we woke up, and they were all gone. Those men who call themselves healers, they bragged how they would be taken to another facility and euthanized. I saw how little they cared for life in Dachau.”
The monk finished quietly before he quietly left the cockpit, leaving Tony alone with his thoughts. The food was beginning to taste like ash in Tony's mouth but he kept eating.
The food helped to energize Tony at first but about an hour or so later the cold had seeped into his bones again, bringing with it a heavy exhaustion that begged for sleep. He found himself nodding once, then twice, jerking back to alertness at the sound of feet scuffing in the doorframe of the cockpit as Bucky ducked inside.
His injured arm had been wrapped tightly in fresh medical bandages and no blood looked to be seeping through. He probably needed stiches, but needle and thread hadn't been among their supplies.
"You look dead on your feet." Bakhuizen commented, brown eyes appraising Tony as closely as Tony was appraising him. Tony arched a wry eyebrow and snorted softly in reply.
"Are you the pot or the kettle in this situation?" he asked tiredly and Bucky's mouth twisted in a tired grimace of a smile.
"I need a sharp shot out there. My good arm is bumb so I'm better driving." Bucky wiggled his injured limb just the slightest bit for emphasis and Tony frowned, unsure if Bucky was being completely honest about that.
"You can shoot with your left hand." Tony pointed out, daring the other man to deny it. "I've seen you."
"And you know how to handle a weapon.” Bucky returned, eyes narrowing pointedly at Tony as he leaned his weight back against the doorframe. “That day we went shooting. Why’d you pretend you didn’t like guns?”
“I don’t like guns.”
“So you just prefer bombs?” Bucky questioned, a slight jeer to his tone and Tony stiffened.
“I prefer whatever stops people from getting hurt the fastest.” He snapped. “Forgive me for not feeling all that confident that putting a rifle into the hands of Stefen’s eight-year-old son would achieve that outcome.”
Bucky didn’t offer any reply to that and silence descended once more, the hum of the boats engine just slightly louder than the slap of water against its sides as the Avenger sliced through the current.
“Stefen ordered you to take care of me, didn’t he?” Tony finally just asked, because he wasn’t naive, and he wasn’t about to put up with Bucky coddling him on Stefen’s orders – especially when he himself was injured and needed the rest far more than Tony did.
“Course he did.” Bucky replied with a grunt, making it sound like he thought Tony was stupid for asking. Maybe he was.
“Well you can tell him –” Tony began but he stopped short when Bucky made a rude hacking sound like he intended to spit on the floor.
“I aint telling Stevie shit.” The taller man’s dark eyes glinted with an odd mix of challenge and mirth as he grinned at Tony, all teeth. “I’ve known that idiot since before he could walk. First word he ever said to me was no, when I stopped him crawling too close to the campfire.”
Bucky’s smile turned just a hint nostalgic as he looked out the window, turning over an old memory. Tony found it easy to picture the two of them and their caravan, Stefen toddling about on unsteady legs with Bucky at his heels. He could see the stars the way Stefen had described them in Berlin, see the all the colors and the faces of the uncles and their families – smell dinner bubbling in the big pot over the fire. And then Bucky’s quiet voice drew him away from the fantasy, away from those boys who had no idea how time would change them.
“I’ve spent weeks trying to figure out what to make of you… Doesn’t really matter though. You’re just another fire, Stark. He might need you, but that doesn’t mean I’m about to let him get burned.”
Tony frowned, grinding his teeth.
“I would never hurt him. I don’t know how to make you believe that.”
Bucky pushed away from the door and wordlessly stepped into Tony’s space, handing over his pistol even as he used his bulkier frame to edge Tony away from the steering wheel.
“Get rest.”
Tony sighed, defeated, and slowly dragged his exhausted body from the cockpit. He shivered, as the cold wind no longer buffered by the walls of the cockpit sliced through his coat.
Bruce and the others were huddled tightly together under the thin blankets Tony’d packed, forming a tight circle around a gas lamp for heat. He very much doubted he’d be getting much rest.
~*~
It was early in the morning, too early for sunrise and too late to truly be called the dead of night when Clint shook Tony awake. At first he tensed, heart racing in anticipation of another German patrol. But darkness was still and quiet but for the low hum of the boat's engine and the excited murmur and shuffle of bodies as the brothers of Engelszell pointed out a welcoming glow glinting through the trees.
They’d made it, Tony realized as the abbey came into view. He slowly sat up, body numb with cold and still stiff and sluggish.
Engelszell abbey consisted of one rectangular building, a modest but beautifully constructed steeple a simple steeple, and a long short rectangular building at near the back where Tony knew the monks would live and study. The whole campus sat at the bottom of the tree covered hills, bare limbed and covered lightly with freshly fallen snow, blue mountains rising above the reach of their tallest branches. It was surrounded by snow covered pasture that ran right up to the river, where a small well-worn dock had been built for the brothers to fish.
There was a single man waiting on the dock with a lantern held high. He was wrapped in a heavy winter coat, his white robes peeking out from under his coat hem and dragging in the snow.
"It's brother Simone," brother Vogel exclaimed in an excited whisper that was instantly and harshly shushed by Richter.
"We don't know. It could be a trap. We don't know if the Gestapo got here before us."
The atmosphere intensified as their vessel drew closer to the dock and the man waiting there. As Bucky slowed them down and they pulled adjacent to it, Bruce cleared his throat. Brother Simone stared back at him, widening his eyes at the discovery of the boats other occupants.
"Brother Banner?" he asked tentatively, his breath pluming in front of him. "We received a letter to expect you... it is an unusual mode of travel... It's been hours. We'd nearly given up hope."
"Yes, I'm the one who wrote you. We ran into some unexpected trouble." Bruce explained slowly, none of the men in the boat moving. Bucky's hands were poised on the boats controls. Ready at a moment’s notice to gun the engine if they should need to flee.
Tony tried to surreptitiously reach for the pistol tucked against his chest without drawing anyone's notice. He knew Clint would be doing the same.
"Oh dear... you'd better come inside then. We've not seen the Gestapo since the arrests, but I'm sure they won't be long." Brother Simone beckoned. And Tony wasn't at all sure if they could trust it, but there was little choice and what choice there was, was immediately taken out of their hands as the brothers Vogel and Albrecht leaned over the edge of the boat to reach for an old frayed rope tied to the end of the dock in order to pull the boat close enough to exit.
Tony and the others shared a wary look. Leshnerr shrugged lightly under the blanket he had wrapped over his shoulders. Tony agreed with the wordless sentiment. If they were going to be surrounded by Gestapo there wasn't much they could do about it now.
The brothers clamored their way out of the boat onto the dock with the help of Brother Simone, finding renewed strength by the sight of him and a familiar face, crying out joyfully as they hugged their comrade and praised god for their safe return. Bruce followed them more sedately, his limbs stiff with cold but eagerness to get inside the abbey and close to a real fire energizing him. Tony hesitated before following after, turning to shrug out of the blanket Clint must have lain over him after he dozed off and resolutely throwing it over the boy's shoulders.
He looked young, standing there with his cheeks red, dwarfed by the heavy blanket and still in the robes of a novice. It didn't help that for the first time he looked uncertain, as if he were contemplating leaping out of the boat after Tony and shouting he was just kidding about continuing toward the waiting ship.
He must realize, as Tony did that this was it. This was likely the last time they would ever see one another. Tony swallowed thickly unsure how to how to say goodbye.
"Take care of yourself." he settled for, though it felt inadequate.
"Always do, don't I? Take your own advice Tony." Clint replied with a confidant smirk returning. Squaring his shoulders, he turned and jerked his head toward Bucky and said, "That's if this one don't shoot himself in the eye before then. Can't aim for shit."
"It was one missed shot shit head, and I was hanging out the side of a truck!" Bucky barked back.
"Uh, I think we are out staying our welcome with the good brothers. The Germans can't be far behind us." Leshnner growled irritably, obviously anxious to be on their way once more and Tony grimaced. The monks huddled on the dock were indeed looking more on the wilted end and hunched over from the cold now that the excitement of making it to their destination had passed.
Right. Tony laid a hand on Clint's shoulder and squeezed, eyes widening in surprise when the boy turned quickly and stepped into his arms, wrapping him up in a furious hug despite his bony arms.
"Bye Tony." he whispered quickly voice warbling (or so Tony thought) before he stepped back as quickly as he'd come and began barking for Bucky to stop gawking and get them moving as he scurried back aboard.
Bucky gave the young man a rude finger, but mostly ignored him in favor of meeting Tony's gaze.
"I'll get us where we need to be. You just get yourself back to Stefen and the children, yeah?”
“Only if you will.” Tony returned.
“You worry about yourself. If I have to come rescuing you after everything..." Bucky warned.
Tony huffed a tired laugh.
"I can't imagine that you'd hurry. Goodbye James."
Bucky lifted his god arm in salute and the engine turned over, the Avenger moving swiftly away from the dock.
Tony watched the Avenger as she sped down the river in the moonlight, until she and those she carried were nothing more but a distant glow.
|
Castiel could hear the door opening and Dean entering the house, but he didn’t move. Instead he just took a deep breath to fight against the recurring tears. Betrayal spread through his whole body in sickening waves and he could feel his stomach clenching.
“Cas?” Dean called out. “Babe, I’m home.”
The pet name just made everything worse. Castiel’s hands clenched to fists and he had to fight against the urge to throw up. How could Dean have done this to him? Castiel had trusted him. Trusted him more than anyone else.
“There you are,” Dean said when he entered the kitchen and saw Castiel sitting at the table. He noticed the atmosphere in the room immediately and his smile dropped when he looked at Castiel’s facial expression. “What’s wrong?”
“Who is she, Dean?” Castiel asked and he didn’t know how he managed to keep his voice from shaking. “Or should I ask who are they?”
One thing Castiel had to hand Dean. He looked genuinely confused. “What are you talking about?”
Castiel scoffed. “Don’t play this game, Winchester. It’s enough that you did this to me, I really don’t need you to play games now.” Castiel reached over to the chair next to him and placed the shoe box on the table. Castiel could pinpoint the second Dean realized what this was. Every last hint of colour disappeared abruptly out of his face. His mouth opened, but he didn’t say anything.
“Why did you do this to me, Dean?” Castiel’s voice broke and he took a shaky breath, closing his eyes for a moment, so he didn’t start crying. “How could you?”
“Castiel…” Dean’s voice sounded rough and his face was still completely frozen. “I… I didn’t…”
“You didn’t?!” Castiel laughed coldly and jumped up, tossing the lid of the box away and pouring its content on the floor right in front of Dean’s feet. “Try and tell me again how you didn’t.” The sadness Castiel had been feeling disappeared and got fully replaced by a burning rage. “Fuck you, Dean Winchester,” he spew. “Not enough that you cheat on me, you also have to keep their underwear? And hide them in our closet? You are disgusting.” Castiel pushed himself past Dean and stomped upstairs, shutting the door to the bedroom loud behind himself.
The second the door was closed and he was alone, Castiel started crying. He tore the suitcase down from the top of the closet and started to throw his clothes in it.
“Castiel.”
When he heard Dean’s voice, Castiel turned around startled. He had been too caught up in his own thoughts to notice Dean entering the room. “Leave me alone,” he hissed.
“Please, Castiel,” Dean’s voice sounded choked and his jaw was clenched. “It’s important.”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“I didn’t cheat on you, Castiel,” Dean blurted out. “I swear. It’s… it’s not how you think it is.”
Castiel snorted out a laugh. “Well that’s something new,” he said sarcastically and turned around. “But fine. Tell me what you got to say.”
Dean’s lips trembled and he inhaled shakily. He looked scared – no, terrified – and his hands nervously clenched into the hem of his shirt. “Those…” Dean licked over his lips and closed his eyes for a moment. “Panties,” he continued eventually, “aren’t from women that I cheated on you with.” Dean lowered his gaze to the floor and he looked as if he was about to start crying any moment. “They’re mine,” he choked out eventually and swallowed dryly.
For a few moments Castiel just stared at Dean, not knowing how to react. “W-what?” he then just asked little intelligent.
Dean insecurely took a small step back. “They’re mine,” he repeated quietly. “I… I swear to god, Castiel, I didn’t cheat on you. I could never do that. I love you, Cas.” Dean’s voice broke and tears started to stream down over his face. “Please believe me,” he begged desperately. “I swear it’s the truth, Castiel.”
“Oh Dean,” Castiel breathed out before he walked up to him with three big steps and pulled him in a tight embrace. Dean clenched his hands in the back of Castiel’s shirt.
“I’m so sorry, Castiel,” he sobbed. “I… I never wanted you to find out. I… will throw them away, I promise, but please don’t leave me, Castiel.”
Castiel gently pulled Dean towards the bed and pushed the suitcase aside so they could sit down on it. “Please stop crying, Dean.” Even though he still didn’t know what to think about what Dean had just told him – and how much truth there laid in it – it hurt him to see Dean this way.
“I- I’m sorry,” Dean hiccupped. Castiel patiently waited for Dean to calm down and even caught himself gently stroking over Dean’s back.
“So… you say this… underwear is yours,” Castiel said when Dean had stopped crying. Dean just nodded sheepishly.
“Dean please,” Castiel sighed when Dean didn’t even look at him. “We need to talk about this. I need to know if you’re being honest with me.”
“Of course I am.” Dean looked up and when Castiel looked him in the eyes, he could see that Dean was serious. He still looked afraid, but he was telling the truth.
“Good.” Castiel smiled relieved and leaned over to press a soft kiss on Dean’s lips. “Jeez, Dean, you can’t imagine how much this scared me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I… I just… Gosh, Dean.” Castiel sighed and reached out for Dean’s hand, pressing a kiss on his knuckles. “I just asked myself if it was really possible that I’d been this wrong about you.”
“I could never cheat on you, Castiel,” Dean said firmly.
Castiel nodded slowly and then hesitated for a moment, not sure how to approach the subject, since Dean had looked so terrified about Castiel finding out about this. “So… the things belong to you then,” he said carefully.
Dean’s whole body stiffened immediately and he bit down on his lower lip, nodding insecurely.
“Why did you hide them?”
“I didn’t want you to find out about it. I didn’t want you to think I’m a freak.” The way Dean said this, for some reason sounded as if Dean had had experiences that led to this fear.
“Why would I think that? I love you, Dean. And the fact that you like to wear panties isn’t gonna change that. Darling, if you want to wear them, wear them. I would never judge you. – Also I bet they look amazing on you,” he added with a smirk and nudged Dean lightly with his shoulders.
Dean laughed shyly and rubbed the back of his neck. “You don’t think that’s weird?”
“Of course not, darling.”
The blush on Dean’s face slowly started to fade away and he looked up at Castiel with a relieved smile. “I love you so much,” he whispered and tied his arms around Castiel’s neck, pulling him closer for a kiss.
“I love you too. – So, suggestion,” he changed then the subject. “I put my stuff back, while you go downstairs and prepare dinner, okay?”
Dean nodded and stood up. “Sure.”
“Great. – And Dean? I think after dinner you owe me a fashion show.”
|
When Lexa bursts through her front door, she is breathing hard, red-faced and sweaty. A sleepy grumble emanates from her bedroom.
Lexa takes a moment to try and compose herself, greedily inhaling lungfuls of breath. She feels vaguely dizzy and her hand grapples for the fridge door before she manages to grab her water bottle and guzzle down half of it.
“Lexa?” A soft voice pulls her from her mild hyperventilating.
Lexa’s head mechanically swings towards it.
Clarke is standing in the doorway of her bedroom with a blanket draped around her shoulders. She’s barefoot and sleepy, rubbing her eyes with one hand before running a hand through still tousled hair. Lexa’s heart melts.
“Hey,” Lexa murmurs, gliding over to Clarke and pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. “Go back to bed. I’m sorry I woke you.”
Clarke yawns and reaches for Lexa who dodges backwards.
“Clarke,” she laughs, “I’m all sweaty from my run.”
Clarke wrinkles her nose in response and Lexa just wants to lean in and kiss it away.
“So?”
“So,” Lexa grins, “whenever I come back from my runs, you complain that I’m sweaty and gross. Let me take a shower and then we can snuggle, okay?”
Clarke mumbles something that sounds to Lexa like, “but you still smell good,” before reluctantly pouting and stepping back.
“I’ll be quick babe,” Lexa promises, before stepping past her and getting into the shower.
Lexa hums happily as she quickly sluices off the grime of her run. Any morning with Clarke is a good one in Lexa’s opinion.
About halfway through her shower, there’s a thud and Clarke’s strangled voice comes crashing through Lexa’s quiet contemplation.
“ Lexa! ”
Lexa doesn’t even think. Her hand has twisted off her shower and she’s grabbing a towel and running back into the bedroom before she’s even really had time to process it.
Clarke is sitting on the floor, tangled in their sheets, clutching her phone, fear in her eyes. Those eyes shoot towards Lexa when Lexa comes careening into the room.
“Lexa they--” Clarke’s voice cuts off and she lets out a strangled laugh.
“Clarke what...?”
Clarke is fighting back laughter and she covers her mouth to hide it. At least the fear has receded from her eyes.
“Lex you…” Her voice breaks, a giggle escaping. “Lex you kind of still… have something in your hair.” At this proclamation, she breaks, giggles giving way to a loud, ringing laughter.
Lexa dumbly reaches up to her hair. Her hand comes away sudsy. In her panic, she hadn’t finished rinsing it off. She blushes.
But Clarke’s laughter is infectious and Lexa finds herself tentatively smiling anyway.
When Clarke finally recovers, she stands, untangling herself from the sheets and setting her phone on the nightstand.
She takes Lexa by the hand and leads her back towards the bathroom.
“Come on you spaz,” she says fondly, “let’s go wash out your hair.”
_____
Washing Lexa’s hair ends up being only a few minutes out of their hour-long shower venture which morphs into a two-hour long venture once their bedroom activities are included. When Lexa finally collapses on the bed next to Clarke, she sighs, feigning a pout.
“Great. Now I need another shower.”
Clarke laughs, slinging an arm around her and pulling her close.
“Later. Make me food now.”
Lexa scoffs. “Demanding, aren’t you? You should have warned me about that before we started dating.”
Clarke’s eyes sparkle with laughter. “You love it.”
Lexa hums in acknowledgement before finally shifting to get up. Clarke’s arm tightens around her.
“Clarke,” Lexa laughs, “I can’t make you food if you won’t let me leave the bed.”
Clarke makes a noise of discontent. “Fine. I change my mind. Stay here.”
Lexa laughs, but acquiesces, all too happy to turn back around and cuddle Clarke close.
Clarke hums happily, burrowing deeper into Lexa’s embrace. Her breathing evens out and Lexa is almost back to sleep herself when she hears Clarke speak.
“Did you see the news about us?”
Lexa grimaces, but holds Clarke closer to her.
“I didn’t, but I ran into an absurd number of paparazzi on my run. I surmised.”
Clarke sighs. “Well we knew this was coming I guess. We’ll get through this, right?”
Lexa presses a soft kiss to Clarke’s temple. “Of course we will.”
_____
They go back to shooting on a Monday. There’s a lot of whispering when they show up on set which sets Lexa’s teeth on edge.
Honestly, can’t anyone be professional about this?
Clarke gives her a reassuring smile and squeezes her fingers for a second. Then, she clears her throat.
“Excuse me? Hey guys,” she begins brightly, “I hope you’ve all had a fantastic winter break. I know I have!”
Lexa’s eyes sweep the crowd. Clarke’s words elicit smiling. It’s something Clarke just seems naturally good at. People find her naturally engaging.
“So I’m sure you’ve all heard the rumors by now and we thought we’d clear them up right off the bat.”
Lexa supposes she should contribute so she steps up next to Clarke and speaks up.
“Yes, we are dating. No, we do not anticipate this changing the nature of our work. We are determined to remain professional about this. We hope everyone can respect our wishes for privacy.”
Clarke smiles and gives Lexa a quick cheek kiss that leaves Lexa blushing.
“Yeah, that’s basically it. She’s adorable and I couldn’t resist really. Thanks for your attention guys. Let’s all have a kickass second half of the season!”
She smiles and waves and there’s a light smattering of applause and grinning from their crew. Lexa feels a slight swell of love for her cast and crew as they step back. Everyone seems genuinely happy for them. There are some good-natured slaps to her back and some money changes hands, but overall the whole thing goes very smoothly.
Lexa finds herself relaxing as the day goes on. It helps that besides her the whole day is Clarke, her rock, fobbing off intrusive questions with her natural charm, like water off the back of a seal.
Raven too is something of a godsend.
Aside from her mildly embarrassing declaration when she first finds them that she “better be godmother to their first child,” she’s more than happy to rudely shut down any questions that Lexa feels uncomfortable with.
“This isn’t a peanut gallery asshole and they’re not your entertainment. Go do your damn job!”
And once they start filming, people pretty much have to scurry off to their jobs anyway.
Which leaves Lexa and Clarke generally to their own devices. During takes they are consummate professionals, of course. But in-between while the crew scurries around resetting things… they can just be .
Lexa collapses onto her chair and Clarke comes to cuddle on her lap as they try to catch a few zzz’s. Clarke snuggles into her chest as Lexa’s arms come up around her automatically, soothing away the stress of the day. Lexa breathes deep and Clarke’s shampoo invades her nose and all is right in the world.
All in all, it’s as perfect of a first day back as Lexa’s ever had.
______
An interview with Lexa Foerester by Gina Martin for TVTube
GM: Lexa, The Wanted has really blown up this season in the ratings. To what do you attribute your success?
LF: Well, we certainly try to keep getting better and better every year. But I think we have the fans to thank for a lot of that. After the break last season, a lot of people got caught up on Netflix and then told all their friends. The support has really been overwhelming.
GM: In a good way, I hope?
LF: Absolutely!
GM: There was a lot of talk about the Lexark (Alicia Clark and Elyza Lex played by Clarke Griffin) kiss before the midseason finale. Would you say that contributed to the ratings bump coming into this second half?
LF: Well, I don’t think it was that calculated. But we felt that it was something right for the characters and made sense for the arc.
GM: A lot of people are wondering about how Lexark will be handled. Especially given that Clarke Griffin is such a big movie star and is not scheduled for that many episodes.
LF: I don’t know yet certainly because we only just got back and I don’t have many scripts. But as a member of the LGBT community myself, I would hope it’s handled carefully and with love.
GM: Was Lexark always planned to happen or did it only come about due to your chemistry with Clarke?
LF: Oh, I feel like I’m disappointing fans with this answer, but we knew from the beginning that Elyza was always going to be coming in as a potential love interest. But Clarke just blew us away with her audition. We’re really lucky to have her.
GM: Is that you speaking on behalf of the cast or speaking as yourself? We can’t help but notice a few pictures floating around of the two of you…
LF: No comment.
_____
“No comment Lexa, really?”
Lexa flushed. “I don’t know! I panicked! We never decided if we were going to announce it to the world together or apart or what...”
Clarke gave her an amused look. “Babe we announced it to the whole cast and crew the day we got back. It’s more than official. You can tell people.”
“You’re not… worried about the press?”
Clarke sighed. “If we don’t say something, they’re going to get more and more intrusive because it looks like we have something to hide. At least we can get out in front of it instead of having ugly rumors around. Besides, I spent my time in the closet. I don't fancy doing it again. They can call us gal pals over my dead body.”
Lexa pressed her lips together and nodded sharply. “Okay. Okay.”
Clarke gave her a concerned look. “Do you want me to do it?”
Lexa pressed a kiss to Clarke’s temple. “No. You’re sweet, but we both know I have an interview scheduled for tomorrow. I’ll do it.”
_____
“Welcome back to The After Hours Show. I’m your host Callie Cartwig. My next guest is a relatively fresh face to the acting game, but her name is a familiar one to us all. Lexa Foerester stars in one of the hottest shows of the season, The Wanted, a post-apocalyptic survival show. The show has been a ratings smash and a critical success; now in its third season, it shows no signs of slowing down. Please welcome Lexa Foerester!”
The lights swivel to one side as the audience bursts into applause. Lexa appears on stage in a smart dark red blazer, black skinny jeans, and heels. She gives the crowd a quick wave and a small smile before giving Callie the appropriate kiss to the cheek and sitting down in the big chair by the desk.
Callie gives Lexa a smile. “So Lexa,” she says leaning in, “so good to finally have you on the show! It’s been how many years since I saw you last?”
Lexa smiles, settling comfortably in the chair. “ Please don’t start.”
Callie turns to smile at a camera. “I’ve known this one since she was just a wee thing in diapers. The stories I could tell you…”
“Miss Cartwig, I feel you have an unfair advantage here.”
“Now now. None of this Miss Cartwig stuff anymore Lexa. It’s always Callie here.”
“Right Callie. Besides, if I remember, someone accidentally lost me at one of my father’s parties.”
“That was one time!” Callie chuckles. “Okay, okay. No teasing. But really Lexa, you’ve grown up so wonderfully. Your father would be very proud.”
Lexa’s eyes grow a little misty on screen. “Thank you.”
“Okay enough of this mushy stuff,” Callie says, smiling gently, “so what’s this I hear about a new woman in your life Lexa?”
Lexa raises an eyebrow. “Straight to the heart there Callie? No warm-ups? No softballs?”
Callie smiles. “Might as well get the elephant in the room out of the way. Besides, you’re among friends.” She gestures to the audience. “You’ll keep this a secret, just between us, won’t you?”
The audience roars back, hooting and hollering.
Callie grins victoriously, leaning in. “So? Don’t get shy on me now Lexa. I’ve seen you in diapers. Dish.”
Lexa rolls her eyes good-naturedly, but can’t help the small smile sneaking across her face.
“Well there is someone I’ve been wanting to talk to the world about… she’s so wonderfully talented and even though she gets recognition, I keep thinking that the world doesn’t realize how amazing she is.”
Callie couldn’t be leaning farther forward against her desk if she tried. “This person wouldn’t happen to be blonde, would she?”
Lexa smirks. “As a matter of fact she is.”
Callie is grinning now, fully tuned into Lexa’s every word.
“I’ve gotten to spend a lot of time with her recently and I just wanted to say here, just among friends…” Lexa leans conspiratorially towards Callie, “I love my dear cousin Anya very much.”
Callie’s jaw drops.
“That was absolutely cruel!”
Lexa is laughing now. “Oh please. You walked right into that.”
Callie pouts a little, but pulls herself together. “Okay so you brought a clip with you. Want to tell us what it’s about?”
“Oh Alicia and Elyza have been stranded in a cave, hiding out from the storm.”
“Great. Here’s The Wanted.”
The clip cuts out and the camera comes back to Lexa and Callie, the audience still applauding.
“I’ve always loved that guitar riff,” Lexa smiles.
“Yes totally iconic. That’s Bon Jovi, right?”
“Yes! I’m pretty sure we blew our entire effects budget of the first season getting the rights to those six notes.”
“Well it certainly looks great now!”
Callie’s eyes drift towards the audience. “Okay we’re just about out of time. Is there anything else you’d like to say before we go Lexa?”
Lexa smirks and looks the camera dead on.
“Clarke Griffin is the best girlfriend in the world. Babe, I’ll see you soon.”
She blows the camera a kiss and the clip fades out on Callie gaping at Lexa for the second time in ten minutes.
_____
The fallout from the interview is relatively limited all things considered.
The paparazzi are unbearable for a few days and the crew have had to shoo more than a few of them away from set, but they stop bothering coming around their work when they realize that it's a post-apocalyptic set and therefore Clarke and Lexa don't change. After two weeks of identical looking shots, even the most ambitious of the paps give it a rest.
That doesn't completely clear them once they're away from work unfortunately.
Clarke and Lexa make a game of it. They've seen other celebrities do the same thing and honestly it's a bit genius.
Whenever they spot a pap they've got a sign to hold up or a t-shirt asking people to support a cause. Usually the Trevor project because Lexa has a weak spot for them, but sometimes others.
Other than that, they stay in more than usual. The relationship is new enough that they're happy to just have each other. And the days they're shooting are long enough that the most they're usually up for is Netflix and chill. Emphasis on the chill.
Lexa’s apartment is closer to set so most nights they end up there. Lexa almost always falls asleep earlier, a fact Clarke teases her about relentlessly. Lexa turns bright red at the teasing and always vows to stay up later, but the next night she still falls asleep first.
Lexa can't bring herself to tease Clarke in the morning when she's naturally up and Clarke is still grumpy in bed. Clarke had gotten spoiled over break and now the early call times are brutal.
Lexa learns that Clarke likes to wake slowly and her alarm makes her cranky so Lexa begins to budget a half hour just to wake her. She starts by slowly rubbing her hands up and down Clarke’s arms, just tracing nonsensical patterns. From there, she lets one hand wander to Clarke’s back, just lightly skimming. By this point, Clarke has barely stirred, but shifts to bury her head into the crook of Lexa’s neck, still breathing deeply.
Lexa pauses, lets Clarke re-settle. If she moves too quickly now, Clarke will wake and be grumpy. And that’s not what she wants. Tentatively, she moves her other hand to Clarke’s back and slides the first to tangle into Clarke’s hair, combing through lightly. Clarke hums in response.
She lets her fingers card through Clarke’s hair, before she gives in to what she’s been wanting to do for the past twenty minutes. She kisses Clarke softly on the forehead. Clarke’s brow wrinkles ever so slightly. She soothes the worry away with her lips, and sprinkles soft, delicate kisses down the line of Clarke’s jaw then spreads to her nose, her eyes, her cheekbones.
Clarke is smiling slightly now and Lexa knows she’s completed the ritual just right. She leans in just enough to bump noses with Clarke. Clarke’s grin stretches and Lexa is sure she’s awake now. She leans in to claim her prize.
The moment her lips touch Clarke’s, Clarke is alive, shifting to curl closer to Lexa, humming happily into her mouth. Lexa lets the kiss linger, drinking in the beauty of the morning. When she finally breaks the kiss, sighing happily, Clarke’s eyes blink open.
“Morning,” Clarke’s voice still has a slight raspy tone from having just woken up and it sends shivers down Lexa’s spine.
“Morning Sleeping Beauty,” she teases softly.
“Mm,” Clarke murmurs, sleep still chasing through her voice, “does that make you my Prince Charming?”
“Whatever you want Clarke.”
Clarke smiles wider, but Lexa’s not done.
“So long as you get out of bed. Come on, we can’t be late.”
Clarke pouts. “Two more minutes?”
Lexa fakes a stern look, but a sleepy pouting Clarke is enough to make even the strongest person buckle and she relents.
“Okay. But just two minutes.”
Clarke’s eyes take on a devious expression which immediately sets off alarm bells in Lexa’s head. When she feels Clarke shift and a wandering hand start to move purposely downwards, Lexa captures it to head it off.
“Clarke. No .”
Clarke looks like she’s about to challenge her, but eventually she sighs.
“What’s the point of waking up with you if you won’t even let me have my way with you?”
Lexa fakes outrage.
“Is that all I’m good for? To be your sex slave?”
“Yes. And to feed me,” Clarke deadpans. She relents a moment later. “Okay no. But come on Lex. Think about how much better it would be if we did start our days with a few rounds of mind-blowing sex.”
Lexa’s mind fills in the blanks without her meaning to. Damn . Images flood her mind as she tries to banish them. The idea of slow, sleepy morning sex with Clarke... She runs her hand through her hair, trying to stop the heat from flooding her cheeks. If she wasn’t so damn responsible…
“I’m just saying babe,” Clarke says, before pulling off her sleep shirt to drop carelessly to the floor and heading to the bathroom. Naked. Lexa’s eyes widen. Instinctively, she gets up to follow, but Clarke’s voice stops her in her tracks.
“Nope! You had your chance this morning Lex. You’re going to have to wait till tonight.”
Lexa groans, collapsing back against the bed. She makes a mental note to start waking Clarke up an hour earlier.
_____
Lexa loves table read days. There isn't the pressure of getting the perfect shot and the actors can just be . And it's nice to do the script in the right order for once. Get a sense of how the episode will actually play out for viewers.
It doesn't hurt that she and Clarke have taken to sitting next to each other and no one argues. It means she can spend most of the day fingers entangled with Clarke. Even when one of them wants to use their hands, their legs are brushing, quietly bumping under the table, a small reassurance. The casual intimacy of the day makes her love table read days even more.
They're on their lunch break when she runs into Bellamy. They haven't seen each other much in recent months because their characters have been separated and Lexa is pretty much just shooting with Clarke.
“Hey,” he says, giving her a slight head nod. “How's it been?”
She smiles politely back. “Not bad.”
“Not bad? Foerester you went and got yourself a girlfriend and didn't even tell your co-star!”
Bellamy’s grinning at her and she can't help but return it.
“Yeah well. With your big mouth the paps would've caught on a lot sooner.”
Bellamy mimes a gesture of hurt. “You're killin’ me Foerester.”
“Just saying it like it is Blake. I wasn't the reason the confidentiality clauses in our contracts got way stricter.”
Bellamy snorts. “Low blow. I was drunk and you know it.”
She smiles, knowing she's won. “All the same.”
They're silent for a moment, comfortable in the light banter.
“I heard you met my sister.”
Lexa can't help the chuckle that escapes. “Yeah. Yeah I did.”
Bellamy eyes her suspiciously. “She didn't tell you any stories did she? Whatever she says, it's not true.”
Lexa smirks. “Well now I know there are stories to ask for.”
Bellamy curses and Lexa decides to give him a break.
“She seems like a good kid.”
Bellamy puffs up at that. “She is, isn't she?”
Lexa smiles until Bellamy tosses her a wicked grin.
“You know she's claiming she helped get Clexa together?”
“I take that back about her being a good kid,” Lexa scowls. “And how does she figure that?”
“She says she helped get you both smashed the night of Clarke’s party.”
“Well she's going to have to share. Raven’s also claiming that title. They're both wrong, but they're both claiming it.”
Bellamy laughs. “It's good to see you like this Foerester.”
“Like what?”
“I dunno. Looser. Friendlier. Clarke is good for you.”
Lexa catches sight of Clarke on the other side of the room chatting to a sound guy and Raven, laughing at something. The light catches her just right and Lexa feels like she wants to keep a picture of this moment forever.
“You have no idea,” she murmurs.
_____
“Clarke?”
Clarke hums from where she’s resting her head in Lexa’s lap, comfortably watching the tv in Lexa’s apartment. “Yeah Lex, what is it?”
“I--I’m really glad you auditioned for the show.”
Clarke hums her assent. “Yeah, me too.”
“And…”
Lexa pauses, trying to figure out how to voice the things her mind is trying to tell her to say.
“And?” Clarke gently prompts.
“And...I kind of hope Lexark lasts forever. I love…it. Working with you.”
3 words. Much too soon. But this… this Lexa could handle.
Clarke shifts so that she was looking Lexa in the eye and smiled.
“Me too Lex. I told the producers as much. I’m happy to keep playing Elyza as long as they let me.”
“You’d extend your contract and stay on?”
Clarke smiled. “Of course Lex. I love working with you too.”
Lexa leaned down to kiss Clarke gently on the forehead.
“Is it stupid to hope this lasts forever?”
Clarke smiled and sat up, twisting to rest her forehead gently against Lexa’s. “Even if Lexark doesn’t last forever, that doesn’t mean we have to end.”
Lexa laughed gently. “You picked up on that, huh?”
Clarke grinned. “You are an open book Lexa Foerester.”
Lexa grinned. “But is it selfish to want Lexark to continue too? I love working with you and Lexark is a really special couple and it’s fun getting to work with so many of our friends.”
Clarke smiled. “Not so selfish at all.”
_____
Lexa knows Clarke is attractive. She's sleeping with her for gods sakes. So why is she still so goddamn weak for her?
“Babe you need to stop that,” Lexa groans as Clarke reaches to adjust her outfit for the umpteenth time.
“I feel like I'm popping out of this,” Clarke complains.
She's not wrong. Their characters are supposed to be a little worse for wear after a run-in and their clothes have become a little strategically ripped.
In Lexa’s case, it's not so bad. She's gotten away with a little extra time in the makeup chair for her fake lacerations and a few big tears in her usual attire. Mostly, she’s going to be on the ground bleeding out during the scene, so her clothes aren’t going to move anyway.
But Clarke? Clarke's clothing is practically shredded . Clarke had joked she had on as much double-sided tape keeping her clothes in place as actual fabric. Lexa tries to keep from ogling, but that's a lot of skin on display. And yes she's sleeping with Clarke on the regular. But well...Clarke wasn't voted into the top ten hottest actresses for Maxim magazine for no reason.
Clarke huffs again before she gives up, letting her hands fall to her sides. Lexa studiously keeps her eyes anywhere but in the region of Clarke’s chest.
Kane calls places and Lexa lies down, tries to remember she's been seriously injured and short of breath.
And then he calls action and Clarke is hovering over her, eyes wide and desperate, just short of teary eyed. It’s Clarke’s scene. Lexa just has to lie there, slowly fading away. Lexa lets herself unfocus for just half a second and Clarke shifts upward fussing with a fake cut on her forehead, desperately trying to stop the bleeding.
Oh .
Clarke's shirt gapes open and Lexa can see everything . Suddenly the breathing issues aren't such a lie.
After what feels like an eternity of trying and failing to not look, Kane calls cut for a camera reset.
Clarke says something, but Lexa is still a little too out of it and doesn't respond quickly enough.
Clarke narrows her eyes and studies her for a moment. Then she smirks.
“You can completely see down the front of my shirt can't you?”
Lexa flushes, guilty.
Clarke tosses her head back at that, laughing loud and long. Lexa slaps a hand over her mouth.
“Clarke!” she hisses, still embarrassed at her own reaction.
It takes a moment, but Clarke’s laughing subsides into giggles. Eventually, Lexa feels safe enough to remove her hand.
When Clarke finally relaxes enough to speak, she says, “well at least it’s you and not some random pervy actor.”
Lexa only feels guiltier, flushing again. Really. How unprofessional. Gawking down her co-star’s shirt.
“Lex,” Clarke says as Lexa’s eyes snap to hers. “It’s okay Lex really. If there’s anyone in the world I want to look, it’s you.”
Lexa feels better for half a moment before Clarke giggles again.
“Sorry, sorry! It’s just… I fucked you silly this morning when you woke me up at an absurd hour so that we’d have time. And you’re still this horny?”
Lexa groans, slapping a hand over her face as Clarke collapses into giggles again.
But when Clarke yanks her into an empty room on their lunch break for a quickie because “Lexa you have to stop with the heart eyes I can’t focus when you do that,” Lexa’s hardly complaining.
And it’ll help them focus.
All in all, it’s a win for everyone.
_____
The Wanted accepted an award from the LGBT Media Awards for Most Progressive New Show
Star Lexa Foerester was on hand to accept the award on behalf of the show.
“As a member of the LGBT community, I take great pride in the story that our show is telling,” Foerester said to the crowd.
The network could not be reached for comment.
_____
The network people come and sit in on one of their read throughs. It's only February, but everyone is already thinking about May Sweeps. The writers are busy laying the groundwork for both halves of the story to come together.
Unlike the first time the execs came down season one, the attitude isn't somber. There's no real threat of being cancelled; they're easily exceeding last season’s numbers. People are relatively relaxed and at ease.
Lexa squeezes Clarke’s hand under the table. It's going well. It's going really well.
Her character still isn't very active this episode. Their scenes consist mainly of Clarke hovering and helping her recover.
What's more interesting is listening to what's going on on Bellamy’s side.
They're never on set when Bellamy and the others film so the read through is Lexa’s only chance to piece together what's happening.
Bellamy and the others have been facing a rival group, a gang of scavengers calling themselves the Ice Nation. The turf war is only escalating and Lexa has no doubt this is going to be the pivotal fight of the season.
She and Clarke’s characters don't technically know about the Ice Nation yet, but they're heading towards stumbling into that territory any week now.
The table is all relaxed smiles as one of the execs that Lexa can never remember the name of talks to her and Clarke about how well Lexark is doing.
“We’ve loved making it,” demurs Clarke, “and certainly I'm excited to explore their relationship.”
The exec hums his assent. “We love having you on the show obviously. But I do have to wonder, how long are we keeping you Clarke? Your manager did mention you have no shortage of new scripts coming in.”
Clarke snorts.
“Yeah Titus thinks he knows better about my career choices. But I'm the one in charge.”
The exec smiles.
“So can we expect you to stick around?”
Clarke’s eyes find Lexa’s.
“There's nowhere I’d rather be.”
_____
missanniefoerester: OMGG!!1! DID U SEE THE NEW PICS?
Clexastan: THEY R SO CUTEEEEE
Hollsteinholdsmyheart: OMG SOMEONE SAW THEM GETTING DINNER TOGEHTER
Clexastan: Lexa is so hotttttt
Missanniefoerester: Ugh she is so daddy it is ridiculous
_____
Lexa ran a hand down her face. Yet another lovely evening cut short because the paparazzi had no sense of personal space. They couldn’t even just watch from afar. They had to get in their faces too. When one of them shoved at Clarke, Lexa saw red, pushing rudely past them and all but ensuring they’d be headlining some paper tomorrow.
Angrily, she shoved her phone into her pocket and poured herself a glass of whiskey.
After giving herself a moment to calm down, she poured a glass of wine for Clarke and took both drinks into the living room where Clarke was draped over the couch.
Immediately she softened. There was something about Clarke with the soft glow of a tv lighting her features that was absolutely irresistible.
Who was she kidding.
There was something about Clarke.
Full stop.
She came up behind Clarke, dropping a casual kiss to her forehead to alert her to her presence. Clarke glanced up and smiled, taking the glass of wine from her.
Lexa’s own smile grew and she walked around the arm of the couch, lifting Clarke’s head and putting it back on her lap.
Clarke hummed her appreciation.
Lexa settled back into the couch, using one hand to carelessly card her fingers through Clarke’s hair, and with the other slowly swirling the whiskey around in her glass.
The two were silent for a minute, the soft light of a tv show neither of them were watching playing on.
With a soft sigh, Lexa pulled the glass to her lips and tipped back a large swallow, letting the slight burn warm her insides.
Clarke, seemingly feeling the motion, turned to face her.
“Lex?”
Lexa gave her girlfriend a tired smile.
Clarke eyed her carefully, before reaching out to pry the glass from her hands and set it on the table.
“Lex, what’s up?”
Lexa let her now free hand run agitatedly through her hair.
Clarke caught the hand and wove their fingers together, pinning Lexa with a stare.
“They’re not letting up,” Lexa mumbled.
Clarke’s brow furrowed. “Who?”
“The paparazzi.”
Comprehension dawned on Clarke’s face. She bit her lip, regarding Lexa carefully.
“And it bothers you,” she guessed.
Lexa shrugged, frowning a little.
“ Lex, ” Clarke said, squeezing Lexa’s hand lightly to get her attention.
Lexa heaved a sigh. “It doesn’t bother me .”
Clarke blinked, before she realized.
“Oh. You’re worried about how it’s affecting me.”
Lexa gave her a short nod, still looking slightly away.
Clarke put her glass of wine down and then reached for Lexa’s face, pulling her in for a soft kiss.
She gave Lexa a soft smile when they broke apart. “You’re sweet.”
Lexa softened, expression melting into something more peaceful.
“You’re okay then?” she asked.
Clarke gave her a little half-smile.
“I’m not going to leave you anytime soon if that’s what you’re worried about.”
Lexa stiffened again and Clarke rushed to reassure her.
“Sorry. Bad joke.”
Lexa still looked a little uncomfortable so Clarke kissed her again, letting her affection for Lexa bleed into the kiss.
“It’s going to be different Lexa. We’re different. It’ll be different.”
Lexa regarded her warily.
“You don’t know that.”
Clarke ran a hand through her hair, unsure how much she wanted to leave on the table.
“I do actually.”
Lexa gave her a confused look and Clarke elaborated.
“When I was with Finn, it was so restricting to not be able to go out .”
“And now?”
“Lexa...I’m happy to be in with you too.”
_____
They have a lot of movie nights. They’re too tired to deal with the paparazzi and there’s something lovely and domestic about staying in together.
Besides, The Wanted is gearing up for its final run of episodes and the final scripts are coming in fast and furious. It’s all they can do to wearily memorize their scripts together before passing out for the night.
Still, they’re happy. Lexa wouldn’t trade this life with Clarke for anything in the world.
After the season’s over, she thinks she’ll ask Clarke to move in permanently.
It’s not like Clarke isn’t over all the time anyway, her clothes in Lexa’s drawers or hamper, her DVDs slowly amassing in Lexa’s (admittedly sparse) DVD collection, her makeup piling up in Lexa’s bathroom.
It’s a big step Lexa knows.
But after the season is over, they won’t have the excuse of being tired from work and Lexa’s apartment being closer to the studio for Clarke to stay over all the time.
And Lexa’s already gotten used to having Clarke as a warm body right next to her.
She doesn’t want going to her place to be something Clarke has to excuse.
She wants it to be Clarke’s home.
Secretly she thinks Clarke might already see her apartment as home and the thought makes her giddy.
Now she just has to summon the courage to ask.
_____
The Impact of Lexark
Niylah Greene for DearQueer
The network has officially renewed The Wanted for season 4. That’s no surprise to any tv insiders as The Wanted’s Nielsen numbers have posted remarkable gains for a show already in its 4th season. Some of that may be attributed to gaining fans over the break when the series was added to Netflix. But a lot of that has to do with the dynamite new couple at the center of it all: Elyza Lex and Alicia Clark, better known to fans as Lexark.
The addition of guest star Clarke Griffin has proven a boon for the show. Clarke, best known for her roles in movies, steps onto the silver screen and absolutely steals the show as the gun-bearing, tough as nails, Elyza Lex. Her scene partner, Lexa Foerester, is no slouch. Daughter of the late reknowned actor Gustus Foerester, Lexa has finally stepped out of her father’s shadow and into the spotlight. In a role that could easily have slipped into the territory of stereotypical ingenue, Lexa finds surprising strength and has developed into the soul of the show.
The heart of their success, however, is chemistry. From their very first scene together, the two of the sizzled on screen. It is no wonder that sparks began to fly soon after about their whirlwind romance, confirmed a few months ago by Lexa herself.
“We knew it from the first read through,” Marcus Kane, director of the show, says. “Of course Clarke is famous and would bring attention. But even if she was an unknown, their chemistry was so good that it was never going to be anyone else. The moment she stepped out, we were so relieved because we knew we’d found her.”
When asked about introducing LGBT characters to the show, Kane waves it off.
“The world is ending. Nobody cares what gender their partner is.”
Despite Kane’s belief in progression, it’s true that LGBT characters continue to be underrepresented in mainstream television, particularly in starring roles like Lexa’s. The progressive treatment of the Lexark relationship has won the show supporters and accolades across the board.
While television as a whole still has room to grow, the increased attention and accolades for The Wanted combined with the network renewal are a step in the right direction.
_____
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!” Lexa is pacing in her apartment, teeth gritted, every muscle in her body tensed to spring.
“Lex calm down--”
Clarke tries to lay a comforting hand on her, but is quickly shrugged away.
“No I will not calm down Clarke. What is this bullshit?!”
“Lex babe wait--”
Lexa turns to Clarke with fury in her eyes. “This is the biggest load of crap I’ve ever seen.”
Clarke slumps defeatedly.
“Yes, but what can we do? Titus already signed the papers. I’ve apparently agreed.”
Lexa whirls on her, fury flashing in her eyes.
“Tell me you didn’t know about this.”
“Of course not Lex!” Clarke threw her hands up, exasperated at the accusing tone of Lexa’s voice. “I’ve told you and every network person I’ve ever come across that I want to stay!”
Lexa’s hands curl into fists.
“Then what the hell is this?!”
She thrusts the script into Clarke’s face as if Clarke hadn’t been reading the same thing herself.
Clarke slumped onto the couch tiredly, trying to regain her grip on reality. It was only a half hour earlier that they’d been cuddled up on the same couch, enjoying their time together, laughing and teasing. They were so happy. Where had it gone wrong?
“I don’t know Lex. It’s news to me too.”
Her voice is heavy with defeat, as she buries her face into her hands.
Lexa finally softens a little then, falling onto the couch beside her, close, but still not touching, visibly measuring her breaths in an effort to calm down.
“I don’t understand. It was going so well,” she murmured.
Clarke scrunches her face. “They wanted something exciting for May sweeps I guess.”
“Don’t make excuses for them. It’s cruel and insensitive. What they’re doing.”
Clarke sighs again.
“Lexa, you’re talking like I asked for them to shoot me. They didn’t even have the courtesy to tell me before we got the script that I was being written off.”
Lexa sighs too, finally deflating.
“I’m sorry. I was just… so furious . It was all perfect. And then they go and try and pull this and I’m just… I was just lashing out. And you were here. I’m sorry.”
Clarke leans into her girlfriend a little before Lexa is wrapping her arms around Clarke in a fierce hug, holding her close. Something in Clarke’s chest loosens. Lexa has that effect on her. Like everything will be okay if only she has Lexa with her.
“Those complete pisspots,” Lexa murmurs, pulling Clarke in closer as if to protect her from the world.
Clarke’s arms come up to lightly wrap around Lexa’s neck as she tucks her face into Lexa’s shoulder, breathing in the familiar scent.
“I’m going to miss working with you,” she chokes up.
Lexa stiffens.
“No. Don’t say that. Don’t say it like it’s the end.”
Clarke sighs.
“But isn’t it? The script is already written.”
Something wells up in Lexa, as she pulls away from Clarke, just slightly, to look her in the eye.
“The episode hasn’t been shot yet. It’s not final.”
She speaks with a conviction in her tone, some small spark of a flame slowly flickering to life.
Just as the spark is slowly starting to catch, a flame rising from an ember, Clarke stomps it out.
“What would you have me do Lex? We’re still going to show up and do our jobs. There’s a contract in place. I can’t just not act out the script.”
“Please,” Lexa murmurs, fighting to keep that little flame alive, “ please fight for us.”
“Lex,” Clarke says patiently, “I’m not giving up on us . Just this job.”
Lexa knows this. Knows that the end of Lexark doesn’t mean the end of them. Which should give her solace. And it’s true. That she and Clarke survive this show is enough. But she wants more .
Lexa raises her head to look Clarke in the eyes.
“Then not for us. For every gay kid out there who worries for their life. For every one that uses our show as an escape. For every kid who thought this was a safe show for them.”
Lexa knows she’s gotten through to Clarke when Clarke bites her lip, but slowly nods.
“Okay. Okay.”
Lexa’s eyes light up, the little flame in her heart warming her steadily as Clarke’s acceptance slowly stokes the little ember into something stable, into a real flame.
“So you’re with me?”
Clarke shoots her a tentative smile, gradually becoming more firm as she lets her mind work through the possibilities. Lexa’s heart soars as Clarke speaks her next words, that once pitiful little ember sparkling and crackling to life as a roaring fire.
“Yeah Lex. Let’s start a revolution.”
|
Embarrassment flooded Evan when he recalled his public humiliation involving the two-on-one fight with Crabbe and Goyle. The Noir heir was more than capable of going against an average adult wizard in a one-on-one duel. With this knowledge in the back of his mind, Evan found himself dreading facing the rest of his year-mates.
Madam Pomphrey had decided to keep the small boy overnight, fearing any unseen damage. This had the added advantage of allowing Evan to analyze his mistakes uninterrupted but also allowed him to worry over his homecoming. He still couldn't believe he had allowed himself to get cursed with his back turned. Aunt Bella was going to paint him black and blue in combat training when he finally returned home for the summer. If he was lucky she'd merely agreed to up the level of his training to where he'd either be ready to take on a single aurora or two average wizards.
Until then he needed a temporary sparring partner at school. How could he ever expect to improve if he never practiced? Professor Flitwick was a well-known master duelist in decades passed, and he had already proven himself to be trustworthy, so maybe he would be willing to train Evan. Maybe Evan would simply open a dueling club. He'd need a second sponsor for that, though. That would require him taking a closer look into the personal skills and histories of the professors in order to find any suitable matches.
"Brooding doesn't suit you, Mr. Noir," the smooth baritone of his head of house startled Evan from his thoughts. Snape had drawn back the flimsy white curtains surrounding Evan's lumpy hospital bed. He clearly intended to escort the smallest of his snakes back to his dorm, most likely on Pomphrey's orders.
"Not brooding. Analyzing what I did wrong that resulted in my previous injury and making plans to prevent future occurrences." Evan found himself growing fond of his stoic professor, most likely to do with how quickly the war-worn man came to his aide.
"I see," Snape paused, helping the boy to his feet and transfiguring his hospital pajamas into a basic black robe. "And what, pray tell, have you thought up thus far?" Severus was curious to hear the boy's thoughts, as he hadn't personally met an eleven-year-old who could duel two of their classmates at once. The Noir heir was obviously being hard on himself, and the surly Potions Master wanted to know why.
"I was too cocky, too sure of my skills. I need to be more aware of my surroundings and not let my anger and pride control me." All good points, one's Severus was surprised the boy admitted too. "I need to step up my training. I plan to have Aunt Bella and Dad train me in two on one combat this summer. In the meantime, I hope to start up a dueling club." The dark-haired duo exited the hospital wing, quickly and easily making their way down to the dungeons.
"A dueling club? There was one during my school days. Who do you have in mind for sponsors?" The idea had more merit than Severus was willing to admit, especially with a war once again brewing in the wings. He himself had been one of the more skilled members of the last dueling club, that is before Dumbledore disbanded it.
"Flitwick as a first. I've heard his skill is truly terrifying. I'm not sure about the second, though. It would have to be someone able to keep up with him." The odd pair paused outside the common room entrance, allowing Evan to prepare his reaction to what was likely to be yet another public humiliation one way or another.
"Perhaps, Professor Flitwick will know of someone."
"Of course, that's assuming he'll agree. I think I have bigger concerns for the moment," Evan paused to take a deep breath, "Namely, salvaging my reputation." Snape raised a patronizing brow and signaled for his student to go first, after whispering the up to date password.
Absolute silence greeted the duo upon entrance, and it appeared the entire house had gathered for a meeting of some sort. Snape gripped Evans shoulder a bit harshly and dumped him into a comfortable armchair next to the fireplace. The potions master then turned sharply in front of the olive-green flames to sweep his students with a seething glare.
"It seems I have neglected my duties," the students began to huddle closer together as if to shield themselves from their head of houses rage. "Prefect Harkness!" said sixth year stumbled before the dour man.
"Y-yes, sir!"
"List the three laws of Slytherin."
"Yes, s-sir!" The boy took a deep breath, "Family, house, politics. The only thing that comes before your housemates is your family." Evan sat up a bit straighter, he had clearly been defending Theo. "Rely on shadows. Never attack where you can be seen." Evan had never actually drawn his wand, merely evading the other two boys. "Lastly, all inner house conflicts are to be resolved in-house. To the rest of the school, we present a united front." The terrified prefect slowly melted back into the crowd at Snape's nod.
"Correct. Now," Here the glowering man paused to sweep the crowd with his fuming gaze. "Can someone tell me, who exactly has managed to break all three laws?" Murmurs unsettled the crowd before a small first year stepped forward. The light blonde hair, brilliant blue eyes, and artistically cherub features belonged to the young Greengrass heiress.
"Crabbe and Goyle chose to put politics before house. They attacked a housemate in front of the entire school." Her voice was sweet and high, though not enough to agitate the ears.
"Five points to Greengrass for following the laws. Ten points to Noir for defending a housemate from assault. Goyle and Crabbe will be serving three weeks' worth of detentions with Hagrid in the Forbidden Forrest. Something is killing our unicorns and you will find out what." The last part was full of dark promises if the two boys failed in their mission, and they squirmed beneath the icy gaze. "Our laws will be obeyed or the next to fall out of line will be removed from Slytherin. I do not wish to be the first head since Salazar to revoke a sorting, so do not push me. Dismissed!" At Snape's sharp warning the students quickly fled either to their dorms or out into the hallway to escape his ire.
"Thank you, Professor," Evan called softly before returning to his own dorm, intent on showering off the stench of Hospital Wing and putting some real clothes on. Blaise and Theo had beaten him there, though the younger snake wasn't surprised in the least. The youngest Noir ignored their stares in favor of blissful blistering hot water and his 'Irish Spring' scent body wash. Madam Pomphrey was kind enough to not keep him for observation over the whole weekend, which was really good considering the smell of the antiseptics she cleaned with was already giving him a headache.
It was Sunday, so instead of dressing in another stuffy uniform, Evan slipped on his favored gray-washed jeans, a black tee, and a comfortable green jumper. It was still early enough in the day for the boy to enjoy a few hours before lunch, which was a blessing as Hospital food sucked, magical or not. As Evan excited the bathroom he slipped on his white converse and black trench coat before making his way outside.
Blaise and Theo were quick to follow, and though Evan saw the Italian raise an eye at his muggle wear the dark boy politely kept his mouth shut. The journey up to the surface was short and pleasantly quite, but Theo kept fiddling with his sleeves and both his friends knew he needed to get something off his chest.
"Out with it," Evan finally managed when the boys were seated in the courtyard beneath the largest tree.
"I just," the oldest snake shook his head, "I don't understand why you did it. Why fight for me? You were hurt!" At Theo's declaration, Blaise and Evan exchanged meaningful glances. It was obvious not only to them but the whole of their housemates why Evan had done what he did, and that was without the added knowledge of the three boys belonging to a coven together.
"Theo, would you defend me if was the one being attacked?"
"Of course!" The Nott heir didn't even stop to consider the question, but at his companions' blatant stares his face turned Weasley red. "But you've already done so much for me! I have nothing to give in return!" Stressful tears threatened to spill from the boy's light green eyes.
"Theo, you are my coven, my brother in magic. I expect nothing of you but to return the favor if the situations are ever reversed. We are family, and we look out for each other." The soft, half smile that lit up Evan's face as he pulled the taller boy into his into a quick embrace struck a chord with Theo. He had finally found a home, it may be very far from where he lived, but it was a home none the less.
"Thank you," his voice was choked with emotions he dare not name, but still Theo offered his own watery smile in return. Evan not only healed his scars, but he had offered a proper home for the summer, and now went so far as to protect and defend him from bullies. Sure, it was originally Hermione who was threatened, but that didn't lessen the impact in Theo's eyes.
BLACK DIARIES
The house was unnerving in its quiet, almost stifling with its absence of noise, when Liz finally got home. Her boots clicked against the hardwood floor, the echo filling the silence with an eerie tone. She had yet to get used to living in Blackwell, but even she knew the boarding house was always buzzing with life.
Slowly, the weary blonde made her way to the bedroom she shared with her new fiancé. Light danced beneath the door, and it put her at ease that at least someone was home. The door swung open on well-oiled hinges until it rested against the wall. Crimson flames danced in the hearth, the only light in the shadowed room.
"Sam?" her voice carried softly across the way.
"In here!" She turned towards the bathroom where barely a flicker of light was visible. Following the sound of his voice, she paused in the doorway as warmth flooded her chest in such a rush that tears gathered in her eyes.
"What's all this?" she asked the man perched on the marble sink counter, firelight from nearly a hundred tea – tree candles casting a soft glow about the small space. Beside her tall, dark, and handsome fiancé sat a bucket of ice with a chilled bottle of her favorite red wine.
"You've been working so hard lately, I thought you deserved a chance to relax," Liz had to admit the iron-claw, bubbled – filled bath looked most inviting.
"What about you? Don't you need a break?"
"Liz, love, I work for myself. I can take a break whenever I want. You are sheriff. How often do you get to just relax and enjoy yourself?" He was right. Being sheriff was so much harder than she thought it would be, and not in the way she expected. She was forced to sit at a desk most of the day completing stack after stack of paperwork. She was a woman of action, and all the mundane grunt work drained her. "Trust me, love, you need this more than you think you do." She couldn't find it within herself to argue, so she just nodded her head dumbly.
Sam slipped off the counter, his bare feet not making a single sound against the cool tile floor. He knelt at her feet, her hands catching on his shoulders, and slowly unlaced both her boots.
"Sam, I can-"
"Let me, I want to take care of you." His smile was soft, it was the same one he gave her in the morning before pouring her a cup of coffee. The same smile he gave her when he kissed her goodbye in the mornings and welcomed her home in the evenings. In the face of that heartwarming smile, she caved in, granting him with a soft nod. His hands were gentle but firm when he swiftly pulled off her shoes then socks. Goosebumps covered her as the cold surface of the floor met the heat of her flesh.
Sam stood, his lips pressed gently against her forehead, as he unlatched her belt. The sound of the leather slipping free of the cotton sending a shiver down her spine. Sex was not a foreign concept for the couple, but as stormy gray eyes clashed with crystal blue she couldn't help the anticipation building. While their couplings had always held a fiery passion, this was slow and all-consuming embers taking more and more oxygen with each intake.
Each item of clothing he relinquished her of was removed slowly, sensuously, and it was quickly driving her mad with desire. The warm, reverent kisses he pressed to her exposed flesh stole her very breath away without repent. Eventually, Liz stood bare before him, the candle light appearing as a soft glow on her pale skin. Liquid silver eyes poured over her body, drinking her in as if he was a man dying of thirst and she a cool drink of water. Another shiver danced up her spine, tingling her every nerve on its way up.
"Sam," her voice was more of a breath, but he heard it all the same. His hand was fire against her lower back, sending pleasant tingles through her nerves as he guided her over to the still steaming bath. A gasp escaped her as the extreme heat caressed her skin, quickly turning into a moan as she sank into the bubbly bath. Liz hadn't even completely submerged herself into tears water when a cool glass was pressed into her hand. The wine was sweet yet sharp as it slid down her throat, exactly how she liked it.
"Mmm, would you like a taste?" she asked before taking another sip. This one she held in her mouth, rolling it around on her tongue before Sam kissed her deeply. He swallowed a mouthful of the warmed up sweet wine before allowing his tongue to flick out and clean both their lips.
"Delicious," a cheeky grin, "the wines pretty good too." Sparkling laughter filled the air, lighting up both silver and blue eyes.
"Join me," it was more of a plea than a question. Sam was nothing if not dramatic, she knew this from the beginning, so when he switched on a previously unseen radio she couldn't help but laugh. Her laughter egged her fiancé on, and the charismatic man began giving his soon-to-be wife a dramatized strip tease while terribly lip-syncing along to an obscure blues song. Liz was torn between laughing her ass off and being terribly aroused. After finishing off her glass she decided to give in to both.
"More wine?" Sam was completely bare now as he refilled her glass, only the world's cheekiest grin to hide any insecurities. He had to catch the glass as Liz slipped under the bubbles in her laughing fit.
"God, I love you," Liz grinned, a multitude of bubbles covering her face as she resurfaced.
"I would hope so, I only spoil those I love," Sam pressed his cool lips to her fevered ones in a breath of fiery passion, and it was as if the oxygen had finally reached her lungs. Everything was always so clear when he kissed her. The world around them stopped moving outside their small oasis.
Liz was hyper-aware of every movement of Sam's body, even with her eyes closed and his tongue battling hers for dominance. She felt as he climbed into the tub with her, a hiss escaping his lips as the hot water stung his flesh. Without hesitation, his arms hooked beneath her legs, lifting her up so he could spin them into a more comfortable position. Sam relaxed back against the rim of the tub, with Liz curled up on his chest.
A sweet sigh left her lips as Sam gathered the shampoo from a nearby shelf and began massaging it into her scalp. He continued to wash her hair and then her body, his hands maybe lingering in certain places longer than others. By the time, he was done he had worked his lover into a mess, and she returned the favor. Smaller hands wondered over harder planes and edges, a mischievous grin dancing across her lips. Two could play that game.
Careful she was, to remain just out of his reach as she showered him with the same attentions he gave her. Soon they were both too wound up, the water had turned cool, and the bubbles nearly gone. A quick lurch and water splashed on the floor, but neither could find it within themselves to care. Towels were forgone and two soaked bodies finally, finally, made it to the bed. He had planned it all out so carefully and he had yet to even get to his favorite part, but that was life.
It was more than two bodies coming together, it was two hearts that had finally found their equals. Heat, sweat, a few stray bubbles from a bath long forgotten but much enjoyed, all tangled in crimson sheets. Thin fingers gripping raven black hair hard enough to sting, and being reciprocated with the loveliest of symphonies in return. Passion was meant with equal passion in a blistering inferno again and again and again until it died much too quickly. Smoldering embers were left in its wake.
Slowly, and with a few twinges of regret, Sam extracted himself from his future wife. The soft moan that left her plump pink lips sent tingles in all the right places. A sense of masculine pride filled him as he observed the ecstasy-filled mess he had made of the strongest woman he knew. A low chuckle left his lips, slipping out before he could stop it, and she whined in response.
"Shh, you'll enjoy what comes next, I promise," Sam muttered as he pulled a vial of coconut oil from the bedside table. His hands firmly traversing the planes of her toned back before she could so much as twitch. He was right, of course. Liz heavily enjoyed the massage, the way his hands kneaded all the right places and ghosted over the rest in a blaze of heat. Already she could feel her desire awakening again, and she knew it was going to be a long night that they would both enjoy.
BLACK DIARIES
few weeks passed since the rift in the snake pit, and all but the most stuck up pureblood-supremists were siding with Evan Noir. Word got around that the littlest snake had put the Slytherins in a new light. No longer were Muggleborns being scorned by the snake house, and it made a difference. The silent Muggleborns and muggle-raised within Salazar's house came public, and they were welcomed wholeheartedly by the rest of the school. It may not seem like much to outsiders, but that was a full fourth of Slytherin and the snakes noticed.
Halfbloods were easily welcomed next, as they were considered the lucky ones who knew both worlds. Eventually the friendlier purebloods were even approached cautiously. The students of Hogwarts were slowly beginning to see the prejudice of Slytherin for what it was, stupid and uncalled for. The only snakes who did not enjoy the new perspective were those of the traditionally dark houses and those whose families had sided with Voldemort in the last war, which was surprisingly few.
The first years were all exempt from negative light, except Crabbe and Goyle who seemed to make it their duty to be seen as bumbling little Death Eater wannabes. Now, there were a few throughout each of the other three houses that fought this change. Most of them were fifth years and up, but a few of the younger years were vocal enough to make their year mate's uncomfortable. Ronald Weasley, Dean Thomas, and Seamus Finnegan were the only younger year Gryffindors in this group.
Ronald was the ringleader of the first years, though he was wise enough to avoid pointing fingers at the coven. Evan suspected this had something to do with his Twins and spiders. It was well enough he didn't, because the members of the coven had become very popular with the four heads of houses and a few other professors as well for their work effort and positive attitudes.
It was the older instigators that were the real problem, however, like Marcus Flint. He was a fifth year and the coach of the Slytherin Quidditch team, which meant he had a small following of Slytherin purebloods who thought they were better than everyone else. A particularly annoying example was in the end of March, while everyone was gathered in the hall for a late Saturday lunch.
The coven had chosen to sit at the Hufflepuff table once again, mostly because the company was much more inviting. Since it was the weekend, and nearing the end of the school year, the dress code was pretty much ignored at this point. Everyone had gotten used to the Noir cousins dressing in their comfortable muggle wear during the in-school breaks, and they even ignored when the Muggleborns of the group chose to do the same. Conflict arose when Fred and George decided to wear some of the new clothes the Noir bought for them for Christmas. The matching outfits were simple enough; faded jeans that had been dyed burgundy, black button-down shirts, grey and white striped jumpers, and their newest grey boots. The problem was, everyone could tell the clothes were much more expensive than anything a Weasley had been able to afford, and they very nearly matched the youngest Noir's style. It was clear where the clothes came from.
The Twins were using the opportunity to publicly claim they were a part of the Noir clan, but not everyone took it that way. Evan was just proud his Twins had liked the clothes he picked out for them enough to wear them.
"Finally managed to snag a sorry sod to pay for your things, Weasley?" Flint sneered on his way over to the Slytherin table. Fred's face went impossibly red, while George's fists clenched tight enough to turn a blaring white. When Flint saw he had actually gotten to the infallible twins his sneer turned into a down right snarl. "I suppose you're going to marry one of them to escape your family's poverty? I bet you're already making plans to move in!" Fred had to grab his twin to stop George from decking the arrogant Slytherin in the face.
"That reminds me, you two are coming back to the estate for the summer, right? Auntie would be beside herself if you refused. She's already made up your rooms." Evan asked nonchalantly as he popped a slice of apple in his mouth, slicing away another piece with his dagger with more dramatic flare than strictly necessary. Where had he gotten the dagger from? "Theo already agreed he's coming, and I happen to know my sister would be most disappointed if you didn't show."
"Careful, Noir. You'll end up with the whole Weasley clan at this rate!" Flint flashed his crooked teeth in a display that would make a werewolf proud.
"As much as we'd have the room, I prefer not to invite strangers into my home," Here Evan sliced his apple a bit too aggressively and handed the piece to Fred. "Honestly, I'm jealous really. Danny and I are nearly outnumbered as it stands. We need more guys in the house." The Ravenclaw in question gave a snicker and a nod of his head. His cousin had a point, and the Twins were better company than most of the school.
"Mum won't let us stay the whole summer, and she'll want to meet you." The coven was merely ignoring Flint at this rate, and that seemed to infuriate the teen more than anything else.
"Maybe you can stay at the Burrow sometime this summer? You can just Floo home when you want." Fred looked both excited and nervous by the idea. On the one side he really wanted Evan to meet the rest of his family, but on the other he was worried his little lord would disapprove. Evan's family just seemed so perfect, even with their dysfunctions. Theirs was a family with love and acceptance unlike he had ever seen. Growing up, he had always been told that no one was more loving than the Weasleys, but he thought that a lie. On more than one occasion he and his twin had been exposed to her more unaccepting side, the side that ignored them when they weren't perfect or causing trouble. There were times when the twins felt they had been completely ignored, and that's why they had delved so deep into the world of mischief and pranks.
How many times had their family treated them as a single entity? Their teachers and schoolmates did it too. But not Evan. That was why he had so easily earned their loyalty. He saw them as two separate people that shared an inseparable bond.
Fred was energy come alive, where George was the rock in the midst of the storm. Fred was weak to emotional pain, where George was weak to pains of pride. They were two separate people, and before Evan no one acknowledged that. After so many years of being treated as one, they had almost begun to believe it. If it wasn't for the tiny Noir they would have. They owned him their identities, and he seemed content with their faith and loyalty.
He was their savior, and so quickly he had come to mean everything to them. If it came down to it, Fred knew who he would side with. A glance to his left told him George was thinking the same.
"Finally returned to the land of the living?" Evan smirked, pushing a whole plate of sliced apples towards his twins. Flint was gone and Danny was looking at them in concern. Just how long had he been zoned out?
"Don't let him get to you. You're already a part of the family, blood be damned. You've even got the papers to prove it!" Danny clapped Fred on the back and offered the older boy a genuine smile. The tension dissipated from George's frame, and Fred forced himself to relax. If Evan wasn't bothered by what Flint said then why should they be?
"Just ignore him, idiots like that just enjoy getting a rise out of you. They thrive on your pain," Bonnie's little piece of wisdom did a lot more to ease the anxiety welling inside Fred, and he could see his twin rolling his eyes. "There are people like that no matter were you go. I had to tell Caroline the same thing a million times before she believed me. I can only hope you two aren't as thick." The small jibe was enough to crack a laugh from the older twin, but both Evan and George narrowed their eyes at the implications.
"Who's been bullying my sister?" It came out damn near as a snarl, and it surprised the others just how quickly Evan had latched onto Caroline. It really shouldn't though, considering family was everything to the boy.
"Just some idiots picking on her for Mr. Forbes being gay. She said it stopped when her mom became sheriff," Bonnie's hands were raised defensively, but even Izzy was leaning down the table for more details.
"Those idiots better hope I don't find out who they are. I've been meaning to try out a few of the moves Auntie taught me, and they would make perfect practice." Emerald eyes were narrowed so dark they appeared nearly black, and a chill went down Bonnie's spine. If she didn't share his anger she would actually fear for the poor sods who were stupid enough to pick on Caroline. At least they had let up in light of recent events, or so Caroline told her.
"I'll pass that along."
|
Picture Perfect
Chapter 11:
When the morning arrived, Phil was the first to wake up. His eyes slowly opened. For a moment, he had forgotten that he had fallen asleep in Dan’s bed. More than that, he had definitely forgotten that he had fallen asleep holding Dan. It was strange. Dan felt so small. Phil didn’t have the heart to wake him up, so he just stayed put. It gave him time to think.
Nathan… Whoever it was, he must have meant a great deal to Dan. When Mr. Jones brought up Nathan, Dan immediately looked upset. Hell, Dan took off after the subject was brought to light. Phil wondered why that was.
It was hard, remembering last night. Not the act itself, but seeing Dan looking so upset and broken was painful for Phil. Phil never once imagined that Dan could lose it like that, and over what? Dan hadn’t wanted to tell him, but he didn’t want to be alone either. That told Phil that it was something really bad, painful even. He wondered, was Nathan someone Dan lost? An ex-boyfriend, maybe, but he had no idea.
Suddenly, the door to the room opened. “Hey, Dan,” said Tyler, not bothering to look up from his phone. “They gave me a key so I let myself in. How are you—” he looked up and saw Dan and Phil. He shrieked and turned around. “Shit! My bad.”
“Dammit,” groaned Dan as he sat up. “Tyler haven’t you learned to knock by now?”
Tyler glanced at them, and that’s when he realized they were wearing shirts. It was safe…maybe. “Sorry. I called you and you didn’t answer. After everything it didn’t occur to me that you’d be in the mood—”
“Tyler,” warned Dan.
“Sorry. But, Phil, not to be that guy, but I really need to talk to Dan.”
“Oh,” muttered Phil, now even more worried about Dan than before. “Okay.”
Tyler gestured behind him, “Do I need to step out? Are you guys, like, wearing any pants?”
“TYLER!” snapped Dan.
Tyler placed his hands up in surrender and backed out of the room. Dan pinched the bridge of his nose and allowed himself to fall backwards, his head colliding with the pillow. Phil didn’t say anything, but he was sick with concern. He got out of bed and walked into the other room.
“What’s going on?” he asked in a whisper. Tyler responded by zipping his lips. Phil sighed, “Tyler…I’m so worried. He woke up from a dream screaming and crying last night.” As soon as Tyler looked worried, that’s when he knew that his distress was justified.
Tyler held up his hand, “Just, don’t. Leave it to me for now.” He lowered his voice, “I’ll fill you in on details later, promise.” He walked past Phil and into Dan’s room, closing the door behind him. “Alright, talk to me.”
Dan was lying on his side, staring at seemingly nothing. “I took Nathan’s doppelganger to the first event.”
“So let me guess,” Tyler sat on the bed by Dan’s feet, “everyone mentioned that Phil looks like him.”
“What do you think?”
“I’m sorry,” was all Tyler had to say. He looked at Dan, trying to figure out what to do. No matter where they went for the next two months, people that knew Dan and knew Nathan were only going to bring it up more. Tyler didn’t blame Dan for not being able to handle it straight away; hell, if Dan could handle it, that’s what would have him worried. “Phil told me about last night. What happened?”
Dan sighed. He wished Phil hadn’t said anything. “I saw it again. Like it was yesterday.” Tyler said nothing. His face showed clear concern, which only worsened when he saw tears gathering in Dan’s eyes. Dan swallowed, trying to push back the pain. “It was so clear. And when…” he stopped, bringing his hand to his mouth to stifle a sob. “When Phil came in here, I was so disoriented that for just a moment I thought maybe I was finally waking from the nightmare, and that Nathan was alive. Then I realized the nightmare was real, and he’s still gone…”
“Dan…I’m sorry…” Tyler knew that no other words would make a difference. There was nothing he could do or say to make this better. All he could do was be supportive.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do… When I met Phil, I never expected to feel this way…” He sat up, but still stared ahead. Despite his unblinking eyes, tears rolled down his cheeks. “I’m terrified of losing someone I…someone all over again.”
Tyler sighed, “Someone you love.”
“I don’t want to say it. That would mean confirming it, and if I can avoid that right now then I’m going to. It’ll make things easier.”
“You can’t avoid it forever, because I can tell you that he feels the same way.”
Dan tore his gaze away from the empty space to look at Tyler. “What?”
“Just from how worried he seemed a minute ago, I can tell. Dan you have to tell him what’s going on. You have to tell him the truth.”
“No! I am not telling him. There’s no way!”
“Bitch, I had to postpone a date with Connor to come out here, and if I’m here just to watch you continue to push Phil away, I’m going to hurt you.” Dan eyes trailed away from Tyler. He looked ahead, his shoulders dropping as he sighed. Tyler stood up, knowing there wasn’t much more he could do. “I’m only here for today. All I can recommend is that you spend the day with him. See what happens. I’ll see you tonight, okay?”
Dan stood up as well. He walked over and embraced Tyler, which was slightly funny to both of them due to the height difference. “Thank you, Tyler.”
“You’re welcome, boo.” Tyler pulled away. He smacked Dan’s ass and then pushed him. “Now go have a good day with him.”
Dan laughed as he stepped out of the room. When he looked up, he saw Phil smiling.
“You seem to be doing better,” observed Phil. “Is everything okay?”
“Yeah,” replied Dan. He managed a small smile. “Today’s a free day. We don’t have anything to do, so why don’t we go out for the day?”
Phil nodded, “Okay; that sounds nice.”
***
It was mid-afternoon. Dan and Phil were walking absentmindedly through the streets of Paris. There was no specific place they wanted to go; there was no destination. They walked together, talking quietly and taking in all the sights. Phil often stopped them in order to take pictures or look at something. Dan brought his camera with them so that he could take pictures for Phil. Granted, an IPhone took good pictures, but Dan’s camera was obviously much better. Dan’s personal favorite picture at the moment was the one he took of Phil posing with a street mime.
Dan was relieved. He wasn’t sure if he’d be able to stay happy throughout the day, considering that he now realized how much Phil looked like Nathan. However, there was something about Phil that made the pain go away. Dan found himself smiling, laughing even. It seemed that despite how much he was hurting earlier that morning, it had faded enough to feel nonexistent. He hoped deeply that it would stay that way.
The day continued on. Dan and Phil stopped at a café to eat, took a short tour through an art gallery, and were currently trying to flag down a cab. The sun had set, seemingly bringing another day to a close, but it was only just after 7:30 p.m.
“Where are we headed now?” asked Phil.
Dan nearly cheered when he finally succeeded in getting them a cab. He turned to Phil after they got into the car. “We’re headed back to the hotel, and then we can go out to eat.”
“Alright.”
Once they arrived at the hotel, they went up to their room. Tyler was on the couch watching “Say Yes to the Dress” when they walked in. He turned around, pausing the show in the process. “Hey,” he greeted. “How was the day out?”
“The city is so beautiful,” answered Phil. “Dan showed me an amazing art gallery too.”
“I hate that you can’t take pictures of the art. Like, what am I going to do? Sell a photo of a painting?” Dan laughed.
Tyler chuckled as well, “Well I’m glad it was a good day. However, I have to get a move on. I have to catch a plane soon.”
Phil looked at Tyler with a confused expression. “You’re leaving already?”
“Well, I touched up the suit for next week, so there’s not much reason for me to stay. Plus, I have a date with Connor that I need to get to.” He winked.
“That didn’t take long,” Phil laughed.
“Damn right.”
Everyone laughed. There were a few moments of silence, which Dan broke. “I’m going to take a shower. Then we can head out.”
“Okay,” agreed Phil.
As soon as Dan locked the bathroom door and started up the shower, Tyler went over to Phil. Phil looked at him expectantly. Tyler gestured to the couch, and they both sat down.
“Tyler, what’s going on?” asked Phil. “He seemed really happy today, but I can tell that there’s something underneath.”
Tyler sighed, “If I tell you, you can’t address it. He’d kill me if he knew I told you, but you deserve to know.”
“Tyler just tell me. I won’t say anything, but you’re freaking me out.”
Tyler reached into his pocket and took out a photo. It was the photo from Dan’s wallet. “Nathan was Dan’s fiancé,” he began. He handed Phil the picture from Dan’s wallet. Phil stared at it his eyes wide.
“Oh my god,” he whispered.
Tyler nodded, “I know. I don’t think he realized it at first. Not until…” he trailed off.
“Not until yesterday. That’s when he started acting different. Last night...” He continued to look at the picture, trying to make sense of what he was seeing. Nathan looked so much like him. It was almost scary. He was definitely Phil’s doppelganger and vice versa. Phil handed the picture back to Tyler. “So he was Dan’s fiancé. Was, being the key word. What happened?”
“He’ll kill me if he knows I told you,” muttered Tyler as he put the picture away so he could put it back before Dan noticed it was missing.
“Like I said, I won’t say anything.”
Tyler sighed, and he started telling the story. “Dan was 21 when he first started working as a photographer at the company. He and Nathan were already together of course. They met when they were 18.”
“It was towards the end of their senior year. Nathan hired Dan to take his senior pictures.”
Dan was stood outside in a woodland area that people often went to in order to walk the paths in the fall time. The trees would change colors, making the trails beautiful. It was also a very popular spot for senior pictures. Nathan stood out in the field, following Dan’s direction. Dan was trying to find the best spot to complement Nathan’s appearance. His complexion was still slightly tanned from the summer, so it was perfect to go alongside the orange, yellow, and red leafs that were soaring through the sky. Nathan had wonderful features. They were sharp, but his eyes were soft.
“Okay, what pose do you want to do?” asked Dan.
“Whatever you think would suit me,” replied Nathan, a small smile on his face.
“Oh, don’t get me started,” mumbled Dan for only himself to hear. He adjusted his camera and looked through the lens. Go ahead and sit in the grass. Look out into the distance.” Nathan did as directed, and Dan began snapping picture after picture.
“After that, the rest should have been history, but sadly that wasn’t the case.”
“When Dan got the job at the company, he persuaded them to hire Nathan as a model. After all, as you saw, Nathan was a beautiful boy, so they agreed. Dan wasn’t famous or even well-known at this point, so dating one of his models wasn’t a problem. The two of them took the company by storm. It wasn’t long before everyone knew who they were. By age 23, Dan was top dog at the company, and everyone knew who Nathan was. Everyone knew they were together too, and that just seemed to make things even better in the media.”
Dan and Nathan were stood side by side in Paris at one of the many events. They talked with people easily. Everyone knew who they were. They were respected not only as members of the company but as people. Dan walked with Nathan, his hand around the man’s waist.
“Dan proposed to Nathan that same year, and Nathan said yes. I’d never seen Dan so happy.”
It wasn’t a special location, but it was special to them. Dan took Nathan out to where they had taken Nathan’s senior pictures. He got down on knee and asked Nathan to marry him. Nathan’s hands flew to his mouth, trying to conceal the overwhelming emotion. With tears in his eyes, he nodded yes and jumped into Dan’s arms. They held each other, unexplainable amounts of happiness washing over them.
“It was only a few months later when it happened. Dan was finishing up a shoot, and he was going to pick up Nathan afterwards. It was late, snowy, dark outside. As he driving, he heard the gun shot. Of course, it’s London. It was another crime. He stayed in his car for a few minutes, just to be safe. When he pulled up to where he was supposed to pick up Nathan, that’s when he found him.”
Dan was driving. He had the wipers on in the car in order to push away the snow. The headlights from his car and streetlamps were the only light guiding his path. Suddenly, he heard a gunshot. His heart raced. Sometimes he hated living in London. He pulled over and stayed in his car, trying to stay calm. After a few minutes, he resumed heading to pick up Nathan.
When Dan arrived, he could see someone lying on the ground. He darted out of his car and ran to them. Rolling the person over, he saw that it was Nathan, and Nathan had been shot. The wound was in his chest, right where his heart was. There was nothing Dan could do. Nathan was already gone, dead from the second the shot hit him. Dan held Nathan’s body close to him, and he wept.
“It wasn’t anyone that had a grudge, it wasn’t anything. It was just another crime. Nathan was a victim of circumstance, but Dan, Dan lost everything that night. He was never really the same after that.”
Phil had no idea what to say. He felt his heart breaking for Dan. That had to have been one of the saddest things he’d heard. Now it all made sense. Dan acted the way he did because it was a mask. Phil now wasn’t sure if it was really against the rules for Dan to date one of the models, but now he sure as hell understood why Dan didn’t want to. However, that raised a question.
“Does Dan have real feelings for me?” asked Phil. Tyler looked at him, as if expecting context to the question. Phil gestured to himself, “I’m not exactly a prize. I mean, I know I look like Nathan, but if he just now noticed that clearly didn’t have an effect. At least, I don’t think so. But until yesterday, I thought what Dan and I had going on wasn’t that serious. It was more of just this really frustrating tension. But…yesterday, it felt different, and now with this new information I don’t know what to think.”
“The real question is,” started Tyler, “do you have real feelings for him?” Phil was completely silent. “I’m asking because I’ve already watched that boy’s heart get destroyed. I don’t want to see that happened again.”
Tyler and Phil heard the shower water turn off, and both of them instantly panicked. Tyler cursed under his breath and darted for Dan’s wallet, putting the picture back and placing the wallet back in place. Phil didn’t feel he had a reason to be panicking, but he was. More than anything, it was Tyler’s question that was stressing him out. Yes, he had feelings for Dan. He couldn’t deny that at all. However, he was now afraid that Dan didn’t have feelings for him. He’d pointed out to Tyler that surely Dan did like him because Dan hadn’t noticed the similarities in the past, but that observation had been more for his sake.
Tyler walked back out into the main area, his belongings in hand. “I have to go, but now you know the truth. Take care of him.” He left the room without another word.
Phil turned when he heard Dan stepping out of the bathroom. Dan was already dressed and drying his hair with a towel. “Almost ready?”
The emotions hitting Phil were powerful and confusing. He didn’t understand how he was feeling one bit, and sure as hell didn’t want to go anywhere in that moment. Despite that, Dan smiled at him, and he smiled back. “Yeah. Whenever you are,” he lied.
|
It takes Clarke far too long to fall asleep that evening, and even then, she wakes before the dawn, eyes groggy and heart pounding. She’s beyond nervous and after unwrapping herself from where she had burrowed into the furs of her bed, clinging to old memories, it still takes all of her willpower to muster up the strength to extract herself from her thoughts and attend the meeting. Her entire being is filled with an overbearing sense of dread, suffocating her lungs.
Ontari had warned that they would all need to go into hiding until after the meeting, but Clarke had been more concerned with Lexa’s safety. Lexa, who was still back in Arkadia, completely unaware that she was currently in danger. She could only hope that Raven and the rest of the 100 where keeping the grounder safe from disparaging eyes and other foreign threats.
Clarke is the last to arrive in the council room, despite being the first to actually arrive at the capital. When she does, all eyes are on her and Clarke gets hit with a sense of de ja vu, feeling smaller and smaller with each step she takes toward the last empty chair by Roan, to the right of the Commander’s throne. Ontari quickly glances at her, brown eyes full of turbulence, but the moment passes in an instant, and the grounder stands just a bit straighter.
“Now that Wanheda has arrived, let us begin.” She addresses the gathering in the most professional voice she can muster. “Greetings members of the Coalition.” She greets with a look of acknowledgement as brown orbs scan around the room, settling on Clarke last.
“As many as you have found, the City of Light no longer exists and the Flame has been destroyed.” She confesses, pausing to allow the words to sink in amongst the ambassadors. Clarke can tell that the girl is nervous by the way she clenches her fists behind her back, obscured from view of the majority of the clan leaders. But from where Clarke is sitting, she can see the tensing of her veins, her knuckles turning white. The Commander grits her teeth when she speaks again.
“I know many of you feel that I am unfit to lead this union of our nations because of this.” She surveys the room of various reactions to her confession. Her eyes meet commanding brown and her stomach drops knowing exactly what the leader is about to say next.
“The need to end the City was a decision made by Heda Lexa, whose last wish was to bring peace to our people. I have fulfilled the request and lived up to my gifted title.” Ontari says. “Along with the assistance of Skaikru and Wanheda, the sacred land has been destroyed to allow our people to live and focus on the world we live in and this world only.” She decrees.
Clarke is met with a sea of glowering eyes and stark expressions. A rapid pounding starts to hammer against her ribs.
“It’s a conspiracy.” One ambassador shouts.
“She is dead! This is an outrage.” Another cries.
Clarke feels her stomach knot, her face struggling to remain impassive.
“She is not.” Ontari halts. “Heda Lexa has been living in solitude in the Trikru village a few miles from Polis.”
The room buzzes with murmurs of shock and anger, all numbing Clarke’s ears.
“And should you find that she would be a better leader than I, then propose it.” Ontari dares, reasserting her authority.
The leaders look conflicted and somewhat confused, as if the Commander is crazed.
“I will warn you that she has no recollection of her reign. The Commander Blood is gone. Her gift was fulfilled and she is simply Leksa kom Trikru.” The leader explains. “It would be to your benefit, and the benefit of our people, to choose another leader.” Ontari advises.
“And who would you choose?” A gruff man interjects. “The flame is gone! How do we know you won’t just pick another of your own?” He glares accusingly at Roan.
“I want only the best for our people,” Ontari continues, tightening her jaw. “I will not be making the final decision.” She says. “Titus will, with a competition. A test of three pillars; wisdom, strength, and compassion. The core values that every commander must hold.” She pronounces.
“They are principles that Titus understands. He knows best what is demanded of the Commander.” She tilts her head over her shoulder to acknowledge the advisor who until this point remained standing stoically by her side.
It seems to appease the challenger enough that he nods with a half-hearted grunt. At the same time, Titus steps forward, taking control of the council.
“Ontari of Azgeda is willing to step down from her position of Commander, if the vote for her to do so is unanimous.” He declares. “Should it be as such, each of you will be allowed to choose one delegate from your clan to compete for the open position.”
“All those in favor of removing Ontari of Azgeda from her position of Heda, please stand.”
Almost instantly half of the clan ambassadors are on their feet, while the other half looks around amongst themselves before standing a bit more hesitantly to join them. The brunette looks at Clarke, brown orbs begging. The others seem to be watching her too. Clarke’s chest constricts knowing that the half that stood immediately are full of rage and anger, most likely wanting death to the Commander, Lexa, and herself. The other half probably want to know how Wanheda, the conspirer, will react. Would she betray their leader to protect her own people? Or would she be insistent upon the Ice Nation native’s continued reign.
Clarke, biting her lip, reluctantly stands, earning a few somewhat shocked expressions in the process. For the best interest of all of their safety, she gives in, trying to convey a look of assurance in her blue eyes.
Ontari shoots her a small, yet grateful nod. “I will surrender the throne willingly, once the new Commander is chosen.” She declares. “You will have until this afternoon to choose your representative. No ambassadors may compete, so choose wisely. The competition will be held in a week’s time at the arena.” She declares. “That is all.”
As the meeting concludes, Clarke bolts without selecting a representative for Skaikru, just as Ontari had advised her to do. Indra is waiting outside the room and gives her a subtle raise of a brow. Amongst the commotion, the blonde follows swiftly, hot on the warrior’s heels.
---
The journey back to Arkadia is tense and quiet, both women focused on the shadows of the woods on the lookout for lurkers and other potential dangers. She needs to get back to Lexa. As long as people still think she’s Trikru, being in Arkadia is safe. She hopes. As for herself, she wasn’t sure. But she was willing to offer her own life for the safety of Lexa’s. After all, the grounder had done the same for her countless times.
She sighs through her nose, stress pent up in her chest. She senses Indra’s eyes observing her but again, the woman says nothing, allowing the crack of branches and leaves under the horses’ hooves fill the silence. It isn’t until they are outside the gates of Arkadia, ready to part in their separate ways that the lieutenant speaks.
“Octavia.” Indra says gruffly.
“What about her?” Clarke raises an eyebrow.
“Octavia should represent Skaikru at the competition.” The Trikru member offers as a solution. “She is strong.”
“She doesn’t consider herself one of us.” The blonde points out. “She’s been more of a grounder since she met Lincoln.”
“She is the link between the grounders and Skaikru.” The warrior objects. “She may be Trikru to me and to you, but to the rest of the clans, she is still Skaikru.” Indra reasons.
“Octavia understands belonging and peace, but she is loyal to those that deserve it and cold to those that don’t.” Indra states. “As my second, I have trained her to fight for herself and stand tall in the face of danger. She is the only one worthy.”
Clarke nods because she does have a point. “I’ll ask. But I can’t make any promises that she’ll accept.”
Indra gives her a final nod holds her arm out for Clarke to grasp. She gives it a firm squeeze and is then back on her way, sword at her side as her horse gallops over the horizon.
The blonde tries to focus as she steps through the Arkadian gates, simply exhausted by the amount of weight and tension she now has to carry yet again. The only thing she wants is to find a forest of green to get lost in, but when she returns to her room, Lexa is nowhere to be found. In fact, her bed is made neatly and everything in the bunk is still intact. It’s as if she had never been there at all. Clarke frowns, hoping that the grounder is somewhere with Raven.
She tries the mechanic’s shop, peering in to find an abundance of wires and lose electronics across the worktable, bench pulled out slightly. But as with her room, the station is also empty. With a sigh, she ventures to the adjacent building, slipping around the back.
Maybe she had gone to the medical bay, Clarke reasons, considering the possibility that maybe her mother had taken the grounder in for a checkup to see how her stitches were healing. Her heart beats a bit harder when she sees a sleeping figure on one of the cots, but soon realizes it is just another patient. No sign of Lexa or her mother.
At this point, she is starting to panic. Lexa wouldn’t have gone back to the village, would she?
Clarke’s pulse accelerates as she tears through the Ark, searching frantically. Just as she’s about to run back to the small village, completely disregarding Ontari’s cautionary warnings to stay hidden, she hears a clang of metal swiping against metal. She looks out the window of the corridor she had been running through to see two grounders sparring and her blood boils.
She makes it a few feet toward the dueling two, before a tan hand wraps around her arm.
“Whoa there, Princess.” Raven chuckles, pulling her back. “You might not want to march into that without some protection.” The mechanic urges.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” The blonde freaks. “You were supposed to be keeping her safe!” She tugs her arm free with a huff, eyes narrowed in on the girl in front of her. She struggles for a moment to calm her breathing, adrenaline still pumping from her panicked search.
“What? Lexa’s fine.” The brunette brushes off nonchalantly. “Besides, she’s the one who offered to train with her.” Raven shrugs. “I know you’re worried about her, but she can handle herself. In fact, it’s O you should probably be worried for.” The Latina chuckles.
The clinking sound of the dueling swords stops and Clarke’s stomach drops. She clenches her fists, afraid of what she may see as she and Raven turn their attention to the fight.
Instead of finding the two in battle, Octavia’s hands are on her hips while Lexa is still in a fighting stance, waiting patiently for the warrior to return her attention back to her before she continues, not want to take advantage of her unguarded opponent.
“Hey!” Octavia interjects, overhearing them. “I’m doing just fine, right now!” She says haughtily. “In fact, I was just about to win this match.”
Clarke watches as a smirk creeps across Lexa’s face as she shakes her head. She knows that look. Before Octavia can prepare herself, the ex-commander kicks lightly at the back of the knee, hitting just the right spot and causing the warrior to unsuspectingly buckle under her own weight.
“Pride can be your greatest downfall.” Lexa lectures, holding out a hand to help the fallen brunette to her feet. “A battle is not won until it is completely over.” She heeds as the smaller girl takes her hand, grumpily.
“You should remain focused until the end and always be mindful of your opponent. Stay one step ahead of them at all times.” Lexa advises.
Octavia grumbles, resisting the urge to roll her eyes as she brushes herself off and Raven bursts out laughing.
“See?” The mechanic pats the blonde on the shoulder, turning her attention back to Clarke for the moment. “Relax. Lexa kicks ass. Just watch.” She urges, bringing them to sit on a set of stools a bit closer to the two, but far enough to stay away from the range of their swinging swords.
Clarke’s hands grip nervously at the rim of the chair beneath her every time the warrior takes a swing at the candle maker, but Lexa is swift in her response time and light on her feet. She knows Lexa can fight. She’s seen it before. But despite her skills, Clarke heart still lurches with every clang of metal, every sharp cut through the air deafening.
She can feel Raven watching her, aware of her overly protective behavior as she scoots her stool closer until she’s able to nudge her with her elbow. Clarke turns her head slowly, only tearing her eyes away from the two at the last second to make contact with the mechanic’s.
“Come on, Princess.” Raven apologizes. “I really don’t think you need to worry. She’s a still fighter at heart.” The mechanic notes, but Clarke can’t help but feel her stomach twist at the words. Because she may be a fighter and she may have been trained like every other grounder, but deep down, the Lexa that she knew, her Lexa, was never a fighter. She was a lover. Clarke’s lover.
“She’s…” Clarke wants to object, searching for the right words.
The Heda had initially come across as harsh, cold, and callous, but the more Clarke had gotten to know her, the more she could see that the Commander and Lexa were two different people. The Commander was a fighter, but Lexa was not. Clarke could see it in the way Lexa smiled softly when they were shielded away in private settings; intimate moments she shared only with Clarke. It was the way she kissed; her lips so gently and carefully. It was in the tone of her voice; always so soft and loving.
The Commander was strict and thought with her head. Lexa thought with her heart. She cared for her people: the citizens, her army, each and every ambassador. She cared for Clarke. She had a pure heart and good intentions, but sometimes, most times, her responsibilities prevented her from showing it.
“She’s good.” She finally settles.
The Latina, unaware of the double-meaning simply nods in agreement, cupping her hands around her lips before giving a shout in the direction of the two fighters.
“Come on, Lexa!” She cheers. “Show your girl just how good you are!” She encourages.
Lexa pauses, blushing lightly and her cheeks match the pink of Clarke’s own porcelain complexion. The blonde gives her a glare while the mechanic smiles in feigned innocence. When she turns back to the two, Lexa is still watching her, green eyes boring into her and Clarke gets lost.
This time, Lexa gets distracted as well and the warrior-in-training, learning quickly from the ex-commander’s tactic, uses it to her advantage, shoving an elbow into the dumbstruck girl. It wasn’t a particularly rough action, but it hits too close to where her stitches had been and she winces slightly, gritting her teeth. She rubs at the spot and Clarke is up in a heartbeat, rushing towards her.
The blonde growls, violently tearing the sword from both of the girls’ hands, throwing the weapons on the ground.
“This ends now!” She shouts. Both girls take a step back, thrown off and dumbfounded by the complete change in temperament.
“What the hell are you thinking?” She reprimands. Octavia, unaware of the injury, simply shrugs. Lucky for her, Raven has fumbled her way to the two, slowed down initially due to her brace.
“We were just practicing.” Octavia defends, looking for some sort of support from the Latina. Raven gives her an apologetic glance.
“I think maybe you should be done practicing for the day.” Raven suggests, pulling her away to the give the two some space.
Clarke huffs, turning her attention to Lexa. “And you!” She takes a step closer, eyes brimming with tears. “You could have gotten hurt! I told you to take it easy!” She snaps. “What if you had pulled a stitch?” Her hands automatically find their way to the girl’s torso. Her body is radiating heat and Clarke lifts her shirt, running a careful hand over the girl’s abs.
The girl flinches at her touch and Clarke feels her eyes sting, tears threatening to spill over as she examines the wound. She wills them to focus for the moment and when she realizes no damage had been done, she lets out a breath and the dam bursts, tears tracking down her cheeks.
“I’m sorry, Clarke.” Lexa whispers, goose bumps rising on her skin where Clarke had skimmed her fingers across. “I will be more careful next time.” She reaches for Clarke’s hand but pauses, fingers twitching nervously before she drops her hand.
“There won’t be a next time.” The blonde’s voice cracks as she relinquishes the fabric, wiping angrily at her face with a sniffle.
“I can take care of myself, Clarke.” Lexa tries to reason, carefully adjusting her shirt back into place. “All grounders are taught basic combat skills from a very young age.” She justifies.
“I know.” Clarke bites out.
“Then why are you so upset?” The brunette asks, eyes narrowed in on Clarke’s features. She feels herself being surrounded by a forest of green, her heart overwhelmed by the spectrum of emotions in the girl’s eyes. “Clarke?” She presses, swallowing under the blonde’s heavy gaze.
“Because I can’t let anything happen to you!” Clarke finally blurts as another round of tears falls from her eyes.
“Clarke…” Lexa pauses, her eyes soft and compassionate. “I…” The grounder shifts closer but Clarke retreats.
“I can’t…” The blue-eyed girl hiccups, turning on her heels and fleeing the scene. She sees Raven and Octavia rushing towards her, but she brushes past them, stomping back to the Ark and into her room, slamming the titanium door behind her.
She flings herself down onto the bunk that Lexa had been sleeping in before she left, gripping the pillow like a vice as she inhales the girl’s scent. Calming mint. Sweet honey. Pure Earth.
Clarke hadn’t meant to react so dramatically, but the news from Ontari weighing her down had already put a damper on her mood, the stress of finding a delegate only adding to her worry. The small flinch of Lexa’s expression when she took the jab simply pushed Clarke over the edge.
All she wanted was to feel free again, to feel loved again, to be Clarke and Lexa. Her tears fall faster until she can no longer cry anymore and instead is gasping for air, choking on dry sobs.
Her eyes soon grow heavy, lids struggling to stay open. She falls asleep dreaming, wishing, and yearning for the day…
Almost.
She is halfway to lucidity when a light knock on the door wakes her, pulling her back to reality again. She grunts, unwilling to open it for whoever may be outside, but there’s a click of the latch and her mother steps in.
“Raven told me it might be a good idea to check on you.” Abby says tenderly, sitting at the edge of the bed with her daughter.
“Are you alright?” She asks but when her eyes meet her daughter’s blue ones she shakes her head. “Silly question. Of course not.”
Clarke sighs, not bothering to hide her frustration.
“What can I do to help?” The doctor asks, brushing back a strand of blonde lock that had fallen over her daughter’s face while she slept.
“She doesn’t remember anything.” Clarke says flatly. “There’s nothing you can do.”
Her mother gestures for her to flip over onto her stomach and she shifts closer, running her hand up and down Clarke’s back, nails scratching lightly. She hadn’t done this since Clarke was a little girl, but right now, without an answer, it was the only source of comfort she could really give. She hums a song from her childhood, softly, tempo slowed down to coincide with the pace of her hand as it danced along her spine.
When it finally ends, her mother gives her a soft squeeze.
“They’re going to hold a funeral for Jasper this afternoon at the drop ship.” Her mother says sadly. “To lay him with the others.” She acknowledges. “You don’t have to go if you don’t…”
“I’ll go.” She cuts off. Despite their rocky ending, he was still part of the original group that was sent to the ground together and she at least owed him that much.
“What time?” She asks.
“Whenever you’re ready.” Her mother simply says, placing a kiss on her forehead. She stands to leave, pausing at the doorway.
“She’s with Raven right now.” Abby says over her shoulder. “By the fire pit.” She departs with the final words lingering in the back of Clarke’s mind.
Whenever you’re ready.
She swallows, knowing her mother’s implications. She should go to apologize.
Clarke rolls from the bunk, straightening the sheets and readjusting the pillow of the grounder’s bed before she leaves.
She finds her just as her mother had said; Lexa talking to Raven quietly by the fire pit, their backs to her. She had since changed, borrowing some of the mechanic’s Arkadian attire, her signature red jacket now slung over the grounder’s shoulders. Clarke has to take a moment to calm herself. Lexa has never looked so breathtaking.
As she approaches, she can tell that they are leaning into one another, deep in conversation and unaware of Clarke’s appearance. She listens a few feet away to the two brunettes huddled together.
“Clarke cares about you, you know.” Raven says, eyes fixed on the flames dancing in front of them.
“I do.” Lexa nods.
“And how do you feel about that?” The mechanic asks curiously.
“I do not understand why she was so upset.” Lexa sighs. “As children, grounders are trained to fight as a very young age. I would think that she would trust me enough to know that I could handle a little sparring match.” She shrugs and Clarke can see that the grounder is toying nervously with the fabric of her shirt, head tilted down.
Clarke mentally kicks herself, feeling a pang of guilt for being so harsh and her jaw clenches. I do trust you.
“She was just worried you’d get hurt.” Raven assures. “Her last…” She pauses hesitantly. “Uhh, her lover died because she was attacked off guard because of her.” She explains. “The same way you could have been.” She hesitates. “I think she blames herself.” Raven discloses.
“She is Wanheda.” Lexa breathes. “Commander of Death. “ She translates. “Such a weight to carry.” Lexa comments with a shake of her head.
“Yeah.” Raven nods in agreement. “It’s been hard on her. She’s rarely smiled.” The mechanic notes, her head bowed. “It’s getting better though. I think.”
“I do wish she would do so more often.” Lexa agrees. “She looks lovely when she smiles, but her eyes are still sad.” The grounder says, shyly, tilting her head bashfully.
“She just misses her.” Raven excuses.
“I can only imagine.” Lexa nods. The mechanic hums in response, thinking the same thing.
“You have seen loss too.” Lexa observes. She was always good at reading people.
“You’re perceptive.” Raven voices Clarke’s own thoughts, tossing a twig into the fire.
“It’s a cruel world.” The taller brunette states. “It is why you two understand each other so well. You use humor as a way to cope, sass as a way to divert, and intelligence as a way to fight.” She comments.
“I… yeah. Thanks.” Clarke kept stop herself from releasing a snort, because Raven is actually rendered speechless. She clasps her hand over her face, hoping the sound wouldn’t pull their attention to her.
“Uhh anyway…” The mechanic rubs her palms against her legs. “She cares about you.” She says again to the girl.
“And I am grateful.” Lexa says appreciatively. “Truly, I am. It’s just not something I am used to.”
“Yeah.” Raven gives a small smile, looking over her shoulder. “You should tell her that.” Clarke freezes when green eyes meet hers, lips parted slightly.
“I’ll see you later, Lexa.” The Latina hoists herself to stand, propping her bum leg up with her hands first. “Hey, Princess.” She gives Clarke a wink.
Clarke clears her throat, eyes falling to Lexa who was now looking up at her with innocent eyes.
“Hello, Clarke.” She respires, voice light and airy.
“Hi.” She swallows. “Do you mind?” She asks hesitantly.
The grounder gives a welcoming smile and pats the log, allowing Clarke to sit beside her. Lexa shifts slightly, granting her a physical space between them.
A silence falls over the two girls, and their eyes lock in on one another. Blue eyes search green for something to grasp onto. Lexa’s eyes are full of sadness and concern, brows furrowed slightly, and her lips pressed tightly together.
“I’m sorry.” They both say at the same time. Lexa lets out a nervous chuckle, frown slipping from her face. Clarke blushes and Lexa smirks.
“I did not mean to upset you, earlier.” Lexa confesses. “I didn’t know how much it would have affected you.”
You have no idea what kind of effect you have on me.
“It’s okay.” She wills her voice to stay steady.
“It isn’t.” Lexa shakes her head. “It is not fair that I hurt you. I never intended to do so.” She expresses her regret, scooting closer to the girl, giving her a genuine look.
“I know.” Clarke croaks, allowing herself to shift into her as well. Their shoulders touch and Clarke instantly melts at the contact, a warmth spreading slowly through her.
“I will try to be better.” Lexa promises.
“You’re already the best.” The blonde insists. “I just… overreacted.”
“Compassion should never have to be justified. You reacted based on your feelings.” Lexa says wisely. “Emotions are meant to be felt and the heart meant to be heard.”
“What does your heart say?” Clarke asks shakily.
“That you are special, Klarke kom Skaikru.” Lexa whispers tenderly. “And that you should be reminded of it more often.” The grounder says gently.
Clarke’s feels her heart skip, losing herself in the way Lexa is looking at her, flames illuminating the side of her face causing her skin to glow as they dance in the breeze. There’s a familiar tug in her chest, and for a moment she thinks that Lexa may be leaning in as well…
A loud honk causes them to jump back, and she has to stop herself from outwardly groaning. Her cheeks are searing and Lexa looks away shyly, biting her lower lip.
They turn their attention to the source of the commotion, finding Bellamy, Monty, Harper, and a few others climbing into the rover. Raven is in the front seat of the vehicle, waving her to join while Octavia and Lincoln are following them on horseback.
“I think there’s a slight possibility that you are needed.” The grounder recovers playfully.
“Come with me?” Clarke requests. “It’ll be safer in numbers.” She hopes that Lexa is willing to surround herself with a bunch of potentially strangers because Clarke can’t stand the idea of leaving her behind in Arkadia. Not after they had almost…
The brunette nods and they make their way over the group. She opens the backdoor for Lexa, allowing her to climb in first before following suit, sliding in next to her. They’re all fit snuggly in, and Clarke feels her body temperature rising. She knows it’s not just because of the sheer amount of bodies in the vehicle either. Lexa’s entire side is pressed to hers, shoulders and thighs touching. And it almost felt as if Lexa was actually slanting into her.
The group attempts to make small talk, but the air is thick with tension, the body bag lying between them on the floor stripping them of any feeling of ease. Her whole body tenses, eyes transfixed on the way she can see Jasper’s head bob from side to side as they drive over each bump. Her stomach tumbles and she feels sick. Lexa move slightly, sensing her behavior. Her eyes are still focused straight ahead, but her hand subtly grazes against Clarke’s comfortingly.
Clarke clings to it, entwining her pinky around the grounder’s, unbeknownst to the rest of the group. It makes the ride a little more bearable.
---
When they finally pull up to the drop ship, Clarke is the first to climb out of the rover, pupils dilated as she takes a series of deep breathes. Lexa approaches her carefully, allowing her time to recover.
Bellamy and Monty help unload the corpse while Lincoln, Miller, and Brian set off to dig the grave. Clarke’s heart constricts and she staggers slightly, feeling light-headed.
The actual funeral passes in a blur. Each member of the hundred singing their praises of the dorky, rambunctious, and downright ridiculous memories they have of the boy. No one dares to mention Maya or the last few months of his time on Earth. It’s somewhat superficial and Clarke feels sick. Monty goes last and his tribute is tearful and overwhelming. Even Lexa seems teary, her eyes sorrowful and sympathetic.
As they lower the body into the shallow grave, Clarke withdraws from the group, going into the drop ship to take a moment to herself. The sound of shoes quietly padding across the base of the structure takes her from her thoughts. She looks up to see a pair of tenderly inquiring eyes. She doesn’t say anything, just drops to ground before sitting cross legged across from the blonde whose knees are pulled to her chest as she hides in the corner.
It’s dark in the shadows, but Lexa’s eyes is are bright, reflecting off the smallest drop of sunlight available.
“Clarke.” She whispers, the “k” clicks delicately against her tongue. She waits until Clarke is ready to speak, her breath even and the blonde wishes for her own to match.
“I can’t save anyone.” Her eyes water. “Jasper is dead because I couldn’t save him.” She confesses. “I am fucking Wanheda.” she scoffs at her own cursed nickname.
Lexa moves closer, raising her hand as if she’s about to place it on Clarke’s knee, but she hesitates, hovering.
“Are you scared of me?” Clarke says dryly. Do you see me as a monster?
“No.” Lexa response without hesitation, finally making contact with the fabric of the blonde’s pants. Her thumb caresses her knee tenderly.
“I would be.” Clarke grinds her teeth, biting back the swell of tears threatening to fall.
“While you only see darkness, I see a light in you. It’s bright, yet you constantly repress it.” Lexa comments.
Clarke snorts. You are my light. She thinks. The brunette takes her reaction as a sense of bitterness.
“Do you fear death?” Lexa tilts her head to the side.
“No. But everyone I love dies. I put them all in danger.” She grimaces. Ontari. The 100. You.
“Her too?” The grounder asks, picking up on the remorse in her eyes.
She stays silent and Lexa takes the unanswered response as a yes.
“You do not fear death because you feel that you have nothing to live for?” Lexa gathers.
“That’s not it.” Clarke thinks. She does, but she’ll risk her life to protect her people, always.
“Death is not the end.” Lexa comforts. “You can continue to love someone and mourn them when passed. But to allow yourself to stop living as well, is a terrible way to carry on.” Her words resound in Clarke’s ears, just as she had said to her in the City of Light.
“I’m not carrying on.” The blonde rolls her eyes.
“You are just surviving.” Lexa nods. “Yet it was you who insisted that we deserve more than that. You’re fighting with yourself to accept who you are.” She observes.
“You must let go of the past if you are going to live in the present. Why don’t you offer yourself that second chance?” The brunette asks.
She’s quiet again.
“You carry a load greater than the rest. Do not let that define who you are, but strengthen who you can be.” She encourages. “You can…”
“Please.” Clarke says gruffly. “No more lessons.”
“I’m sorry.” The brunette apologizes, withdrawing her hand from where it had been resting on Clarke knee. She immediately feels colder.
“Me too.” Her voice crumbles. A single tear betrays her and plops into her lap. Lexa reacts immediately, wiping the trail away from the blonde’s tainted cheek.
“Is she here?” She prods cautiously, referring to the row of graves outside courtyard of the drop ship.
“Sort of.” Clarke shrugs “She’s with me to an extent, probably.” We keep fighting though. Clarke thinks.
“Of course she is.” Lexa insists. “Love is the most powerful type of weapon.” She says.
Clarke sighs, eyes lingering at the doorway of the ship.
“You did not get to say a proper goodbye.” Lexa notes, following her gaze. “Now would be a good time to do so. Offer yourself that.” The grounder encourages, with that she departs to reunite with the others, leaving Clarke alone to think. She finally takes the girl’s advice, sending her final words to the boy in the ground. She looks out across the row of graves, yearning for all of those she had lost. But then her eyes fall to the one she found again. She allows herself a moment of hopefulness as she joins the others.
To those we have lost, and to those we shall soon find.
The rest of the evening is a somber one, the group eating together in the dining hall before heading off to bed, all emotionally exhausted from the day’s events.
Clarke settles into her bunk as Lexa does the same. She listens to the rustle of sheets until the girl stills, breathing out a sigh.
“You alright?” the blonde asks into the darkness.
“No.” She hears the brunette whisper, voice shaky.
“Does your wound hurt?” She sits up, swinging her feet over the edge of the bed.
“No.” Lexa stares up at the ceiling. “That doesn’t hurt.”
“Then what is it?” Clarke inquires.
“There’s something that’s been bothering me ever since I arrived here.” Lexa confesses. She pushes up on her elbows, pausing for a moment as her eyes adjust, finding Clarke’s silhouette in the dark.
“Clarke,” She hesitates. “Why does everyone know who I was? My name.” She clarifies. “They all knew how to address me before I introduced myself.”
“Like I said,” Clarke tries to brush off. “You’re important.”
“Please.” Green eyes beg. “Be honest. I know I can’t be imagining it.”
“What makes you think that?” The blonde balances her voice.
“Because…” Lexa pauses. “I feel like I know you. Being around you feels familiar.” She confesses, now fully sitting up and there’s the slightest glimmer from across the room. Clarke knows exactly what those orbs are looking at. “Do I know you?” Lexa asks.
This time, Clarke gives in.
“I don’t know this you.” She can’t lie. “Not yet.”
Lexa smiles. “What would you like to know?”
They stay up that night re-learning each other, but Clarke leaves out the most important detail; that she is inevitably, ridiculously, still so in love with her.
|
John is silent the entire cab ride back to his place. Sherlock makes no attempt at conversation, even though he cannot return to his mind palace, not in the context of this atmosphere of repressed irritation emanating from his friend.
“Tell me when you need me.” John’s tone is clipped and he is already half out of the cab before he even finishes the sentence.
I always need you, Sherlock thinks but refrains from saying. His chest feels tight.
He gives the cabbie his Baker Street address and settles against the seat. His phone vibrates in the pocket of his coat, yet again. He rolls his eyes at the empty space next to him and contemplates just ignoring Moriarty’s newest quip.
Curiosity wins out, obviously.
When Sherlock reads the message, however, it is not a mocking remark belittling his efforts, but something else entirely.
Guess you won’t be the only one who returns to an empty flat tonight.
“Turn back!” Sherlock bellows at the driver, ignoring the man’s protests.
When Sherlock reaches the house nestled between two others, all lights are on, even the one in Beth’s nursery. Sherlock’s worse fears are confirmed even before he lets himself in with his key and finds John frantically hitting redial on his phone in the living room, presumably trying to contact Mary.
“How the hell did you know?” John shouts, pointing a finger at Sherlock as he advances on him.
“Moriarty texted me this,” Sherlock explains, hoping his tone has a soothing effect (because he is so good at those, really), and holds up his phone.
John reads the message and promptly throws his own against the nearest wall in an eruption of emotion. It connects with a bang, though from what Sherlock can see, only the screen seems to have cracked.
“Why does everyone always leave?” John asks the room, his voice calm. The corners of his lips are turned upwards, almost as if he is smiling, but beneath it lies an undercurrent of cold fury.
Sherlock would have paused to appreciate the sight if he were not so worried about Beth. “Maybe she just forgot to leave a note,” he stammers, at a loss for anything else to say.
“You really think the former assassin would forget to leave a note for her husband telling him she’s – what? Went out for a night with her three-month-old baby?” John demands, his voice rising as he speaks the last few words.
John catches himself, inhaling sharply and visibly forcing himself to calm down. Sherlock has often wondered who taught John that losing his temper is a bit not good. Probably his father.
John stalks over to where his phone landed, pushing a button as he picks it up. The screen, while cracked, still works.
“Who are you calling?” Sherlock cannot help but ask, not really able to deduce whom John might contact. Lestrade won’t be able to do anything for the first few hours. Legally, Mary and Beth are not missing yet. Moriarty’s text, which cannot be traced back to him anyway, will not help their case.
“Mycroft,” John replies, his phone already at his ear.
Sherlock blinks. He stares at John as he explains the situation to his brother in a tone forced into steadiness by pent-up anger, ready to explode once the first target presents itself.
“You’d better,” John barks into the phone after Mycroft probably told him he would be in touch as soon as he finds out anything. Then John turns to Sherlock, his expression dark. “Do your thing, Sherlock,” he growls. “This is a crime scene. Solve it.”
He does, even though it does not help them at all. They could have guessed that Mary only packed the essentials, and only a fraction of Beth’s toys and clothes are missing, as well as a bit of formula.
Once Sherlock has finished listing his deductions, John regards him for a moment, his entire body tense and dangerous, vibrating with energy.
“Let’s go,” he orders and Sherlock’s legs are moving without his mind telling them to. Before he can ask where, John nods at the street and Sherlock steps forward to hail a cab.
The answer presents itself once John gives the cabbie the Baker Street address. At Sherlock’s quizzical look, John explains, “We’re going to start another crime wall.”
This taxi ride is just as silent as the one before.
*~*~*
Since Q did not, in fact, trace Bond’s progress after he left the gym, he has no clue whether or not to expect the agent in his flat once he returns home at the end of the day.
Obviously he hopes to – Q would like to meet any person even remotely attracted to men who would not hope for James Bond to be waiting for them at the end of the day. Yet maybe Bond’s game of seduction involves long periods of unresolved sexual tension?
It might, but not in this case, as becomes apparent as soon as Q opens his door and is greeted by the smell of takeaway. He finds its source on the kitchen counter and a certain Double-oh on the sofa, caressing a purring Zed in his lap.
“This is my favourite Indian restaurant,” Q observes in wonder when he notices the logo on the bag.
James’ grin is beyond smug. “And your cat sheds – since we’re stating the obvious.”
His reply startles a laugh out of Q as he prepares the food for reheating. A glance tells him James has already helped himself to a glass of water. And another shows he also fed the cat. Q has to grip the counter top in order to calm his thoughts, which are running absolutely wild with possible, albeit highly sentimental, explanations.
“Well, you knew Zed would be here and yet you came here in a designer suit. Aren’t you supposed to work in intelligence, Bond?” Q quips.
James doesn’t feel the need to answer, apparently, so Q finishes reheating the curry and carries the plates and cutlery over to his coffee table.
It proves a tad complex, logistically speaking, for Bond to eat with Zed on his lap demanding attention, which James lavishly showers him with. Q cannot help but feel a bit jealous. Yes, he is aware that that’s ridiculous, thank you very much.
Q has just cleared the plates and is panicking about how to proceed now when James beckons him to the sofa.
“I think there’s a bump on Zed’s head. You should check; my knowledge of feline creatures begins and ends with ‘Do not wake a sleeping lion’.”
“You should spend less time over-exercising and more time broadening your horizon, then,” Q shoots back before he realises what he just said.
James’ smirk turns predatory. “How would you know if I’m over-exercising or not?”
“Please,” Q hurriedly dismisses, sitting down on the sofa next to the agent, “you always do after medical actually made you stay longer than four hours. There’s even a betting pool as to how long exactly it will take you to escape the doctors.”
“Is that so?”
The question is rhetorical, so Q shifts his attention to Zed and feels the cat’s head for irregularities.
“I can’t feel –” he begins, turning his head to look at James, which makes him realise just how close he is to the agent.
James’ eyes are dark in the well-lit room as they meet Q’s, dancing with something hot and heady. Then they dart down to Q’s lips, and suddenly it is blaringly obvious that, of course, Zed does not have a bump anywhere.
“Clever bastard,” Q breathes seconds before James closes the distance between them.
Their second kiss is even better than the first, maybe only because it was pre-mediated and Q could prepare himself for being the sole focal point of James Bond’s sexual prowess.
Zed flees when Q shifts, so he climbs into James’ lap instead. Once he settles, they just continue kissing, strong hands anchoring his hips without exerting pressure while Q’s fingers are resting against James’ jaw. There is no grinding, no groping, but Q’s heart is racing as if there were, all the blood vacating his brain in favour of lower pastures.
The thought that he is snogging, actually snogging 007 on his living room couch dizzies him and he has to break the kiss in order to draw a deep breath, releasing it shakily and making the mistake of blinking his eyes open. James is staring up at him, his lips red and his cheeks flushed, and Q’s cock twitches in the tightening confines of his trousers.
James must know exactly what kind of effect his appearance is having, for now he shifts, guiding his hands back to Q’s arse and pulling him flush against Bond who honest-to-the-gods rises and lifts him off the sofa.
Q gives an embarrassing yelp and throws his arms around James’ shoulders, wrapping his feet around the man’s waist.
“Show-off,” he grumbles, yet he knows the way his erection presses into Bond’s stomach through too many layers of clothing undermines his complaint quite successfully.
“You haven’t seen anything yet, Q,” James purrs near his ear. He kicks open the bedroom door (which stood ajar – had James seen to that prior to Q’s arrival?) and places Q gently on the bed.
“I won’t break, you know,” he feels compelled to point out.
Blue eyes darken even further. “Oh, I do.”
Then James pounces, attacking Q’s cardigan with deft fingers and before Q’s brain catches up to what is happening, his glasses are askew and he is shirtless. A strong, gun-calloused hand pushes him back and once Q has rightened his glasses he sees that James is looking at him, merely looking, his eyes mapping the expanse of his body.
Q works out, though his body type has never supported much muscle building. He knows he is skinny, now more than three months ago given the weight of keeping Mycroft’s biggest secret, but Q has never been ashamed of his body. Now, though, he blushes, wondering what James sees when he looks down, how Q compares to those who the agent has had spread out before him in the past.
“Beautiful,” James whispers, his voice deep and rough. Q swallows and James’ lips curl into a smile, a genuine one, just for a moment before he leans forward to kiss him again while his hands roam naked skin. Q can feel their paths burnt into the very core of his cells.
His own hands move to James’ shirt as soon as he regains a minimum of brain function, though the task proves difficult enough that James huffs and slows his ministrations until the shirt falls open.
Q sits up, urging James to follow the motion, and pushes the fabric off Bond’s shoulders. He has seen his torso before, bruised and bloodied in his bathroom, but this time he is allowed to touch, to trace the pink scars of the bullet wounds from Bond’s last mission, place kisses on older ones while matching each of them with a mission report that Q will never admit to having memorised.
James thumbs one of his nipples then, making Q’s breath hitch. It is as if he has licked blood for suddenly, Q finds himself on his back again with James’ mouth on his chest.
“James,” he moans, and suddenly teeth scrape across his skin.
“Say that again,” James growls, his voice deeper than Q has ever heard him.
He obliges and is rewarded with James’ fingernails running down his side. Q’s hips move on their own accord, eliciting a chuckle form the other man.
“I’m going to wreck you,” James whispers into the jut of his right hipbone and one second later a hand makes quick work of Q’s belt and trousers.
James pulls them off along with the underwear while Q props himself up on his elbows to gaze down his body. His erection curves up towards his stomach, beading precome from the tip. James’ eyes zero in on it and Q fists his hands into the sheets in anticipation.
The other man leans forward until his mouth is mere centimetres from his cock, looking up at Q as if daring him to say anything. Q might have whimpered, yet it spurs James into action so he cannot muster any embarrassment.
James Bond performs oral sex like he does everything else – expertly, with incredible focus, unrelenting until Q is gasping and losing control over his vocal chords. James just sucks harder, apparently greatly enjoying the sounds Q makes, and tongues the line where the shaft meets the glans and all of a sudden there is a finger circling his perineum and Q’s vision whites out so hard and fast that he does not even have a chance to warn James –
- who just takes all Q can give him and then licks him clean while Q is struggling with basic functions like breathing. Once he can process visual cues again, James is kneeling between his open legs at knee-level, gazing down at him with heavily lidded eyes and stroking his cock.
When he shed the rest of his clothes, Q can only guess. Now, however, he is there in all his naked glory, lazily fucking his palm.
“What do you want?” Q asks when he can be sure his voice won’t break. It is still rough, but then again James said he would wreck him.
“Your hands,” is the immediate reply, James’ deep baritone sounding breathless at the thought. “Been thinking about them.”
“You have?” Q whispers, shifting into a kneeling position. James tracks the movement and licks his lips which bear the marks of that spectacular blow job.
Instead of replying verbally, James takes his hand off his erection and clasps them behind his back, which brings out his chest even more. Q shuffles forward awkwardly until he can kiss those bruised lips and taste himself on James’ tongue.
His right hand slides down James’ body until it reaches the soft curls at the base of his erection. Q teases him ruthlessly, tracing a vein at the side of his cock with just a fingertip, thumbing the slit until James’ hips are jerking forward and James is panting into Q’s mouth.
The agent is still too controlled, though, so Q ups the stakes, allowing the hand not on James’ length to tease his nipples. Only when he runs a fingernail over the left one delicately does James react, a moan escaping his throat. It fills Q’s head, the power rush more dizzying than anything he has ever experienced.
It becomes his aim to coax such a sound from the man in front of him, and he plays as dirty as he can. The man is a master of self-control, so he does not push Q into the mattress and rut against his thigh but takes every pinch, every scratch and every lick and bite after Q moves his mouth down James’ neck.
“Q,” he finally pleads, sounding absolutely wrung out.
Q thinks if he fails at everything else in life from now on, pulling such a sound from 007 will outshine anything.
Q tightens his fingers in reward for the plea, experimenting with pressure and speed until he finds the exact combination that has James’ hands dig into the skin of his shoulders. Q’s mind transforms it into an algorithm which will forever be seared into his retinas.
James’ chest shaking with moans and the rhythm of his hips snapping forward is becoming erratic – he must be close. Q leans in as if to kiss his parted lips but at the last moment decides to bite James’ lower lip instead and his entire body stills as he climaxes, long warm stripes coating Q’s palm.
James collapses against him, so heavy and loose-limbed that it poses a challenge to keep them both from toppling over. Q eases them down and marvels the fact that one of James’ hands remains on his hips, keeping their bodies clothes.
“You’re an evil man,” James whispers, his eyes still closed so he can’t see Q’s smirk.
“Be rougher next time and I’ll show you mercy sooner.”
That has James blink his eyes open within the split of a second. He hesitates, his gaze calculating and way too alert for a man who just had an orgasm.
“What?” Q asks, unable to reign in his curiosity.
“Just contemplating if your definition of rough and mine are congruent.”
“Congruent?” Q echoes, baffled. “I must have been more lenient than I thought if you can still use such a word post-coitally.”
“Says the man who turned post-coital into an adverb,” James replies, his tone amused. His hand tightens on Q’s hip and he pulls him closer until their chests are touching and any possible response on Q’s part gets lost in the heat of another kiss.
*~*~*
They do find out whether or not their definitions of rough are congruent, about an hour of lazy dozing later when James shifts on the bed and blankets Q with his body, pressing him into the mattress and immobilising Q’s hands in a vice-like grip.
Something rumbles deep in James’ chest, a content sound that transforms his smirk into a leer.
Q uses his distraction to move his feet, successfully flipping them over despite his restrained hands. Scratch what Q said before, James’ look of utter surprise as he finds himself on his back is Q’s greatest accomplishment.
Q takes one of James’ hands, which have released his wrists at some point during the flip, and sucks two of the agent’s battle-worn fingers into his mouth. James’ eyes darken when Q guides them behind his back, down to his cleft, and the man catches on immediately, tracing his fingers down and continuing where he left off during his blow job.
Time slows down and speeds up at the same time until James sits up and grabs the lube Q keeps in the middle drawer of his bedside table. Bond definitely went snooping before Q returned home, otherwise he would have had to rummage a little before uncovering the bottle.
The image of James alone in Q’s flat, making himself at home, does strange things to his chest.
Thankfully, the other man is becoming more and more eager, and by the time he drags his condom-clad cock against Q’s perineum, all thoughts more complex than more more more have left his mind.
Q cannot remember ever having sex this good – all his previous partners fade into obscurity as James flips them again, resuming his original plan of pinning Q down until the world has narrowed down to just the two of them and the places where skin is touching skin.
Q comes first, spilling himself all over his stomach and chest. He tightens the grip of his legs around James’ waist, urging him to keep up the pace, a frantic rhythm that fills the bedroom with whimpers and moans until James gives one last, violent thrust.
For a moment they simply lie next to each other, catching their breaths. Just as Q’s higher brain functions are starting to return and remind him of how uncomfortable he will feel if he leaves the mess on his chest, James shifts, rolling off the bed and carrying the knotted condom across the room to the bin.
He smiles as he opens the door and for a moment Q is worried that this is the sight of 007 riding off into the night never to return again, no matter that he is not wearing anything but bare skin. James, though, just crosses the corridor and opens the bathroom door, returning with a wet washcloth like the gentleman he is.
“Thank you,” Q murmurs and receives a blinding smile in return.
It isn’t awkward, moments later, when James returns from putting the cloth away. The man simply slips into bed again, pulling the covers over both of them and switching off the lamp next to the bed that Q cannot for the life of him remember being turned on.
Q falls asleep soon thereafter, his body angled towards James, close enough to sense his body heat.
*~*~*
James wakes because of a ringing. It isn’t even a ringing per se, rather a non-threatening noise that soothes him into wakefulness.
The room is dark safe for the sliver of light falling through the window and James can just barely make out Q’s sleeping form beside him. The younger man wakes just as gradually, stretching his arms above his head as he does and arching his back. The blanket that has been covering him until now slips down, exposing his bare torso, which looks enticingly pale in the moonlight.
The ringing changes then, from low-key to something shriller, startling James into glancing at the clock. It is digital, probably has built-in rocket launchers if James has to hazard a guess (this is Q they are talking about, the man who once made James a tie pin that doubled as a poisonous arrow), so of course its features include forwarding calls from Q’s mobile phone.
“Why is Mycroft Holmes calling you at one o’clock in the morning?” James asks the still-dozing man beside him, about to stretch out a hand to caress Q’s skin when the object of his ministration gives a strangled cry and leaps from the bed as if bitten.
Q scrambles for his glasses, then takes the headset that is of course attached to his clock-slash-alarm-slash-telephone-station and rushes out of the bedroom, just barely grabbing a robe that was hanging on a hook next to the door.
James blinks after him, opting to sink back into the mattress for a few minutes more. Q will most certainly holler if the world is ending and anyone needs his particular skills.
In the meantime, he switches on the bedside lamp and stretches himself, muscles pleasantly sore from last evening’s activities. Needless to say, what happened was a game changer, altering his and Q’s relationship forever. Yet James decidedly does not think about all the ways this could go wrong. He’ll have plenty of time to worry about this in a few or so days once he has been cleared for active duty. Instead, he looks about Q’s bedroom, eyes sliding over a cat tree with matching cat bed, chocolate brown wardrobe doors presumably hiding a vast cardigan collection and a decided lack of personal photographs.
Nothing is on display, not even a holiday picture. James checked yesterday as he was waiting for Q to return home, though all he found was an open lube bottle and a pair of leather cuffs and Ben Wa balls. If Q has pictures, they are either safely hidden, in which case James could find them if he wanted to incur the wrath of his Quartermaster for such a profound breach of privacy, or simply non-existent. Or Q only keeps digital copies.
James finally slides out of bed and into his pants, then traipses into the living area. Q is tucked away at his work station, all five screens on and running some sort of programme. James can make out one image on display on the far right of a lone woman with blond hair facing away from whatever camera Q has been hacking.
“Yes, of course,” Q answers to whatever Holmes just asked, nodding even if the other man won’t be able to see it. “The program will keep running; I have automated it to send the results right to your tablet.”
Holmes says something that receives another nod in return, yet whatever he remarks next makes Q’s spine straighten and chases a blush down his neck where it is not covered by the silk robe. The item of clothing itself seems rather out of character for Q – too modern, too expensive. While Q’s shirts and cardigans are good quality, they are never pretentious – unlike this robe. A gift, James presumes.
A movement to James’ left catches his attention, but it is only Zed who apparently noticed that the nefarious activities have stopped so she can safely return to her cat bed. James narrows his eyes and looks after her as he recalls the cat flap in the bedroom door.
Yet before he can muse on the actual level of Zed’s intelligence, Q ends the call, pulling the headset from his ear.
“What did he want at this time of night?”
The younger man sighs heavily, not even bothering with an ironic reply. “Apparently John Watson’s wife disappeared with their daughter.”
“Oh,” is all James says, wondering if John’s wife is the woman in the photograph – who did not have a baby with her.
“I doubt I’ll be able to go back to sleep,” Q laments, deflecting the conversation.
James allows it, but only because he senses the opportunity for heavy innuendo. “I might know how to exhaust you again, Q,” he purrs, laughing as the other man rolls his eyes at him.
He does, however, also step towards him, so that is a win.
“And how would you do that?” Q’s voice has dropped an octave though James just realised Q is sporting a rather impressive bite mark on his collarbone, so it might be for the best that Q’s question was rhetorical.
James is on him in a heartbeat, licking into Q’s mouth and pushing the robe off his body while moving the two of them back towards the bedroom. As they enter, James can feel the highly annoyed glare of a cat, yet he really does not give a fuck if he scares Zed by rimming Q into oblivion.
Zed stays, giving them both the proverbial and literal cold shoulder.
*~*~*
John feels like he is one rude comment away from running amok.
Mary and Beth have been gone for two days and there is no sight of them other than one grainy surveillance photo of Mary in Soho which prompted Sherlock and him to run around the district for eight hours straight only to come up with absolutely nothing.
John has not slept in about sixty hours. The crime wall is irritatingly empty and he cannot stand the impassive mask Sherlock put on at some point during the first night Beth was missing. It rubs him the wrong way, along with practically anything else. Then again, his daughter is missing, so people tend to excuse an awful lot of shitty behaviour on his part.
His mood implodes when all Sherlock has to say when another lead falls through is “Hm.”
“Why in the name of God are you even bloody here?” John shouts. “I’m sure there are plenty more cases out there that are a lot more interesting!”
Sherlock jerks back as if John slapped him, his blue eyes wide. For the first time in hours, his expression betrays a hint of emotion.
“I made a vow,” he states in barely more than a whisper. “I made a vow to protect your daughter and I will stand by it.”
“Then bloody well do it,” John snaps, regretting his tone a moment later. He inhales sharply. “I mean,” he starts again, at least superficially calmer this time while his blood is still on fire. “There’s got to be something. Mycroft said he brought in the Quartermaster of MI6, but all we’ve got is one lousy photograph!”
Sherlock does not say anything. Probably because there is nothing to say. They have nothing, no clue. They can’t even be certain whether or not Mary went voluntarily, even though that one picture would heavily suggest so.
The strain of the past few days feels like lead curling around John’s bones, pulling him down and making his limps heavy. Bloody hell, he needs to sleep. Maybe he will think of something after a few hours of rest because he sure as hell can’t think of anything they haven’t tried right now.
So he offers a curt, “I’m going to bed” as explanation before he drags himself out of the living room and up the stairs towards his former bedroom.
Only a light layer of dust hints at how long the room has been unoccupied. Mrs Hudson must still be cleaning it at least every other week. John should probably thank her for that. And apologise for how he snarled at her earlier in the day, he thinks, grimacing. She was just trying to be helpful.
With a world-weary sigh, John falls onto the bed, still fully clothed. His dreams are haunted by the corpses of infants, Mary in a blood-stained wedding dress, and Moriarty laughing in the shadows.
|
The jar as my fist meets the resistance of flesh is accompanied by a meaty thud as I land a solid punch to the mid section of the stray in front of me. A slight grunt of pain is all that escapes his tightly clenched jaws even though I put good effort into the blow.
"I repeat, why were you stalking women," Wade demands tightly.
When no there is no reply to his question, Wade nods to me and I repeat the blow. This time, I strike on the other side of the torso as I search for sensitive spots left by the beating Malcolm administered in an effort to gain answers to Wade's questions.
"What were you doing stalking human women? What did you hope to achieve," Wade demands flatly.
Again there is no answer and I deliver a flurry of blows at Wade's signal. This time groans of pain reward my efforts but I feel no pleasure. Unfortunately sometimes physical violence is the only way to pry necessary information out of a reluctant stray.
We need to know why he has knowingly and persistently been on clan land without permission when he has clearly been doing much more than passing through.
Stray werecats rarely travel in the company of other cats and frequently leave behind clear evidence of kills when they feed in cat form. That and their tendency to travel in cat form during the day greatly increase the chances of being sighted by humans.
Strays passing through are warned to notify us that they will be moving through our territory. This knowledge helps us work out which few strays are troublemakers and which are merely moving from one location to another.
Most of the other clans have similar rules with the movements of strays, and I do know a few clans who strictly forbid strays crossing their clan territory at any time. Clan members always extend the courtesy of asking permission before venturing onto another clan's territory and there has never been any refusal of permission to my knowledge.
"Ok already!" The stray gasps, "I get the message! Stay away from humans."
"What were you doing stalking human women," Wade demands evenly. "Answer my question."
Again there is no answer but I wait for a signal from Wade before punching the stray again. This time I have winded him and it takes a few seconds before he can draw a breath to groan.
"What were you doing on Williamson clan territory," Wade asks.
"I was looking for someone I used to run with," the stray admits before coughing painfully.
"Why the interest in human women," Wade demands harshly with a nod.
I give the stray no time to answer as I deliver several hard punches to his ribs. The blows leave him groaning in pain as he swings by his arms where they are bound above his head and secured to a short chain hanging from a cross beam. He raises his head to glare at me a few seconds before letting it fall forward once again.
It is a real possibility he had formed a relationship with a human, which raises the possibility of interbreeding between the two. This could result in seemingly a human baby being born only to become turned into a stray at some further time in their life. While the difference in the blood make-up is nearly undetectable in a newborn baby it becomes much more noticeable in those about to 'turn'.
Clan Alphas generally try to keep track of any such children in hopes of being able to render assistance at that time in their lives.
"What makes you assume I was looking for a human female?" the stray says, clearly relishing the furious growls his taunt elicits.
I don't wait for Wade's signal this time and aim for the stray's face. I feel teeth come loose and skin split beneath my knuckles as I hand out a savage beating.
Was he hinting he had been hunting the she-kitt born in this territory? Just the thought of a stray like this getting anywhere near Jazzy spurs me on and even Wade doesn't object as I land punishing blow after punishing blow. Cartilage crunches as his nose breaks and I back off several steps as I manage to control the urge to smash his face beyond recognition.
A faint sound from the doorway catches my attention and my stomach clenches as I see Rosy just inside the open door staring at the stray with a look of horrified recognition on her face.
I realise with shock that the stray is talking to her, knows her and when she responds to his taunts she is nearly hissing and spitting in fear of him. Suddenly the pieces start to fall into place and I glance at Wade and see the realisation on his face as well.
"You know him," I ask as I walk towards Rosy.
The stray taunts us all, clearly enjoying her distress and fear. He can't help himself and has to boast of his knowledge of her, revealing a lot of information about them both. He subtly reinforces a fear and distrust of clan cats he admits to causing and when he swears at Wade I unleash punishment once again.
He was the bastard who had gotten Rosy pregnant! He boasted of tracking her down and catching her to repeatedly and brutally rape her. He intentionally hurt her, making what should have been a very pleasurable experience into a horrifying and painful time for her.
I can only watch as Rosy flees the building but not before looking at me with fear and horror. I glare at the stray and when he replies with scorn to a question from Wade, I
step forward and deliver several short, hard blows up beneath his lower ribs stealing his breath for several minutes.
"How well do you know Rosy?" Wade asks coldly.
"Go to hell you clan mongrel," the stray laughs. "Why should I tell you anything? Yous don't even know what has been under your noses all this time."
"I would have thought someone smart enough to continually elude us for as many years as you have would be smarter than this," Wade says slowly with a shake of his head. "You know we can't let you get away with one: potentially exposing the existence of our species. And two: the rape of a she-kitt. Now if you were to give us the information we want without us having to beat it out of you ... I would be a lot more lenient with you."
I watch as the stray turns the information over in his mind. His eyes dart between the warriors behind me.
"What do you want to know," he asks reluctantly.
"How long have you known Rosy is a werecat," Wade asks.
"Eight, maybe closer to eight and a half years," the stray sneers with a glance my way clearly expecting punishment for his disrespect.
I let it go. I know that we will get more information from him if he doesn't fear punishment at every hint of defiance.
"You mentioned Kendal," Wade says levelly, "would that be Kendal Darnel?"
"Only Kendal I know of," he admits levelly. "We taught her a lot of tricks. How else would she have survived mostly alone for that length of time? Hell even we had trouble catching her. I can generally run her into the ground but the Darnels are the ones who tried to trap her."
"Tried to trap her," Wade queries softly.
I watch the sneer form on the stray's face; clearly he is enjoying taunting us with his knowledge.
"They couldn't catch her so I done them a little deal," the stray licks his lips, his eyes moving shiftily. "I sold her to them. The first time she came into heat fully I drugged her but she was only groggy when they came for her. She nearly managed to outrun them. You should have heard her screaming when they took turns on her. Hell if I didn't know better I would have thought she didn't know what they were doing to her!"
I hear the low growls this elicits from several of the warriors behind me and I glare over my shoulder at them as I swallow my own anger.
"Tell me all you know about Rosy," Wade demands. "Did you know she integrated herself into human society? Is that why you were stalking human females? No use denying it; we know of several reports of women who believed they had been followed at night and watched for an extended period of time. The reports include a large black cat-like or dog-like animal in the same neighbourhoods on the same nights."
When the stray still fails to answer, Wade gives a shake of his head. "It's obvious who you were looking for and why. You're just wasting my time now."
Unease flickers briefly on the stray's face as he glances between Wade and myself.
"You have given us some information. What is your name by the way," Wade asks neutrally.
"Jasper," the stray answers after a short silence.
Clearly he is afraid of us but is determined not to hand over any more information.
"That all? Only Jasper," Wade asks and when there is no reply from the stray he glances at me and gives a slight nod before turning his attention back to the stray.
"Jasper Stray, I as an Alpha recognised by the Were Board of Governors hereby find you guilty of severely mistreating a she-kitt. The mistreatment includes repeatedly mounting her against her will and selling her as chattel to outlaws for carnal purposes. You are also guilty of stalking human females with what could only be a view to force yourself on them sexually." Wade takes a deep breath and resumes. "You have also risked disclosing the existence of our species as a whole by being repeatedly seen in cat form near human dwellings. The sentence for all of these offences is execution, to be carried out ..."
"Wait! Wait," the stray interjects frantically, "I know more about that little she-kitt, more about the Darnels!"
"What do you know?" Wade asks in a cold even tone. I can tell he doesn't care for the stray's attempt at bargaining for his life.
"I tell you," the strays says and licks his lips nervously as he glances at me, "and I get to live. What I know is surely worth that."
"You tell me what it is and I'll decide," Wade says coldly.
"You got to promise me my life first!"
I bare my teeth in a parody of feral delight as the warriors behind me move closer, and he watches us with growing fear.
"Or I can get the information the old fashioned way," Wade says with a nod my way.
"Timny you got your pocket knife?" I ask with a mockery of a smile for the stray.
"It's right here," Timny answers and I growl with satisfaction.
"Want to do some cutting Malcolm? Edwin? Teach this stray to be more respectful of all females? Make sure he'd never be a threat to one again," I ask on a low snarl.
I nearly miss the snarls of agreement beneath the stray's shout of disbelieving fear as he realises what I mean. I watch in grim satisfaction as the other warriors close in on him and his arms are released from the chain above his head. He is wrestled down onto the floor despite his struggles. He has years of experience surviving as a stray and almost fights free. I take him down to the floor of the shed with a shoulder to the stomach and once Edwin and his team have hold of the stray I back off.
He has admitted to brutally raping a female on several occasions but as a stray he probably would not know the standard but seldom used punishment of castration is not used by our clan. Still the scare value of the threat should yield the information he claims to have.
I watch as he fights wildly almost breaking free. Edwin punches him several times in the face before he and Malcolm manage to pin the stray successfully.
"The knife cut me!" Chris hisses in stunned surprise. Blood soaks one sleeve and down that side of his body indicating a serious injury.
"Chris! Oh shit!" Malcolm's voice is filled with panic and both Steven and I immediately move to help hold the stray down so Malcolm can go to his brother.
The stray fights our hold briefly but outnumbered and over-powered he soon eases his struggles.
"Where is all that blood from?" Malcolm demands frantically. "Your arm isn't that bad!"
"It's not his! Damn it!" Steven says from the other side of the stray.
I become aware of the weakness of the struggles of our prisoner and look down as I realise I am kneeling in something wet. There is a large dark patch on one thigh of his ragged jeans and a growing pool of blood beneath him. A cut runs up the thigh and across the groin of the leg Chris had been holding down. Steven is jerking his t-shirt off over his head and quickly presses it where blood wells from beneath the fabric rapidly in a pulsing rhythm that tells of an injury to a major artery.
"Femoral artery," Edwin mutters even as he keeps his grip on the injured prisoner.
One glance tells me the blood loss is fast reaching fatal levels and the position of the cut prevents adequate pressure being applied to stop further loss. I feel for the pulse in the stray's neck even as I take in his ashen face and colourless lips.
Wade kneels down and places a hand on the stray's chest over his heart, but the weakening pulse beneath my fingers already tell me Steven's attempts are achieving very little in prolonging the stray's death.
"We're doing all we can for you," Wade tells him quietly. "We were trying to scare more information out of you; you were not meant to be injured."
"A fat lot of difference it makes now!" Jasper gasps and I can hear the weakness in his voice.
"What is it you were going to tell me about Rosy?" Wade asks gently and motions for us to ease our holds on him.
"It's my baby ... don't mistreat it just 'cause I'm a stray ..." His voice trails off and although he opens and shuts his mouth nothing more comes from it.
"No kitt will ever be mistreated here," Wade tells him. "You have my word as an Alpha."
Less than a minute later the stray breathes his last breath.
I stand staring at the now dead stray for nearly a minute before glancing at the warriors standing around the body. Malcolm is still occupied with his brother but everyone else is starting to shift from foot to foot restlessly.
"It was an accident," Wade says quietly.
"I'm sorry Boss," Timny says contritely. "I only meant to prick him with the tip of the blade."
"It's not your fault," Wade says quietly, "It all happened so quickly ..."
The speed with which death can strike is horrifyingly fast; I know it wasn't meant to end like this. The execution would have been carried out quickly and cleanly; no one should die terrified and in a pool of their own blood.
I feel kind of sick as I realise Rosy will probably believe his death supports all she has been told about clan cats killing strays.
"What now Boss?" Steven asks in the heavy silence. The accidental killing of the stray has left us all quiet.
"Go get cleaned up in the shower here. No one is to clean up in the quarters; I don't want Rosy upset anymore than she has been," Wade orders. "First one through go grab clean clothes for everyone so you don't go back there stinking like a dead stray."
I supervise the wrapping of the corpse in an old sheet before helping to clean up all traces of blood in the room with the aide of a high-pressure hose.
Wade has left the shed no doubt to report the death of the stray and relay the accusations made against the Darnels to several other Alphas who have had trouble with the outlaws.
Edwin is by one of the benches when I carry the restraints we used over to be hung on their hook. He grins at me and glances at Steven, Malcolm and Dwayne who are the only other ones left in the building.
"Sounds like that stray had Rosy all trained to open her legs and let him climb on whenever he wanted to," Edwin says in a very soft whisper and I turn disbelieving eyes on him.
"A little bit of kindness and I bet she'll let anyone climb on and show her what it's all about," Edwin says in those same soft tones as he moves away from me. But he isn't fast enough and I am on him with a growl of pure fury as I take him down to the floor and begin launching punches at him wildly.
"Hey stop it!" I hear the other three yelling in chorus.
I become aware of the other three trying to drag us apart and I clasp two hands full of shirt near Edwin's throat forcing the others to rip his shirt to pull us apart.
"What the hell was that about?" Dwayne demands angrily as he, Steven and Malcolm force me back against the wall.
"I don't know," Edwin mutters from where he is getting to his feet and dusting himself off. "He just totally lost it for no reason."
I glare at him. To repeat his words would be useless. Even though he often caused me trouble no one would believe he would say such stuff about a she-kitt, any she-kitt. I shake my head. And I realise the best I can do is keep a watchful eye on him around Rosy just in case.
I walk away from the others and run both hands through my hair pushing it back off my forehead before clasping my hands behind my head as I try to calm down.
I really need to get it cut, I let out a gusty snort. Some poor bastard dies bleeding like a stuck pig and I'm worrying about a haircut? Man! I really need to get a grip!
* * * * *
I am the last one to use the shower and take my time washing away the filth I imagine clings to me after dealing with the stray.
A meal is being cooked when I walk into the quarters and I glance around the lounge room and kitchen quickly looking for Rosy.
"She's hiding in Sam and Mitchell's room," Steven tells me quietly.
"That bastard told her nothing but bullshit about clan cats," I say tightly as I run a hand back over my head brushing my hair off my forehead. The stray claimed to have known her for over eight years. How are we to undo so long of being fed lies about clan cats?
A feeling of helpless anger fills me. My inner cat rages at the pain and suffering Rosy has endured at the hands of others. I want to smash my fists into something, preferably Edwin's face, until this anger is gone.
"Want Pete to go and see if he can get her to come out to the lounge room?" Steven asks.
"No, I'll give it a try. She seemed like she wanted my approval until now," I say thinking back on the last few days. "Maybe she'll try to avoid doing anything to aggravate me," I add thinking on Jazzy's remarks about how dominance affected she-kitts.
"Do you think he trained her to be nothing more than a trouble maker," Steven asks quietly.
"That's one of things we will need to try to find out," I admit softly.
"Shame Mitchell isn't here. She'd already be out in the lounge room," Pete says.
I take several minutes to ensure I am totally calm before making my way to the bedroom where she is hiding. She is curled up on Mitchell's bed hugging his pillow to her. She avoids meeting my eyes when she glances my way as I enter the room.
I can smell her fear thick in the room and take in the way she is laying hunched over the pillow. I try tempting her out of the room with food, refusing to let her eat in there despite her intense fear. She needs to learn none of us intend to hurt her and the best way to learn that is for her to be around us and see how we treat her.
"Leave me alone," her voice is thick with misery. "I want Mitchell."
"What is it you want? Mitchell explains things to you, doesn't he?" I ask patiently.
"Am I in trouble?" She whispers after several minutes, "Am I going to be punished?"
"Well you shouldn't have gone near the brick shed as you know, but no, you're not going to be punished. Not this time," I say evenly not wanting her to think she can get away with knowingly breaking rules. "Now come out and try to eat something."
I have to urge her off the bed and out to the lounge room and immediately she wants to return to the safety of the bedroom. It is hard not to lose patience with her, and as I try to coax her to stay she claims to be scared of Edwin and his team who are in the kitchen.
"Why?" I ask in growing exasperation and watch as she tries to pull away from my light grasp on her uninjured wrist. It seems like her progress has regressed drastically
today and I am not sure how to reassure her or show her that no one intends to harm her. My inner cat urges me to hold her, comfort her, but I am not sure how she would take it at this stage. All I can do is offer support with my presence.
"I told yous it was a she-kitt at the service station several months back when we chased that stray out of the bar," Malcolm says as he moves to where the kitchen opens off the lounge room. Edwin moves up beside him and leads the way into the lounge room.
I stand there silently as Rosy moves behind me glancing around me to speak defensively. As she stands her ground it becomes clear we have chased her on numerous occasions. She is fearful and tense but stands her ground with amazing courage until Steven asks me if he should get Wade. Her fear changes to panic, then flight mode, but I manage to wrap her in both my arms and force her to the lounge. She fights with surprising strength but soon stops struggling and I force her to sit down, while I sit beside her trying to calm her and stop her from running from us.
I ask questions about her movements and behaviour on clan territory and I am surprised when she begins answering my questions. I hear the ring of truth in her words and realise that although she associated with the executed stray she didn't seem to share his resentful and belligerent manner.
It soon becomes evident she fears Edwin and his team because of them chasing her. The more she talks the more certain I am they came closest to catching her. Maybe even closer than the stray, Jasper, had despite his boast.
Her near capture several months earlier had been a trick of fate when she chanced stopping for food. She clearly had not planned to cause mischief, just feed herself and maybe snatch a little rest before continuing on her way.
The more I hear, the more certain I am she is in no way a troublemaker. She simply had not known the protocol to cross clan territory.
It isn't until I growl a warning at Malcolm that a remark from Rosy makes me realise she is expecting to be attacked during any argument as she is the smallest and weakest present. Resigned to her fear of me, I move away and head to the kitchen to dish up a meal for her as well as myself.
I hear her moving around and when I turn to return to the lounge room I am pleased to see she had not fled to the bedroom as I had expected. She is instantly all attention on the food and is quick to sit on the lounge for me to hand her a plate. I make myself comfortable near her and I am almost amused at the way she seems to dismiss me as a threat and inches slightly closer when Timny talks to her.
It is almost painful to see the way she instantly guards her food. I am not the only one to notice this as the other warriors exchange discreet glances with me. Timny offers her a piece of crackling and it is saddening to see her stuff it quickly into her mouth, her entire demeanour exposing that she expects it to be snatched back from her.
When the meal is finished I catch Rosy licking her hand like a child and send her to wash it before I head for the kitchen to pile the dirty pans in a heap to wash later. I am surprised when I hear her return to the lounge room and keep a discreet watch as Edwin turns on the charm and moves close to her.
I have to swallow my anger as Edwin pushes to get her to let him touch her and place his hand on her stomach. She is scared but submits to his touch and I move closer to offer comfort and support with my presence. I praise her acceptance of the attention from the others but I also subtlety warn them not to pressure her. I also spare Edwin a glare to let him know I am watching his interaction with Rosy much more closely after his remark in the stone shed.
When the subject of her having to change to cat form and back before retiring for the night comes up Rosy panics and flees the room hiding herself away once more. Frustration stirs again; just as she seems to begin learning we aren't out to hurt her, the mention of changing sparks her fear of male werecats.
I am shaken to realise it is not a fear of us but more a fear of being vulnerable around us. While basically she knows she can trust us, she hasn't had enough time to be where she does trust us.
Slowly and gently I try speaking with her, going over the new revelations from today. I take my time and refuse to react when she clearly expects punishment. As she responds slowly and hesitantly I realise she wants to learn, wants to trust. I offer her a compromise that will hopefully encourage her to change.
I wait in the lounge room impatient to see if she will manage to control her fear enough to change to cat form. I know if she can manage it she will make real progress. Once in cat form strays are a lot less fearful of other cats. Hopefully her instincts will take over and enable her to begin to be able to tell we don't wish to hurt her.
I am taken back by the beauty of her cat when she appears in the lounge room door way. She moves on three legs; her injured paw held high off the ground but she is all sinuous grace as she moves into the room. There is no wild panic as she looks at us taking in the fact that Edwin, Steven and Pete are in cat form. This is extremely encouraging; we are getting through to her subconscious.
I watch as the three toms introduce their cat form to her. I leave them be until Steven starts to get very friendly grooming her shoulders and moving his body closer. I find myself calling Rosy to me. It is not just my inner cat protesting his over friendliness - it is all of me.
The feel of her coat under my hand as she settles herself on the lounge near me is heavenly and I stroke her gently wanting her to become accustomed to my touch. I ignore Edwin's not so subtle hint that my touch infers more than simple contact, and I am rewarded with a soft purr when my fingers find the itchy spot behind her ears.
Donovan's sudden arrival causes concern but there is no vicious or predatory gleam in Rosy's striking violet eyes, only curiosity. She even seems to welcome his attentions
as he scratches behind her ears and then down her spine going over all the hard to reach places. It isn't until Donovan mentions the executed stray that Rosy reacts and then her fear sends her from the room.
I try to remain calm as I explain to Donovan what he just did, but anger for what I know Rosy has endured colours my voice as I give Donovan a stern warning before telling Steven to change back to human form and come to the main house with me.
It is the early hours of the morning when I relax in one of the lounge chairs before going to bed. It has been a long and tiring day between dealing with the stray and coping with Rosy. It is hard going but I feel we are slowly making progress with her. Two steps forward then one step back; although it felt like all the backwards steps had come at once today and the forward steps seemed too few and too far apart.
I am also beginning to understand the way she thinks and what has caused her to think this way. It will be easier to help her with her fears, as I have come to understand they're not as ridiculous as I had once thought. Her world, although nearly the same one as clan cats lived in, had been presented to her from the warped and twisted mind of a troublemaking stray.
As I settle in bed for a few hours sleep I smile as I remember the soft, silky feel of her coat beneath my hand. A few more occasions like that and she should start gaining enough self-confidence to begin interacting with us without always being afraid of us.
A moment's unease makes me frown; I am sure I have forgotten something. Unable to place what it is I roll onto my side and close my eyes as I imagine what it will feel like to be able to hold Rosy in my arms, what it will feel like when she lets me kiss her once again. The image of her in cat form refuses to leave my mind and keeps my body aroused making me remember kissing her and holding her when she was leaving after the meal at Pete's.
* * * * * *
I stand beside Donna silently as she lays flowers on Alex's grave. She kneels beside the recently dug soil as she stares down at the blossoms. Slowly she gets to her feet and allows me to lead her away from the grave and to a blanket spread out in the dappled shade beneath one of the orange trees in the orchard.
"I'm sorry I didn't make it here for Alex's funeral Micah," Donna says gently as I seat myself on the blanket beside her. "And I'm sorry that the stray she-kitt your clan has rescued lost her unborn kitt. It wouldn't have been able to replace him but the kitt would have been something good coming to the clan."
I nod silently. The loss of my brother is still too raw just five days after his funeral for me to be able to talk about him comfortably with anyone who hadn't lived with the irrepressible clown that had been Alex. As for Rosy, it seemed incredibly wrong to talk with Donna about her.
"We'll make a good marriage Micah. We both get on with the other's family," Donna says earnestly. "I'm healthy and will be only too happy to give you a daughter no matter how many sons we have first."
She turns to look into my face and hesitates a moment before putting both hands on my face and pressing her lips to mine. She runs her small hands down over my shoulders as she wriggles closer on my lap. Her tongue slips between my lips and she moans as she presses herself against my chest. She pulls at the front fastenings of my shirt and I feel the first stirrings of desire.
The soft little sounds she makes stir my inner cat and I take control of the kiss as I feast hungrily on her lips. The way her body rubs against mine quickly has me hard and I wrap both arms around her before twisting and taking both our bodies down onto the blanket. Her hands move restlessly over my chest and I am surprised at her boldness as one hand skims down the front of my jeans to cup me through the material.
"I want you Micah," Donna whispers. The sound of her voice breaks the hold lust has on my body and I run a hand through my hair distractedly. She pulls away from me slightly only to lean back and look around cautiously before rolling away from me and reaching beneath her skirt to quickly discard her underwear.
I return her kisses when she presses against my body once again. She takes hold of one of my hands and I am not surprised when she guides it beneath the skirt of her dress to the mound of curls between her legs.
"Micah," The sound of her breathless whimper breaks through the haze of lust and I begin to ease her away from me.
"Do you want to play around in my honey pot before putting a condom on and squirting inside me?" Donna offers against my lips, a hint of desperation in her voice.
"I don't think we should go that far Donna," I tell her, not sure exactly how to put what I have suddenly realised I need to tell her. I sit up and push my hair back off my face nervously as I try to work out a gentle way to put the blunt truth.
"Micah?" Donna's soft voice cuts into the silence between us and I hear the rustle of material as she rearranges her skirt.
"Yeah Donna," I question quietly with a glance her way.
She smiles a tight, painful smile before looking away quickly. "Timny told me that ... that the she-kitt sleeps with you. I need to know Micah, is there anything between the two of you?" her voice is rushed and breathless, filled with anxiety.
"Nothing has happened between us Donna," I say quietly, "Rosy is in a very bad place at present."
Just Donna mentioning Rosy makes what I know I must tell Donna all the more pressing. Had Donna intended to try to push any errant thoughts of Rosy from my mind with our coupling?
"I saw her in the lounge room of the quarters when Timny took me inside to wait for you to come over from your parents' house," Donna tells me quietly. "She's very pretty, all that long blonde hair and huge eyes."
I remain silent; did she want a response from me? What had her brother told her? I can't help but wonder as I take a quick glance her way.
"Why are yous torturing her Micah?" Donna asks and I turn to face her angrily. There are tears in her eyes and her bottom lip and chin are trembling. "She's so sad it hurt me to see her. And all she did was sit on the lounge staring out the big window; she wasn't in the room Micah. Not in her head, her body was there but I don't think her soul was and her mind was definitely out on that mountain she was staring at."
The words come from her in a rush, and in my heart I know what Donna is saying is true. We are only trying to help Rosy but all we were managing to do was torture her. With that admitted to myself I realise there is someone else I am torturing: Donna.
"I'm sorry Donna," I say gently and turn my head to look at her.
I watch as she shakes her head, tears filling her pretty brown eyes. She covers her mouth with one hand and looks away from me.
"I don't believe things between you and I will ever come to anything," I say apologetically, "Things have ..."
"Stop it!" Donna cries sharply and takes a deep breath, "you told me nothing has happened between you and her. You still feel the same way about me don't you?"
I hear the desperation in her voice and can't stop myself reaching out to take hold of her hand. "I still respect you and regard you highly. I would never have accepted your second invitation if I hadn't," I tell her gently.
"I'm not beautiful like her," Donna says unhappily. "And I doubt that with that tall slender body she will ever have to worry about keeping off the extra pounds that try to creep on once the babies start coming!"
"Looks are only skin deep. The real beauty goes down deep into the soul," I say gently and reach out to pull Donna into my arms. I don't like seeing her so upset, and knowing I am the cause of it doesn't sit comfortably.
"You're beautiful Donna," I tell her gently. "Don't ever doubt that. I still admire and respect you greatly but you deserve more than that. You deserve someone who thinks you are his entire world. And he thinks of you when he's not with you, wants to be with you when you are apart." I rub my cheek against the side of her head feeling the slight growth of stubble catch on strands of her hair.
"You deserve someone, who when he closes his eyes, he sees your face. He thinks of only you and doesn't think about others. You are a very dear friend Donna and I love you but I know now that I am not in love with you, and there is a big difference in that."
"We don't get to choose who we fall in love with, it chooses us. One day you'll meet some tom or really see a tom for the first time – see past his appearance and you ... " I find myself trailing off what I was saying and I take a deep breath before continuing.
"When you look into his eyes, you'll see his cat as well as the person. You'll notice his heart beats in time with yours." I try to give voice to the thoughts in my head.
"Stop it! Just leave me alone," Donna cries as she gets to her feet. She spots her knickers on the grass beside the blanket, snatches them up and heads towards the quarters and house at a run.
I sigh deeply as I glance around. The blanket is rumpled and has pieces of dead grass scattered on it hinting at the passion we almost shared minutes earlier. I get to my feet resigned to the argument between us and pick up the blanket to shake the grass from it. I fold it roughly before tucking it under one arm and following Donna at a leisurely pace.
I find her at one of the work sheds where Timny, Malcolm, Chris and Edwin are servicing one of the tractors and cleaning the planting combine. Donna is standing close to Timny and ignores me as I pause in the doorway to check on how the work is going. Edwin makes a point of noiselessly acting as if he is sniffing before looking between Donna and I with a huge grin, clearly enjoying the signs of trouble between us.
Chris, who is always kind and thoughtful towards she-kitts, is quietly explaining the work he and Timny are doing while Malcolm flexes his muscles as he checks all the attaching bolts are securely fastened.
"Wade is talking about taking Marissa and Jazzy to visit Stephan and Abby for a while," Edwin says when I go to turn away.
I hesitate as I look his way but he is intent on a bolt that is resisting Malcolm's attempts to undo it, and he doesn't meet my eyes leaving me in no doubt this is a message that was meant to be delivered earlier. Uneasy glances from both Timny and Chris confirm this and I leave the shed as my anger burns at Edwin for his continuous sly manipulations.
I find Wade in his private den at his work desk going over some papers; he glances up as I enter the room but goes straight back to what he is doing.
"I asked for you to come and see me nearly an hour ago," Wade says when he puts the papers aside and glares at me.
"I was breaking up with Donna, and only just got the message," I say levelly. I might as well come straight out with it - he would hear of it soon enough. If not from
Donna's father then probaly Edwin would make sure to let it slip at the most inopportune moment possible since he was clearly bent on stirring trouble for me with Wade.
"Do you think this clan needs the stress of you walking away from a highly suitable match so soon after Alex's death?" Wade asks coldly. "Not that I didn't expect it when I heard how you have wilfully disobeyed my orders and almost single-handedly taken over the responsibility of mentoring and caring for Rosy."
"If you had seen the progress she was making then you..." I tell him only to cut off when he pushes his chair back from the desk and stands up abruptly making the chair rock before settling on four legs once again.
"What? I saw how she threatened me over Alex's injuries," Wade demands angrily. "If Rosy continues to do things that make me believe she is a threat to anyone here or she fails to progress in adapting to clan life because you saw fit to interfere and go against my orders ..."
I watch as Wade stops to take a deep breath in an attempt to control his anger.
"Head warrior or not," Wade bites out tersely, "if anything goes wrong with Rosy I will have you whipped! She is a she-kitt in very fragile health and must be protected at all costs!"
I remain silent as I meet Wade's glare. I disobeyed his orders with the best of intentions, but when all is said and done the fact still remains that I have disobeyed him.
"I will be taking Marissa and Jazzy to the Willoughby compound for a few days. Your mother is taking Alex's death very hard and Jazzy is fretting over Mitchell's injuries. They both need some time away from here to recover," Wade says tightly.
"Can I suggest you take Donny along as well?" I ask calmly, "He and Alex were very close."
"Might as well take Justin along as well. Maybe he will be lucky enough to end up becoming an alpha some day. Celeste Willoughby should be reaching an age where she is looking at young toms," Wade announces.
I remain silent even though I know this is a not so subtle reference to Donna and myself.
"Timny and Chris will accompany us," Wade announces after a few moments thought. "I am sure Timny will want to visit his parents and offer his support to his sister in the next few days or weeks. I am sure Stephan will have a couple of warriors who can escort us home if Timny is still away when Marissa is ready to return."
"Yes Sir," I acknowledge evenly.
"Go and tell them to get ready; I want to leave within the hour." Wade orders and turns away without any further comment.
I am left to walk from the room, Wade's anger with me still thick in the air between us. I pass Marissa in the kitchen where she stands at the sink looking out the window above it; she turns her head to glance at me. Her eyes are red-rimmed and blood shot in her pale face.
"Micah?" Marissa questions softly.
I hesitate a moment before walking over to her and engulfing her in a warm hug. She feels small and surprisingly fragile in my arms as I hold her, not in the least like the robust and strong person she was.
"I've lost my clown Micah," Marissa says thickly and sniffs moistly. "Who will make me laugh now?"
"Lost is such a harsh way to think of it Mum," I tell her gently. "You haven't misplaced Alex. He is just in a place where you can no longer physically see or touch him. And I know he's still in your heart, in all our hearts."
The words come to me as I hold her and I give her a gentle squeeze and brush a kiss against her temple before allowing her to ease out of my embrace.
"How did I ever manage to find the most gentle heart and soul to put in such a large and powerful body," Marissa asks with a watery smile. "But then that heart needs a large body to contain it."
I smile at her familiar words and drop a kiss on her forehead before turning towards the door.
"I love you Mum," I tell her before heading outside.
I stop at the work shed to inform Timny and Chris that they need to pack. Timny is holding Donna who is crying and sends an angry glare my way while the other three warriors stand nearby silently. I glance at Donna one last time but she deliberately turns her back on me. I give a slight nod and head for the stone shed where Steven is doing some metal work.
"What doing?" Steven asks as I look at the small gate he is making.
"Wade is taking Marissa and the kitts away for a few days. I'm in the shit with him for breaking up with Donna and a few other things," I admit with a shrug.
"Let me guess," Steven says as he takes his leather work gloves off and half sits on an empty drum. "The few other things all have to do with Rosy."
"Yeah," I acknowledge, "he really does not want me near her."
"He wants better than a stray with no territory rights for his most promising son. You're Alpha material just waiting for an available she-kitt, and he knows it. Every Alpha with a young daughter knows it," Steven says evenly.
I don't make any comment; I know Wade has been subtly giving me Alpha training ever since I became head of the warriors that worked for the clan.
"I've been elected the one to speak to you about something else," Steven says seriously.
I nod but don't look his way. In my gut I know what is about to be asked of me and I know I won't be able to do it.
"Rosy," Steven says quietly and a low growl begins growing deep in my chest.
"We can't leave her like she is," Steven tells me and I turn my head to glare at him in rage.
"I won't be the one," I snarl.
"Micah, she's not crazy yet. At least Dwayne, Sam and I don't think so. But she's not far from it, and if she stays here ..." Steven breaks off and takes a deep breath.
"About an hour ago Mitchell accidentally brushed against her foot. She freaked out screaming at him not to hurt her. It's tearing us all apart, mate. She doesn't sleep more than an hour or two of a night, you and I are well aware of that. She is getting all she needs to eat and yet she guards her food viciously; she has even started watching others eat. She is becoming more animal than human and we wouldn't treat any animal like this," Steven says unhappily.
What Donna said comes to mind and I narrow my eyes as I turn my head to look at Steven thoughtfully.
"Hey!" Steven says abruptly as he gets to his feet and moves well back. "I am just the messenger."
"Wade should be leaving soon so our main problem will be Mitchell," I murmur to myself.
"What are you thinking?" Steven asks quietly but still from a distance.
"If we were discussing an animal I would say it's time to turn it loose and hope it can survive on its own," I say softly.
"Wade wouldn't like that," Steven warns.
"Leave me worry about him," I say remembering Wade's threat. "She would need a good night's sleep before she left so she is rested."
"I think there is some of the tranquilliser Doc left behind, if there was no other way, but still ..." Steven says shaking his head. He clearly hates the idea of drugging her as much as I do.
"The pressure point at the base of the skull," I say unhappily. "If Sam or I can get our hands on her before she thinks of turning cat – that pressure point will have her out in maybe ten or fifteen seconds. Once pressure is applied she won't be able to change."
"That'll only stress her out being touched..." Steven trails off with a frown, and then grins broadly.
"Hey! I bet there's still some of that herbal mixture left from when Justin broke his arm. Doc said it would make him drowsy and he'd sleep soundly after he got his arm set. It worked, " Steven says with growing excitement.
"As soon as Wade leaves tell Sam and Dwayne I need to talk to them. I'll go see Edwin and Malcolm, but I'll talk to them after Sam and Dwayne so no one is left by himself with Rosy. Just in case," I say firmly.
"What about Mitchell," Steven asks, "If he thinks you're going to upset Rosy ..."
"She needs the rest so she doesn't do herself serious damage when she takes the chance to make a run for it," I say flatly. "When he understands the alternative is to put an end to her going crazy ... he'll let her go."
"How will we work it so she takes off," Steven asks. "All of us go hunting leaving her here by herself?"
"No," I deny. "That's too out of character; she'd think it was some kind of a trap if she was capable of thinking. The others can go hunting and you and I can stay here ..." I trail off as I try to think of some reason for leaving Rosy alone for a period of time.
"She curls up, faking sleep a lot," Steven says thoughtfully. "Maybe we can let her think we buy it, and go where she is out of sight and hearing for a while?"
"Well we had better start thinking of something that will give her enough space that she feels secure enough to make a run for it." I say hating the idea of letting her run away but knowing we have no other choice.
* * * * * *
The scent of fear and panic permeate the air in the lounge room as it has the last few days whenever Rosy is in the same room as any of us warriors. I watch as Mitchell places her plate of food on the small end table near the chair along the wall where she sits huddled with up drawn legs.
As soon a Mitchell steps back several paces Rosy snatches the plate. One arm is instantly placed as a barrier should anyone try to touch the plate; the other hand grabs the fork on the plate and she begins eating hurriedly.
I feel relief to see she is using her previously crushed wrist as freely as her other one as she mixes the gravy into her mashed potatoes. The gravy contains the mixture I am hoping will make her sleep soundly so that she is well rested for tomorrow.
She catches me watching her and pulls her plate closer as she eats faster. The smell of her anxiety rises and her gaze darts around frantically. I look away from her and glance at my watch wanting to keep track of the time it should take for her to become very drowsy.
When everyone is finished eating I am worried to note Rosy is still guarding the now empty plate as she glances around almost slyly. A minute or two later she gets to her feet and I hear Sam and Dwayne move back into the hallway as she heads for the door. Her footsteps are rushed as she heads along the sunroom and then the bathroom door shuts noisily.
"Shit!" Malcolm hisses as we all jump to our feet. "She's not going to be sick from that stuff or pass out in there will she," he voices the concern that suddenly occurs to us all.
"Sam," I say tersely, "move to where you can hear if she were to pass out or something." I force myself to sit down once again and watch as Steven, Malcolm and Edwin slowly follow my example leaving only Mitchell standing.
Mitchell heads for the doorway and I hear Sam talking to him quietly. Dwayne comes and sits down in the lounge room and I strain to hear where Sam and Mitchell are. Time passes excruciatingly slowly and then I hear the faint click as the bathroom door opens. There is slight movement from either Sam or Mitchell and then Sam moves into sight.
"She just headed into your room," he tells me. "She was rubbing at her eyes so she might be starting to get drowsy."
The minutes drag by with agonising slowness; Sam moves restlessly in his chair while Steven drums his fingers anxiously on the arm of the lounge. I hear a soft tapping and glance at Edwin to see one of his legs jumping sporadically.
"We should have just used the damn tranquilliser," Edwin hisses.
I clench my jaw as I look away; I went to lengths explaining to him why it was important not to use a drug on Rosy. It was bad enough that I'd even had to resort to a more natural remedy that would soothe her to sleep.
There is a faint noise at the doorway and before I can turn my head I hear the slight scrap of booted feet shifting.
"She's asleep," Mitchell whispers sounding very anxious, "she is curled up in the far corner of your room asleep!"
"You're sure Rosy is asleep," Sam asks in a whisper as he gets to his feet. He is a step ahead of me as I move swiftly from my chair and head for the doorway.
Mitchell heads back towards the bedroom glancing continuously over his shoulder with an anxious frown as he moves up the sunroom. I push past both Sam and Mitchell when they halt in the doorway of the bedroom I share with Steven; I pause just inside the room as I take in the scent in the air.
Traces of fear and anxiety still remain but the scents do not rise higher with my presence or that of the toms behind me. Rosy lays huddled in the far corner, a blanket from my bed clutched in one hand and held against her chest as if for comfort.
"I'm going to put her in bed," I whisper and make sure I move silently as I approach where Rosy is in the corner looking very uncomfortable.
It is easy to scoop her up with one arm beneath her knees and the other arm behind her back. She trembles slightly and makes a faint sound, part complaint part whimper. I turn towards my bed and find Sam is already pulling the bedclothes back so that I can place her where she has been sleeping since he and his team had returned with injuries.
I am relieved when she doesn't stir as the covers are pulled up and over her. I tuck them close to her body to ensure she stays warm before turning back towards the door. All of the toms hover there and I jerk my head towards the lounge room as I reach the doorway.
Mitchell keeps stopping and glancing back towards the room with a tortured look on his face but he doesn't say a word as he makes his way to the lounge room. I thought he would protest the plan Steven and I came up with but surprisingly he had been the easiest to convince this needed to be done.
We all sit around the room in silence. Sam sits on the arm of Mitchell's chair leaning slightly against his brother while Dwayne sits on the floor between their feet. Edwin sits in a chair and Malcolm sits awkwardly on the arm, one foot on the seat behind Edwin while the other leg lies along the length of the arm. Edwin is leaning slightly into his partner's body. It is a long time since I have seen either of them needing comfort. Steven is on the lounge beside me, his back to me as he leans against my side while my arm is stretched out along the top of the lounge.
"Do you think Rosy will sleep all night?" Mitchell asks in a whisper.
"I made the herbs and gravy strong so hopefully she will sleep for a good stretch," Steven says and I feel the vibrations through his back as he talks.
"It's not too late for her is it," Mitchell agonises in a whisper. "She hasn't started to go crazy has she?"
No one answers and Sam puts his arm across Mitchell's shoulders. Dwayne whispers something at their feet and I realise how badly this is affecting Mitchell.
"Mitchell," I whisper and wonder why I am whispering but I don't raise my voice any louder when he looks my way. "Why don't you go keep Rosy company until I am ready to turn in? I'm sure she'll sleep better with you there. Sam, Dwayne, I don't want him alone with her in case she wakes up."
"Taking a chance, aren't you, letting lover-boy near her while she's out to it," Edwin taunts in a whisper.
He is up and out of the chair when I take him down in a tackle that has us both landing on the lounge before rolling off onto the floor. We struggle silently, not really trying to hurt each other despite our anger. I manage to get him onto his back and when I go to pin him down, the weight of a hard body knocks me to the side and then I hear the faint grunts of exertion as Malcolm and Steven join the fray.
Finally I subdue Edwin and glare down at him. We are both breathing heavily and I turn my head to see Steven calmly sitting on Malcolm while they both watch Edwin and me. I let go of Edwin and move to flop out flat on my back beside my brother. I hear movement and Steven crawls over top of us to sit beside me.
I glance at my watch but make no attempt to get up. I'll give Mitchell time to make his peace with the fact that once he leaves my room he won't be seeing Rosy again. I can't risk his distress communicating itself to her in the morning before all of us toms leave to go hunting leaving her by herself. None of us want her panicking and possibly making a frantic dash for freedom.
* * * * *
I grit my teeth as I glance down at my phone one last time before pressing the button that will autodial Wade's number. It has been twenty-four hours since we returned to the quarters to find Rosy gone and I dare not give her more of a head start than this. I have to trust that she has used the time well, travelling away from here at a fast pace.
"Wade speaking."
"Boss," I say formally, "we have a situation here. Rosy has disappeared. I think she has run off headed for where ever it is she used to hide out."
"Shit! Can't you do anything right," Wade yells angrily and I hear murmured concern in the background. I can hear the sound on his footsteps beneath his heavy breathing, the squeak of a door opening then closing and finally a low growl from him.
"Tell me what happened," he demands tautly.
"About an hour and a half ago I sent Sam, Dwayne, Mitchell, Edwin and Malcolm off to hunt. Steven and I stayed here with Rosy. Steven was replacing the last of the copper pipe in the bathroom and Rosy was curled up in a chair asleep. I made the mistake of going to check on how Steven was getting on; I was only gone five minutes at the most. When I went to check on her she was gone. What rags were left of her clothes were in the hallway," I say flatly. "The others aren't back from their hunt yet."
"She can't have gotten far on that injured wrist! Change and go after her," Wade orders angrily.
"Boss, she's been changing two and three times a day. Maybe even more we didn't know about," I say cautiously. "If I didn't know better she has been waiting for the slightest chance to escape as she would believe."
"And you weren't suspicious about the amount of times she changed?" Wade's rage makes his voice hoarse as he shouts down the phone at me.
"Her entire behaviour has been very erratic since she lost the kitts," I say through gritted teeth.
"Get after her!" Wade orders and takes a ragged breath. "I will deal with your incompetence when I get back!"
"Wade, I don't think that is a good idea." I say with a shake of my head. I hadn't orchestrated her freedom only to try to run her to ground and capture her.
"Get after her! She needs care and protection," Wade orders angrily.
"Wade I don't ..." I begin.
"Are you disobeying orders," Wade demands in a suddenly even tone.
I feel an unpleasant shiver run down my spine, I know that tone of voice and he only ever uses it when someone is about to get into big trouble.
"If we chase her and catch her either she is going to turn on us and someone will get hurt or ..." I lose my voice for a moment as I admit to myself what I believe is the more likely outcome. "Dad, it's a real possibility she will go to such extreme lengths to get away. She could end up killing herself."
There is silence on the other end of the phone for a few moments and then I hear a heavy sigh from Wade.
"Is that all," he asks sounding oddly flat.
"I let her go. I planned it all, made sure she would have a chance to run before she totally lost it and lashed out at one or all of us," I admit in an even and firm tone.
"You and I are going to have a very serious meeting when I get back," Wade says sounding tired. "In fact I might leave everyone here for a few more days and come home by myself. You've crossed a serious line Micah. I can't just let this go."
There is no goodbye before he hangs up and I shut the phone when the annoying buzz starts and glance at Steven where he stands nearby.
"He sounds pissed," Steven remarks.
"Well do we do our obligatory chase," Sam asks startling me.
I glance at the hallway door where the others are having arrived back from their hunt for breakfast. I am surprised to see Mitchell behind his brother; he had taken off yesterday when they returned from a morning hunt to find Rosy gone just as we believed she would be.
"She headed north through the national park, keeping to the heavy scrub all the way. I found tufts of rabbit fur several times, so it looks like she is hunting as she travels." Mitchell's voice is thick and I give a small nod at his information.
"Wade didn't say to go after her," I say raising my voice slightly. "We just hope for the best for her now."
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